Vow of Chastity (10 page)

‘For the convent?’ The other allowed her surprise to peep out.

‘No, not exactly. A girl called Kiki Svenson – she worked for the Olives –?’

‘She came very highly recommended,’ the other said.

‘I was surprised to hear from Mrs Olive that she’d left. If she had been dissatisfied she could have come to us and we would have tried to relocate her.’

‘She didn’t come to you?’

‘She stayed barely a month and then took off. Mrs Olive was most put out about it. However we were able to fix her up with a young man just on our books who wishes to spend a year learning to speak English. I do hope –?’

‘Jan Heinz is proving most satisfactory, I understand,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I did wonder if you had Kiki Svenson’s home address. I’d like to get in touch with her – it’s a private matter, you understand. I hardly like to ask Mrs Olive.’

‘Miss Svenson didn’t mention she was a Catholic.’ The woman turned to extract a file from one of the cabinets. ‘Ah, she gave two addresses. Her home address which Mrs Olive will also have and a London address. I believe she mentioned having done some hotel work in London before deciding she would like to sample rural living. I can give you both, Sister.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Sister Joan said, watching the other copy the two addresses. ‘You didn’t contact her yourself after she left?’

‘We had no reason to do so. The girl was of full age and quite competent. Sister, there isn’t anything wrong, is there?’

‘I hope not,’ Sister Joan said as she put the slip of paper in her purse. ‘I do hope not. Thank you.’

Hurrying out, she was aware of the woman’s concerned gaze following her.

Sister Hilaria, looking somewhat paler than even her usual delicate colour, was in the waiting-room, scarf to her face, when Sister Joan arrived.

‘The tooth‚’ she said indistinctly, ‘had to come out. Fortunately it’s a side one and won’t affect my chewing. The dentist said I ought to have a warm drink, so I wonder if we might have one in a local cafe before we drive back?’

‘And a couple of aspirins,’ Sister Joan said, her own jaw beginning to ache in sympathy. ‘There’s a nice cafe just down the street, Sister, and a chemist’s right next door.’

‘I have some pocket money.’ Sister Hilaria looked around as if she expected it to drop out of the sky.

‘My treat. I have some pocket money too.’

The change for Mother Dorothy would go back untouched. Of the five pounds a month given to every sister out of which she could buy small necessities, postage stamps and the like, Sister Joan still had four pounds and sixty pence. Wondering vaguely what she had squandered forty pence on she shepherded Sister Hilaria to the cafe, seated her at a corner table, ordered two coffees, nipped into the chemist to purchase aspirin, and returned, slightly breathless, with the pleasant conviction that living in a convent hadn’t impaired her ability to function in the ordinary world.

‘This is quite a little indulgence,’ Sister Hilaria said happily, fanning her coffee cup with a paper napkin. ‘Really, I feel quite dissipated, Sister. In the nicest possible way, of course. It is almost worth having a tooth out.’

Between her and Sister Margaret there was a great similarity, Sister Joan thought as she sipped her own coffee. Both had the gift of serenity. Nothing marred their private space. She wondered if she would ever achieve the same untroubled purity of spirit.

‘Isn’t that the gentleman who brings fish to the convent?’ Sister Hilaria asked, glancing through the window.

‘It’s Padraic Lee, yes.’ Sister Joan half rose but he had spotted them and was entering the cafe.

‘Sister Joan, I thought as how it was you. Sister.’ Seeing her companion he touched his forelock in an old-fashioned gesture that should have looked
ridiculous
but didn’t.

‘Sister Hilaria is the novice mistress,’ Sister Joan said. ‘She has just had a tooth out.’

‘Nasty.’ He clicked his tongue in sympathy. ‘Sister Joan, I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve been everywhere I can think of to ask but there’s no sign of Petroc. I went back to the camp but nobody’s seen a sign of him. Young Hagar said they took a walk up by the pool last evening but it looked like rain so she came back. She’d had a row with her brother, Conrad, on account of him telling her she didn’t help out sufficient, so she went off in a paddy and met Petroc up by the willows.’

‘And? – please, sit down. I’ll get you a cup of coffee,’ Sister Joan said.

‘Nothing for me, thank you. I’ve a fancy for something stronger to tell you the truth and that’s not like me.’ He pulled up a spare chair and sat down, his brow furrowed. ‘I questioned Hagar close and she said she’d let off steam a bit about Conrad and Petroc said he saw her point of view and then he said he had to go and ran off and she came back to camp.’

‘He didn’t say where he was going?’

‘Not according to Hagar. She called after him that it looked like rain and he called back that he’d soon be under cover. That’s all. Sister, I fear we’ll have to report he’s missing, little though I enjoy meddling with the law.’

‘That’s a very sensible decision,’ Sister Joan approved.

