said. ‘Mrs Fairly, is anything wrong?’
‘I hope not, Sister.’ The voice sounded doubtful, died into a crackle and came back, blurred by atmospherics. ‘New lay— remembered where— not willing to trouble Father with— ten tomorrow?’
‘Ten tomorrow then.’ Sister Joan heard the click of the receiver at the other end before she had finished speaking.
Mother Dorothy frowned slightly when her permission was sought.
‘Your reason for driving into town is a purely practical one, Sister,’ she said reprovingly. ‘I do think, particularly during Lent, that social contacts should be kept to an absolute minimum.’
‘Mrs Fairly sounded troubled, Mother. I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise.’
‘She has two priests living in the same house if her trouble is a spiritual one,’ Mother Dorothy said.
‘Shall I telephone her and tell her that I can’t meet her then?’ Sister Joan asked meekly.
‘Since you seem to have made some kind of arrangement,’ Mother Dorothy said, her voice edged with thick frost, ‘then you had better go, I suppose. Certainly it’s not very sensible to start running up telephone bills. You’ll tell me if the matter concerns the community, of course.’
‘Yes, Mother Dorothy.’
‘If it does not then you really ought not to concern yourself with it,’ Mother Dorothy was continuing. ‘You are scarcely qualified to offer personal advice, Sister.’
‘No, Mother, I’ll make that clear to Mrs Fairly,’ Sister Joan said.
‘I was going to send Sister Jerome into town with you when you next went so that you could acquaint her with the shops we patronize. Apparently she has a current driving licence and will be able to take the burden of marketing off your shoulders, but if you are requested to meet Mrs Fairly you’d better go in alone.’
‘I don’t think,’ Sister Joan ventured, ‘that Sister Jerome would enjoy trips into town, Mother.’
‘Since you know nothing whatsoever about Sister Jerome’s likes and dislikes,’ Mother Dorothy said coldly,‘you really are not in a position to pass an opinion, Sister Joan.’
‘No, Mother.’
‘You had better go and check that the correct seasonings have been added to our supper,’ Mother Dorothy said, dismissing her.
‘Yes, Mother.’
Feeling less chastened than she might have done Sister Joan withdrew, distinctly cheered by the faint twinkle in her superior’s eyes.
Supper was palatable despite the boiled cabbage. Whether Sister Jerome had added anything or not to her own was impossible to tell since she never altered the stony expression on her face.
‘You will all have heard by now,’ Mother Dorothy said at the conclusion of the meal, ‘about the act of vandalism perpetrated in the grounds. I have, naturally, asked if any of you heard or saw anything and I’ve talked over the problem with Father Stephens. He agrees with me that it would be useless to inform the police. By now the culprits are probably a long way off, and even reporting it would involve our local constabulary in a great deal of unnecessary paperwork, so for the moment we will keep it to ourselves. I would ask you to be vigilant, however. If you notice any strangers in the grounds do please inform either Sister Perpetua or myself.’
The community filed into recreation which, it being Lent, was more subdued than usual. Not, reflected Sister Joan, that recreation at any time was a riot of pleasure. Conversation was expected to be general with no personal details referred to and fingers were expected to keep busy with knitting or sewing.
She was tired by the time the last blessing had been given, the postulants speeded on their way with Sister Hilaria, Alice let out for the last time, the doors and the windows locked and checked, the few lights thatremained burning in chapel and hall reduced to a dim red glow. The storm which had threatened seemed to have passed without breaking but the sky was a peculiar leaden shade with no trace of a moon.
‘I hope not, Sister.’ The voice sounded doubtful, died into a crackle and came back, blurred by atmospherics. ‘New lay— remembered where— not willing to trouble Father with— ten tomorrow?’
‘Ten tomorrow then.’ Sister Joan heard the click of the receiver at the other end before she had finished speaking.
Mother Dorothy frowned slightly when her permission was sought.
‘Your reason for driving into town is a purely practical one, Sister,’ she said reprovingly. ‘I do think, particularly during Lent, that social contacts should be kept to an absolute minimum.’
‘Mrs Fairly sounded troubled, Mother. I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise.’
‘She has two priests living in the same house if her trouble is a spiritual one,’ Mother Dorothy said.
‘Shall I telephone her and tell her that I can’t meet her then?’ Sister Joan asked meekly.
‘Since you seem to have made some kind of arrangement,’ Mother Dorothy said, her voice edged with thick frost, ‘then you had better go, I suppose. Certainly it’s not very sensible to start running up telephone bills. You’ll tell me if the matter concerns the community, of course.’
‘Yes, Mother Dorothy.’
‘If it does not then you really ought not to concern yourself with it,’ Mother Dorothy was continuing. ‘You are scarcely qualified to offer personal advice, Sister.’
‘No, Mother, I’ll make that clear to Mrs Fairly,’ Sister Joan said.
‘I was going to send Sister Jerome into town with you when you next went so that you could acquaint her with the shops we patronize. Apparently she has a current driving licence and will be able to take the burden of marketing off your shoulders, but if you are requested to meet Mrs Fairly you’d better go in alone.’
‘I don’t think,’ Sister Joan ventured, ‘that Sister Jerome would enjoy trips into town, Mother.’
‘Since you know nothing whatsoever about Sister Jerome’s likes and dislikes,’ Mother Dorothy said coldly,‘you really are not in a position to pass an opinion, Sister Joan.’
‘No, Mother.’
‘You had better go and check that the correct seasonings have been added to our supper,’ Mother Dorothy said, dismissing her.
‘Yes, Mother.’
Feeling less chastened than she might have done Sister Joan withdrew, distinctly cheered by the faint twinkle in her superior’s eyes.
Supper was palatable despite the boiled cabbage. Whether Sister Jerome had added anything or not to her own was impossible to tell since she never altered the stony expression on her face.
‘You will all have heard by now,’ Mother Dorothy said at the conclusion of the meal, ‘about the act of vandalism perpetrated in the grounds. I have, naturally, asked if any of you heard or saw anything and I’ve talked over the problem with Father Stephens. He agrees with me that it would be useless to inform the police. By now the culprits are probably a long way off, and even reporting it would involve our local constabulary in a great deal of unnecessary paperwork, so for the moment we will keep it to ourselves. I would ask you to be vigilant, however. If you notice any strangers in the grounds do please inform either Sister Perpetua or myself.’
The community filed into recreation which, it being Lent, was more subdued than usual. Not, reflected Sister Joan, that recreation at any time was a riot of pleasure. Conversation was expected to be general with no personal details referred to and fingers were expected to keep busy with knitting or sewing.
She was tired by the time the last blessing had been given, the postulants speeded on their way with Sister Hilaria, Alice let out for the last time, the doors and the windows locked and checked, the few lights thatremained burning in chapel and hall reduced to a dim red glow. The storm which had threatened seemed to have passed without breaking but the sky was a peculiar leaden shade with no trace of a moon.
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