‘Ask her and then ring me with the results. I take it that you’re allowed to pick up a telephone?’
‘With permission. Sister Margaret or Mother Dorothy take outside calls. Do you think that we’ll find out who did this?’
‘I hope so, Sister. I shall be staying on the case until we get results anyway. As I told you the death of a child is an abomination. I’ve two lads of my own.’
He was serious again, his voice empty of feeling or rather — tight with feeling unexpressed.
‘I’ll take a rain-check on that cup of coffee. Try to have a chat with Sister Margaret as quickly as you can. Thank you for your help.’
But she had not, she thought going inside, been very helpful at all. She had not even been completely candid with him. She hadn’t mentioned the other incidents that had recently disturbed her — the missing candles, flowers and holy water, the unnatural goodness of the children, the macabre little verse Samantha had written, the sudden disappearance of Kiki Svenson . . .
‘There you are, Sister. I have telephoned the Svensons but nobody appears to be in.’ Mother Dorothy stood at the door of the parlour.
‘Are you going to try again, Reverend Mother?’
‘In an hour or two. Since you are not teaching today you can help Sister Margaret with the meal. Will the police be requiring your assistance again?’
‘I don’t know, Mother Dorothy. I don’t think so.’
‘Then go and make yourself useful in the kitchen, Sister. We have all been greatly discomposed this morning by having our fingerprints taken. One would like to get back into the normal routine as quickly as possible.’
Nodding briskly she went back into the parlour and closed the door.
Ten
‘I’m so sorry, Sister, but I just cannot remember where or when I lost it.’ Sister Margaret looked distressed. ‘It is very good of you to wish to help me find it, but the fault of carelessness is entirely mine.’
‘The point is, Sister, that Petroc had a rosary in his pocket when he was found in the chapel which corresponds exactly to yours, with the chain snapped.’
‘Sister Joan, you can’t think that I had anything to do with the death of that poor boy!’
‘No, of course I don’t,’ Sister Joan said warmly. ‘Petroc evidently found it and put it in his pocket. If you can recall where you lost it then his last movements can be more accurately pinpointed.’
‘But if I knew exactly where I lost it then it wouldn’t have been lost,’ Sister Margaret said. ‘I mean I’d have noticed it fall and picked it up.’
‘If Petroc did find it and pick it up himself, then you must have lost it two nights ago when we were visiting the parents, but surely you’d have noticed it was gone when we had evening prayers.’
An awkward flush stained the lay sister’s round face.
‘Not necessarily, Sister,’ she said in an embarrassed fashion. ‘This is a dreadful admission to make but by the time we get to evening prayers I am generally too tired to concentrate on them. I very often have a little nap, you see. I am doubly at fault since I have never spoken of it in general confession, but it is such a shameful weakness. The point is that I might have lost my beads during the evening and in that case the poor child must have picked them up, or I could have lost them yesterday morning. I simply don’t know and the more I think about it the more confused I get.’
‘Could you tell Reverend Mother about it?’ Sister Joan asked. ‘The detective sergeant asked me — well, I volunteered, but it amounts to the same thing. If you tell Mother Dorothy then she can ring up the station. You’ll want your rosary back?’
‘Yes indeed, though my carelessness in losing it suggests to me that I really don’t deserve to have it,’ Sister Margaret said miserably. ‘I’ll go and tell her at once.’
‘Is there anything else you want me to do?’ Sister Joan looked round the kitchen where they had just finished washing the dishes.
‘Could you possibly go and check up on Sister Gabrielle? She would insist on going out to sit in the garden and I fear the air is still a trifle fresh. An extra blanket might be appreciated.’
‘Yes of course. Where is she?’
‘In the cemetery,’ Sister Margaret said. ‘Believe me but it wasn’t my choice. She insisted on having her chair put there.’
‘Each to her own taste. I’ll take a blanket out.’
Leaving Sister Margaret to what was going to be an embarrassing interview with the Prioress, she nipped up to the linen cupboard, took out a blanket, and went down into the grounds again.
The walled enclosure with its two rows of plain wooden crosses where past members of the community slept their eternal sleep was near the old tennis court. Sister Gabrielle, a rug tucked about her knees, sat in a cane chair, chin cupped in her hands as she contemplated the graves. She gave a slight start as the younger woman arrived at her side and fumbled to turn up her hearing aid.
‘Gracious, Sister, you do creep about so!’ she exclaimed.
‘I’m very sorry, Sister Gabrielle. I didn’t mean to startle you but Sister Margaret thought you might need another blanket.’
‘If Sister Margaret had her way I’d be positively suffocated with blankets. A dear, good soul but a terrible fusspot! Well, well, child, drape it around me. I can consider it as a penance, I suppose.’
‘Are you sure you want to sit here?’ Sister Joan asked, lingering. ‘Wouldn’t you feel more cheerful somewhere