‘In fact I was on my way to the station when I saw you through the window‚’ Padraic continued. ‘I was
wondering
if you might – possibly –?’ He hesitated.

‘You would like Sister Joan to report it‚’ Sister Hilaria said surprisingly.

‘That’s the way of it. Truth is that I’m never –
comfortable
in a police station‚’ he said. ‘Mind, I’ve no criminal record but I never did trust a uniform.’

‘I’m sure Sister Joan would be happy to help out‚’ Sister Hilaria said. ‘If you can wait while I take another aspirin –’

‘Sister Hilaria, you ought to be back at the convent resting, not running around Bodmin‚’ Sister Joan said, observing the other’s increasing pallor with alarm.

‘I fear you are correct, Sister. The injection has
certainly
made me feel not quite myself‚’ Sister Hilaria admitted. ‘Mr Lee, if you would be so kind as to take me back in your vehicle then Sister Joan can follow in the car when she has made her report to the police officers. I will explain the circumstances to Mother Dorothy.’

‘It’s only a lorry‚’ Padraic said doubtfully.

‘Splendid. Sister Joan, thank you for the coffee. Most refreshing. Mr Lee?’ She rose, pulling the scarf up to her swollen cheek, and preceded Padraic to the door.

‘You’ll make it clear, Sister‚’ he lingered to say, ‘that the kids are well looked after? I’d not want them social workers messing round.’

‘I’ll do my best‚’ she promised, and watched him hurry after Sister Hilaria.

The police station was at the corner of the next road, a panda car drawn up outside, the young policeman behind the wheel giving her an incurious glance as she went up the steps. Or had he been as young as all that? Perhaps she was ageing more rapidly than she had fancied.

‘May I help you, Sister?’ The policeman behind the desk was certainly verging on middle age. Sister Joan drew a breath and launched forth.

‘I am Sister Joan from the Order of the Daughters of
Compassion. I also teach at the school up on the moor.’

‘Yes?’ A faint spark of interest had come into his heavy face. Probably he recalled the events of the previous year that had ended so tragically for some.
*

‘One of my pupils has been missing since last evening. His uncle has asked me to report the matter.’

‘Why not come in himself?’

‘The child is from the Romany camp.’

‘A gyppo, eh?’

‘A Romany child,’ she corrected, wincing slightly. ‘I said that I would come in and give you the details.’

‘Right then. Oh, come round and sit down, Sister.’ He lifted the wooden barrier, indicated a chair, and drew a form towards him.

‘The child’s name is Petroc Lee,’ Sister Joan said. ‘He’s twelve years old, tall for his age, slim with dark eyes and hair, olive skin, gold ring in one ear. I don’t know what he was wearing – jeans and sweater, I imagine.’

‘Would his uncle be Padraic Lee?’ The policeman looked up.

‘Yes. The boy’s father is in gaol – a minor offence, I believe, and his mother left. Do you know Mr Lee?’

‘I do and a right – pleasant gentleman he seems to be,’ the policeman said, meeting her steady gaze and obviously amending what he had intended to say.

‘Mr Lee shows a great interest in the welfare of his nephew,’ Sister Joan said. ‘He tells me that he saw the child last evening going off somewhere and assumed when the rain began at midnight that he’d already returned to his own wagon. This morning the wagon was empty with no signs of anyone having slept in it. I went up to the camp myself and, with permission, looked round the wagon myself. Nothing seems to have been taken and he left his money box behind.’

‘And you sorted through everything and left your prints everywhere, Sister?’

‘Prints? Why, yes, I suppose I did but I didn’t think –’

‘The public,’ he said sadly, ‘never does. Go on. Was
his uncle the last person to see him?’

‘His friend, Hagar Smith, another of my pupils, walked with him as far as the trees fringing the pool. He said he had somewhere to go and ran off.’

‘Anything else?’ His biro was poised.

‘Apparently – I have this only at second hand from Mr Lee – Petroc said he’d soon be under cover, referring to the threatened rain which didn’t actually begin until later.’

‘How old is this Hagar?’ He was making notes.

‘Hagar Smith. She’s twelve. Her brother, Conrad, is also in my school.’ Realizing that she was beginning to chatter nervously she bit her lip.

‘It’s not our concern if they haven’t moved on into the secondary school,’ he said. ‘If the education authority’s content they’re getting an adequate education then it’s fine by us. Would you say this Hagar is a truthful child?’

‘She’s never told me a lie to my knowledge.’

‘And the boy? Ever been in trouble?’

‘Not as far as I know. He’s lively.’

‘I don’t suppose you have a photograph?’

She shook her head regretfully. ‘The Romanies are apt to be superstitious about having their photographs taken. His uncle may have one somewhere.’

‘Left it a bit late to report a missing child, haven’t you?’ He was reaching for the telephone.

