Sister Joan read the statement through again, frowned, and took up Sister Margaret’s account, which read more like a gossipy letter than anything else.
On the evening before last I drove Sister Joan on a round of visits to some of the parents of her pupils. We visited Mr and Mrs Penglow whose son and daughter were also present and had a welcome that was most gratifying and spoke much for Sister Joan’s success as a teacher. Afterwards we failed to find the Wesleys in but were given a splendid supper by Mr and Mrs Holt which was a great treat. Sister Joan went out to look at a baby calf but I did not. Though we practise vegetarianism in the order there was a time when I enjoyed roast beef. I received some recipes from Mrs Holt which I hope to try out for the community, and then we drove on to see Mr and Mrs Olive and their daughter who have moved into the district over the last couple of months.
Yesterday morning I awoke the community and prepared breakfast as I always do. After breakfast I loaded the water cans in the back of the car and drove over to the presbytery where I filled the cans and had them blessed by Father Malone — such a kindly priest and never out of temper. I then drove home and prepared the midday meal. Mother Dorothy told me that Sister Joan was to have the use of the car in order to drive Sister Hilaria to the dentist so I went out and gave the vehicle a bit of a polish. During the afternoon I wrote out the recipes that Mrs Holt had kindly given me and put them into my cooking file; then I cleared up the kitchen and made some herb tea for Sister Mary Concepta who is permitted it as a remedy for the severe rheumatism that quite incapacitates her at times. I then went to my cell for the religious study period. I am reading the published journals of His Holiness Pope John the Twenty-Third — most interesting and giving great food for thought. Oh, I forgot to mention that just before that Sister Hilaria came home in Padraic Lee’s lorry. I gave her a cup of tea and Mother Dorothy agreed with me that she should lie down for a couple of hours. Later Sister Joan returned, having accomplished the journey without mishap, thanks be to Our Dear Lord. After supper I washed up the dishes and joined the community at recreation.
She hadn’t mentioned losing her rosary. Sister Joan wondered whether to mention it herself. She would wait, she decided, since it was possible that Petroc had his own. If not, then it was obvious he had found Sister Margaret’s and that meant he had been wherever she had dropped it. Not, surely, in the Romany camp else she would have discovered its loss sooner. That left the Penglows, the Wesleys (since they had alighted from the car to make enquiries of the neighbours), the Holts and the Olives. She put the statement back on the file, added her own brief account, and looked up as Mother Dorothy came in with Detective Sergeant Mill.
‘Detective Sergeant Mill wishes you to go with him to the Romany camp,’ she said without preamble. ‘He feels they might talk more freely if you are present. I have told him that we will, of course, co-operate fully in the police investigation.’
‘What about school?’ Sister Joan enquired.
‘Sister David is perfectly able to cope, Sister. You may go now with the officer.’
‘Yes, Mother Dorothy.’ She knelt briefly, aware of a flicker of amusement crossing the detective’s face as he picked up the statements. Probably he considered the convent courtesies impossibly medieval.
He had driven himself since the car was empty. At a little distance two policemen and a policewoman were unloading photographic and fingerprinting equipment from a van.
‘We’ve got your prints already, Sister.’ He held open the door for her. ‘I take it that you’ve read through the statements and there isn’t much in them to throw any light on the matter.’
‘Nothing tangible.’
‘Can you give me a rundown of a typical day in your order? I haven’t a clue how nuns actually spend their time.’ He thrust the pile of statements under the dashboard and positioned himself neatly behind the wheel. Early forties, she reckoned, and thinner than the popular image of the police with grey streaks in brown hair and disconcertingly shrewd brown eyes.
‘Easily. We lead very regulated lives. We rise at five and
