Mortuus Virgo (34 page)
Authors: Kevin Ashman
Bernice opened the door and allowed Max into the kitchen, locking the door behind him.
‘Thank you, Sister,’ he said, stamping the snow off his feet, ‘Any chance of a cuppa? It’s brass monkeys out there.’
‘I think we can do better than that,’ answered Bernice, ‘How about a nice bacon butty with freshly baked bread and brown sauce?’
‘Thank you Sister,’ said Max, his face lighting up, ‘Don’t mind if I do.’
One of the girls brought the caretaker a cup of tea while another retrieved a pack of bacon from the fridge, dropping four slices into an enormous frying pan. Within seconds, the delicious smell of sizzling bacon wafted across the kitchen. A few minutes later, Bernice ushered the caretaker over to the other side of the kitchen, and waited patiently as he poured an unhealthy amount of brown sauce over the bacon, before replacing the top layer of bread.
‘Luverly!’ he said before stretching his jaws open to take a bite of his prize.
Bernice waited until the first sandwich had been demolished before speaking again.
‘Any news?’ she asked, quietly.
‘No sign at all,’ said Max, licking his fingers, ‘There were some footprints in the snow but they’ve mostly disappeared.’
‘Has there been any contact with the police?’ she asked hopefully.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said picking up the second sandwich, ‘But there’s no need to worry. This place is like Fort Knox. No one is getting in here and besides, even if they did, they’ve got to get past me and Jacob first.’ He bit into the sandwich again as Bernice looked on, handing him his cup of tea when he choked slightly.
‘Thanks, Sister,’ he coughed, taking the cup.
‘So what do you think, Max?’ asked Bernice eventually, ‘What do
you
think is happening?’
‘Search me, Sister,’ he shrugged.
‘But you must have some idea,’ answered Bernice, ‘You know more about this place than anyone. Wasn’t you born here?’
‘I was,’ said Max, ‘But I keep myself to myself.’
‘Oh come on, Max,’ said Bernice, ‘You must know something?’
Max replaced the third sandwich back on the plate and stared at the Nun.
‘All I know, Miss,’ he said, ‘Is that this convent holds a secret bigger than all of us. What it is, I don’t know, and I don’t particularly want to know, But any madman, murderer, call them what you like, who thinks they can make the order of the Santa Rosa give up their secrets by threats of violence or even death, have a lot to learn.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Bernice.
‘Look, Sister,’ answered Max, ‘There are forces at work here that are greater than you or I can even begin to understand. This man, whoever he is, won’t be the first to threaten the order and probably won’t be the last, but he, like all the others, will get nowhere. Trust me, the order is more than capable of looking after itself.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Bernice, ‘How can a group of elderly women and novices unversed in the ways of the world overcome such a horrific threat?’
‘How long have you been here, Sister?’ asked Max.
‘Twenty two years.’
‘And what have they taught you in all that time?’
‘As in what way?’ she asked.
‘The history of the order,’ said Max.
‘Well, most of the time we spend in the worship of the Holy Mother….,’ said Bernice.
‘Yes, interrupted Max, ‘But what about the history of the order itself?’
‘Not much really, the role of the novice is to rejoice in the glory of the Holy Mother, and bring succour to the homeless and the needy. The history of the order is for the Senior Sisters only. I do know our history stretches back hundreds of years, right back to the time of the Normans.’
‘The Normans,’ said Max, sipping his tea thoughtfully.
‘Yes,’ said Bernice,’ The order was one of the first formed in the UK.’
‘What if I told you that this order reaches back almost a thousand years earlier.’
Bernice looked confused.
‘Your wrong,’ Max she said, ‘That would put our foundation as far back as the birth of our saviour himself. Even if we were the very first order in the UK, it couldn’t have been that early. At the very earliest it must have been after the visit of St Augustine.’
‘St Augustine?’
‘Yes, the revered catholic missionary who brought the light of the church to Britain in 597 AD. See, even if you are right, we cannot possibly be older than that as there were simply no representatives of the catholic church before that time.’
Max sipped his tea again, looking over the rim of his teacup in silence.
‘You don’t agree?’ said Bernice eventually.
Max placed the cup down and stood up.
‘Look, Sister,’ he said, ‘It’s not my place to give you history lessons here, but there is much you don’t know about your own order. Suffice to say, it is older than you can even imagine. Forget even the birth of Christ, for your order was old before he was born.’
‘Predates Christianity?’ she said cynically, ‘Now you’re being absurd. How on earth can any organisation predate that, which it is formed to revere?’ It doesn’t make sense.’
‘You make the assumption that your order exists for the worship of Christianity,’ he said.
‘Max,’ said Bernice, ‘I don’t want to be rude, but how on earth can you stand there and tell me that I have devoted most of my adult life to a lie.’
‘You misunderstand me, Sister,’ he replied, ‘I do not criticise your commitment or indeed your devotion. You worship that which is placed before you, yet it is but a veil that blurs the truth.’
‘You’re making no sense,’ said Bernice.
‘I have said enough,’ he said and turned to leave.
‘So why, Max,’ asked Bernice, ‘Why tell me this, now.’
The caretaker turned back around and stared back at her.’
‘Because I like you, Sister Bernice,’ said Max, ‘You have always been kind to me and see me as an equal, not a servant. The order is very strong with important friends across the world. They can look after themselves. But I feel times are changing, and not for the better. This new age of computers and the like is beyond me. I don’t claim to understand such things but what I do know is this. It is only a matter of time before the order’s secret is unveiled, and when that happens, I fear our secure little world will come crashing down around us. You don’t deserve to be caught in the fall out. Now, I have to go, but before I go, let me give you a piece of advice. You are a lovely person, Sister, and I don’t want to see you hurt. Do yourself a favour and keep your distance from the senior sisters.’