‘I only learned of it this morning when Mr Lee came over to the school to see if Petroc had turned up there. I gave the children the rest of the day off and went first to the camp – leaving my fingerprints.’ She made an apologetic little gesture. ‘I had to come into town with one of the other sisters who required dental treatment, and we met Mr Lee again. He told me there had been a search but without results and asked me to come here.’

‘Can you let me have a list of your pupils?’ He turned away, talking rapidly into the telephone, giving details of the paper he had just filled in.

‘Why?’ Sister Joan asked when he turned to her again. ‘Why do you need the other names? I’m sure they don’t know anything helpful.’

‘As to that we’ll have to see, won’t we, Sister? If the lad was going somewhere last evening maybe he mentioned something to one of the others. You’ve only got a small school, haven’t you?’

‘Ten pupils when they’re all there.’

‘Yes?’ He had taken another piece of paper and was looking at her expectantly.

‘Mr Lee’s two little girls, Tabitha and Edith, attend. They’re aged six and seven, and they’re cousins to Petroc. Then there’s Petroc himself, and the two Smith children, Conrad and Hagar. The other Romany children are either too young for school or attend the one in Bodmin – when they attend anywhere.’

‘And the other five?’

‘The Penglow children, Madelyn and David come to the school. They’ll both start in Bodmin next term; Timothy Holt, the son of a local farmer – the Penglows are farmers too – Billy Wesley, a bit of a harum scarum but a nice boy, and Samantha Olive – they are newcomers to the district. Samantha is eleven.’

‘Would you be kind enough to jot down their addresses, Sister?’ He passed paper and pen to her, rose and went into an inner room. There was the murmur of voices.

She wrote steadily, finishing just as he returned.

‘All done, Sister? That’ll be very useful.’

‘I’ve added the telephone numbers where there are any,’ she pointed out. ‘Sergeant, I don’t want you to think that because Petroc is a Romany child his relatives are not concerned about him. The children from the camp grow up fast, become self-reliant at an early age, but their families still care.’

‘So,’ said the sergeant, ‘do the police. One more thing, Sister. Could you step into the back and permit us to take your fingerprints for elimination purposes?’

‘Yes, of course. I’m afraid that I simply didn’t think – you’re going to search the wagon? That doesn’t mean –?’

‘It means we’re making routine enquiries. Sister. Don’t start imagining what isn’t there,’ he advised.

She bit back a retort and followed him meekly. A couple of officers were studying a map of the district, glancing up briefly as she went in.

‘Just dip your fingers in this, Sister. You can wash your hands immediately you’ve finished. Officer Lloyd will see to you.’

Obediently she submitted, washed her hands at the small sink in the corner, and stood uncertainly until the desk sergeant came over again.

‘As soon as the lad turns up your prints will be destroyed‚’ he said. ‘No need to worry on that score.’

‘I wasn’t,’ she said with dignity.

‘Now will you want transport home?’ He looked at her with a kindly air. ‘You said you were with another nun?’

‘She got a lift from Mr Lee and I have the convent car here.’

‘The one Sister Margaret drives?’ He raised his eyes briefly to heaven. ‘All right, Sister. Thank you for coming in. Try not to worry.’

As well tell the wind not to blow, she reflected, coming out into the street. Petroc had been missing now for nearly twenty-four hours.

There remained one other task for her to do before she drove back to the convent. She had contemplated mentioning it to the sergeant but his remark about imagining things had effectively silenced her. The trouble was that she might be imagining that something needed to be explained about Kiki Svenson’s abrupt departure from the Olive household.

She walked to the nearest call box, took the slip of paper out of her purse, and dialled the London number. Later on she would think about the fact that she was making a telephone call without permission.

‘Yes?’ The voice at the other end was female, middle-aged, slightly husky.

‘May I speak to Kiki Svenson, please?’

‘If I knew where she was you could‚’ the voice said wearily. ‘I’ve had a procession of boyfriends on the telephone, not to mention her family. Not one word in over a month – and no rent paid.’

‘You knew she went down to Cornwall?’

‘As an au pair? Yes, she mentioned it, asked me to hold her room in case she didn’t like it. Paid a month in advance before she left – and then nothing. It’s not good enough. I don’t rent out bedsitters for fun.’

‘I’m sure you don’t.’ Sister Joan spoke rapidly, afraid the other might hang up. ‘My name is Sister Joan; I’m a nun at the local convent here. If I give you the convent telephone number would you give it to Miss Svenson when she returns and ask her to ring me immediately. It’s important.’

‘I’ll get a pencil,’ the voice at the other end said wearily.

Sister Joan gave the number clearly, repeated her name, assured the landlady that she was sure Kiki would be back soon with an explanation and the missing rent and hung up, the feeling of sickness inside her intensifying. Not a physical sickness but a reaction of her body to mental strain, she thought clinically, and drew several long, satisfying breaths as she came out of the close confines of the kiosk.