‘If you please, Sister?’
‘In chapel we have our individual private devotions until 6.30 when either Father Malone or his curate, Father Stephen, comes to offer mass. Then we go up to the refectory for breakfast — cereal, a piece of fruit, and coffee. We eat it standing. After that we sweep and clean our cells and then go to our respective duties. I teach in the local school, Sister David does translation work — she is a Latin scholar — Sister Katherine sells her embroidery and Sister Martha some of her garden produce, and Sister Margaret bottles fruit which she sells in the local market. We are all in our cells again by five when we pursue religious studies. We discuss what topic we wish to concentrate on with the Prioress who supervises the progress of our work and sets essays and meditation reports from time to time. At six we go into chapel for further devotions and Benediction; then at 7.30 there is supper—’
‘What happened to lunch?’
‘Oh, a meal of soup and bread and fruit is served at midday. As I am still at the school I take an apple and a cheese roll. Sometimes I make hot soup for myself and the children when the weather is cold. At supper we have soup or a salad, then a main course of fish or cheese or something on toast and a pudding — steamed or milk. I can’t see how all this is going to be the slightest help to you.’
‘I’m building up a picture.’ He curved the car on to the moorland track.
‘Well, during the meal one of the community reads aloud from a book about one of the saints or something of that nature. She eats her meal later and we take turns at reading. After supper we have an hour’s recreation when we sit round with our work — knitting and mending and talk. Mother Prioress sometimes joins us, also Sister Hilaria. At 9.00 we go down to the chapel again for evening prayers and then we receive the blessing and after that there is the grand silence.’
‘Do you,’ he enquired, ‘get time off at the weekend?’
‘On Saturdays I help Sister Martha in the garden and prepare lessons for the coming week. On Saturdays we have general confession over which Mother Dorothy presides, and we make our private confessions to Father Malone or Father Stephen on Wednesdays. On Sundays we have an extra hour of recreation during the afternoon. If it’s a nice day we walk in the garden. We also borrow books from the library which is extensive or write letters home.’
‘Absolute regularity, obedience, sexlessness — how do you stand it?’ he enquired.
‘We all chose it,’ Sister Joan said, flushing slightly.
‘A pretty woman like you ought to be happily married with children.’ He sounded angry as if her choice of the religious life were a reflection on his masculinity.
‘Marriage is a vocation too,’ she argued. ‘I just didn’t happen to choose it.’
‘You didn’t mention flagellation.’ His voice challenged her.
‘These days that particular penance is merely symbolic. Oh, and we don’t wear hair shirts or stick pins into ourselves either. And I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you but there isn’t a lesbian, a transvestite or a child molester in our entire community.’
‘Temper, temper, Sister Joan.’ He shot her a glance too teasing for her peace of mind.
‘I beg your pardon. It’s only that I get a bit weary of the misconceptions we come up against sometimes,’ she said stiffly.
‘Fed up,’ he substituted.
‘Exceedingly fed up, Detective Sergeant Mill.’
‘Here’s the camp. He slowed the car and stopped. ‘The pathologist’s report is in. The boy died of a massive overdose of LSD, taken by mouth in what seems to have been a bottle of wine. Have you any ideas about that? Your pupils aren’t junkies by any chance?’
‘No, of course not. The notion is absolutely ridiculous. Drugs? It seems — bizarre.’
‘In this rural district apart from the odd spot of glue sniffing and a few hopefuls who think they can get away with growing marijuana in their back gardens we haven’t had much trouble in that area,’ he said. ‘Of course the Romanies may deal in drugs.’
‘They deal mainly in scrap metal. Even if one or two of them are — they’d never give it to a child, especially one of their own.’
‘He might have got hold of it by accident.’
‘Then how did he come to be in the chapel?’
‘You’re right, of course. He was carried in, probably through that damned unlocked side door, and arranged neatly while the rest of you were at your recreation. From now on I’m going to insist that the entire building is locked at night. Anyone in need of spiritual comfort can ring the bell like ordinary people. Shall we get out here and walk?’
‘I hope my being with a member of the police force isn’t going to ruin my reputation,’ she said, getting out of the car.
‘Don’t worry, Sister. I’ll make it clear you’re not under arrest.’
‘They are more likely to mistake me for a copper’s nark,’ she countered.
They were approaching the semicircle of wagons, passing the willow trees through which the dull gleam of water could be seen. Petroc had swum and splashed here in the cool evening, unaware that he had only another day to live. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them rapidly away, swallowing hard.
The men were still sorting scrap; washing hung on the lines; a baby was crying in one of the wagons; a dog barked. Everything seemed as usual but she sensed a darkness over the camp. The school would only be half full, she realized, seeing her four pupils in a neat and unnaturally