‘But Max…’
‘I have said enough,’ said Max, glancing down at the last sandwich, ‘Do you mind if I take this for Jacob?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Bernice.
‘Thank you, Sister,’ said Max, ‘Stay safe!’
Bernice watched him leave and sat for a while mulling over the strange conversation. Max seemed genuinely concerned for her safety, but rather than frighten her off his comments only aroused her curiosity. Her thoughts were racing and there were far too many unanswered questions to let the matter drop, and, by the time she left the kitchen to return to her cell, she had formed a rudimentary plan.
----
Brandon and Murray walked up to the closed gate blocking the road. They had driven around for hours looking for the convent but eventually had come across a farmer who had pointed them in the right direction. Finally they had found the right road and had travelled over half an hour along a winding country road before coming across the obstruction.
Beyond the gate, the road was un-surfaced and disappeared into a wood that spread as far as the eye could see. A brand new chain and padlock secured the gate to the post, its message absolutely clear. Keep out!
The two men climbed over the gate and walked towards the tree line, but hadn’t got within a hundred metres when a man emerged from the trees and walked towards them. Brandon and Murray slowed but continued walking.
The man was dressed in lightweight green trousers and a waxed Barbour jacket, with a pair of green Wellington boots on his feet and a deerstalker hat on his head in an obvious attempt to meet the clichéd uniform of a gamekeeper, however, it was the shotgun cradled in the man’s arm that focussed their attention.
‘Can I help you?’ asked the man.
‘Yes, I’m looking for a convent,’ said Brandon, ‘I was told it was somewhere up here.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said the man, ‘This is private property and I have to ask you to leave.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ said Brandon, ‘I didn’t realise. It’s just that I am doing some research for a book and was wondering what is actually up there.’
‘Nothing that concerns you,’ said the man, ‘Now if you don’t mind.’ He pointed back down the track, making the instruction to leave crystal clear.
‘What’s your problem?’ asked Murray to the gamekeeper, ‘We won’t cause any damage, can’t you allow us half an hour? You’re boss wouldn’t need to know.’
The man took a few paces towards him.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘You have climbed over a locked gate and are on private property. I have already explained that we cannot help you. Now, I will ask you one more time to leave. Otherwise, I will have you removed by force.’
‘Oh yeah,’ snapped Murray, ‘I don’t see any signs saying private property, so I can walk wherever I damn well want to.’
‘Really, well this says otherwise,’ said the man un-cradling the shotgun.
‘Oh for fuck sake,’ said Murray, ‘Like you’re going to shoot us just for trespassing.’
Brandon grabbed his arm, holding the taxi driver back. As the gamekeeper had un-cradled his shotgun, his jacket had swung open slightly and he had seen the strap of a shoulder holster.
‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ he said, ‘You heard the man, it’s private property. Come on, let’s go.’
‘Listen to your friend,
stupid
,’ said the game keeper with a sneer, ‘Or you may get hurt.’
‘No problem,’ said Brandon with a smile, ‘Sorry for bothering you, come on Murray, let’s go to the pub.’ He pulled the reluctant taxi driver and walked back down the path, closely followed by the gamekeeper. Five minutes later they were driving back down the road towards the town.
‘Do you believe that Pratt?’ snarled Murray, ‘Gamekeeper my arse, nothing more than a jumped up gardener as far as I am concerned.’
‘He was no gamekeeper,’ said Brandon looking out of the window.
‘Looked like one to me,’ said Murray, ‘Even had all the clobber.’
‘He did,’ said Brandon, ‘But I’ve never seen a gamekeeper wearing Ray-Bans, have you?’
Murray looked in the rear view mirror.
‘Yeah, I noticed that too,’ he said, ‘And he had a strange accent.’
‘Italian!’ said Brandon.
‘So who do you think he was?’ asked Murray, ‘Some sort of security guard?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Brandon, ‘But I intend to find out. Stop here.’
‘But we’re in the middle of nowhere,’ answered the driver
‘Pull over,’ said Brandon, ‘There’s something I want you to do for me.’ A few minutes later, they were both stood alongside the taxi. Brandon was scribbling an address in his notebook.
‘I want you to drive to this address,’ he said, as he wrote. ‘Pick up a bag for me and bring it back here as soon as possible. I have made the arrangements. All you have to do is pick it up. But I need you back here by dark. Do you think you can do it?’
Murray looked at the address.
‘I suppose so,’ he said, ‘But what about you? Forecast says there’s a bad snowstorm coming, you can’t stay out here all day, you’ll freeze your nuts off.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Brandon, ‘Just make sure you get back here as soon as you can.’
‘Okay,’ said Murray, ‘But then we are done. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ said Brandon, ‘Now go. My number is on the pad. Ring me when you’re on the way back.’
He watched the taxi disappear down the lane before climbing over a stile and making his way back up the hill, keeping close to the hedgerow to avoid being seen.
In the car, Murray glanced at the address on the pad. ‘Oxford,’ he read.
----
Brandon walked around the hill, keeping to hedgerows and dead ground wherever possible until he found a relatively sheltered area overlooking the track leading into the forest. For hours he watched the gate, catching occasional sightings of the two security guards located just within the forest edge. Throughout the afternoon a few vehicles drove passed into the forest, including two cars and a white transit van. The van in particular caught his eye, as, unlike the cars, it was quite old with an odd door on the passenger side, obviously the result of an amateur repair. He watched for a few more hours before making his way back down the hill and waiting in a small copse, huddling beneath his coat as the temperature dropped. After what seemed like an age, his phone vibrated and his head sprung from his chest where he had dropped off into a light sleep.