Vow of Obedience (2 page)

‘Are you going to linger on the doorstep all day, Sister Joan?’ she enquired with a touch of acid.

‘I beg your pardon, Mother.’ Sister Joan went hastily up the shallow steps to the hall and received the kiss of peace from her purple-habited superior.

The rule that the one elected as prioress for the term of five years, no sister being allowed to serve more than two consecutive terms, wore purple and thereafter wore purple
ribbon on her sleeve, one stripe for each five-year term, was strictly kept. Sister Joan who had never aspired to any particular office recognized her own limitations of character as Mother Dorothy said, ‘I assume you had some notion of begging a lift which is not very wise in this day and age, or did you splash out money on a taxi? Never mind, you will want to visit the Blessed Sacrament immediately. You can take your bags up later.’

What she really craved, she thought guiltily, was a good strong cup of tea. That only proved that even after her period of retreat she fell far short of perfection.

‘Thank you, Mother.’

Turning right, passing the small parlour with its grille dividing it from the equally modest visitors’ parlour on the other side, she made her way down the narrow passage to the chapel. It had once been the family chapel and the side door was kept unlocked until dark lest any lay member of the local community might care to visit.

The chapel retained its intimate atmosphere with the candles casting a gentle radiance over the carved altar and the pews where the nuns kept their several places. At the left, at the foot of the spiral stairs giving access to the library and the storerooms above, stood a statue of the Blessed Virgin, its tinted plaster slightly faded, a vase of chrysanthemums at its feet. Sister Joan, who had a sneaking liking for the flower though Sister David complained it was an untidy bloom, blessed herself from the holy water stoup and splashed a little on to the wilting bronze petals.

Sliding into her accustomed seat, folding her hands, she felt the tiny flare of irritation that Mother Dorothy so often roused in her flicker and die. It was, after all, only fitting to greet the Master of the house immediately. She bowed her head and thanked Him for a safe journey and for the benefits of her recent retreat.
*

She prayed briefly for the other sisters, living and dead, and added on impulse a request that the missing girl – what was her name? Yes, Valerie Pendon – might turn up safe and sound. According to the posters she’d been missing for three days. Three days was a long time, time for almost anything to
have happened. She curbed her straying imagination, murmured a Hail Mary and rose from her knees, the craving for a hot cup of tea returning almost as soon as she was back in the corridor again.

Her next duty was to report to Mother Prioress. She went across to the antechamber and tapped on the parlour door.

‘Enter.’ Mother Dorothy never kept anyone waiting.
‘Dominus
vobiscum.’

The familiar greeting that never altered when one entered the parlour. Sinking to her knees Sister Joan responded respectfully,
‘Et
cum
spiritu
sancto.’

‘Sit down, Sister.’ Mother Dorothy nodded towards the stools ranged before the severe flat-topped desk on which she conducted her letter writing and other business.

This had once been the drawing-room. Taking her place on a stool, back straight, feet together, hands lightly clasped, according to rule, Sister Joan kept her eyes firmly on her prioress with no sideways glance at the silk paper on the walls, the long panels of faded and exquisite tapestry. Now no carpet covered the bare polished floor and the furniture was utilitarian but the beauty of the room shone through.

‘Did you have a good retreat, Sister?’ Mother Dorothy gave her an expectant look.

‘In many ways, yes, Mother Prioress. It was cold and lonely at times, but the loneliness was never empty. I found that I actually met several local people, which I did enjoy.’

‘And your example may have inspired some of them to consider the deeper aspects of life.’

Sister Joan rather doubted that but bowed her head meekly.

‘And you did some painting?’ Mother Dorothy looked at her.

‘Yes, Mother. In my case. Unsigned.’ For the life of her she couldn’t repress a faint sigh after the last word.

‘We shall find time to look at them later,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘Some of them may be good enough to be sold at the Christmas fair.’

How Jacob would mock if he could hear those words. Jacob, with his keen, clever, Semitic face, his scorn of those who wasted or threw away their talents.

‘Never sell yourself short even if you’re not a
Michelangelo,’ he had instructed her. ‘And always be proud of what you do. Art is above all the expression of the artist’s own personality.’

‘Personality must be checked and repressed to a certain degree,’ Mother Agnes had advised. ‘It cannot be entirely eradicated; nobody would wish that, but we must avoid singularity.’

Sister Joan doubted if that counsel of perfection would ever be achieved by her. However there was no point in worrying about it now. She murmured, ‘Thank you, Mother.’

‘Have you any particular observations on our Scottish retreat?’ the other wanted to know.

‘You do know there’s a steep climb up to it? It would be impossible for older members of the community to make the climb regularly.’

‘That point has been made by several other sisters,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘It may be time for us to consider another site, but that will be a matter for consultation among all our houses. You look well, Sister, despite the rigours you have undergone. Ready to begin your tasks in the community again?’

‘And glad to be home,’ Sister Joan said warmly. ‘How is Sister David managing at the school or did you decide to defer the opening?’

‘The school is closed.’

‘Then I’d like permission to spend a day cleaning out before we reopen. After such a long break there’ll be dust an inch deep.’

‘Permanently closed,’ said Mother Dorothy.

‘Perm … I don’t understand.’ Sister Joan looked at her blankly. ‘You always said the school fulfilled a real need.’

‘It wasn’t my decision, Sister,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘The new education rules, with the national curriculum and endless series of tests make schools like the Moor School superfluous – or so the education authorities inform me. The children are being bussed into Bodmin.’

‘Which is ridiculous!’ Sister Joan’s face flushed indignantly. ‘Don’t they understand that the Romany children will start truanting if they’re thrust into the Bodmin school? They come to me because we’ve built up a pleasant relationship. They get as much education in the Moor School as they’d get
anywhere else, probably more because they get individual attention. We know the families, the way they think. Officialdom can be so – so …’

‘Officious?’ Mother Dorothy smiled slightly. ‘I agree with you, Sister, but we have no real grounds on which to make a stand. The number of pupils affected is very small indeed, and you know that when they get older they are already obliged to enter the larger schools.’

‘But what about the trust? The Tarquins founded it for a school.’

‘I am in touch with lawyers,’ Mother Dorothy said. ‘It may be possible to convert the trust into something else that would benefit the community. The school building is sound and then there are the books and desks and teaching aids. Something can be worked out, I’m sure.’

Sister Joan was silent. She hadn’t realized until this moment how much she had enjoyed teaching, how close she had become to her pupils. Riding to school on Lilith, the placid pony, every morning she had relished the hours of freedom when she had been in charge of her little world. To have to give it up and submit herself to the cloistered life entirely was a blow for which she was unprepared.

‘You did some very good work there,’ Mother Dorothy was continuing. ‘You have every right to feel proud of that, Sister. I understand that you feel you have a responsibility to the children, but your first responsibility must be to God and the community. And you need not fear that we will leave you without occupation. After your retreat you will be ready for some practical work, I’m sure.’

‘Yes, of course, Mother.’ Sister Joan felt more cheerful.

‘My main concern is how to use you in the best possible way,’ the prioress was considering thoughtfully. ‘There is one area where you would be most useful but I wonder how you would feel about it yourself. You have been Mary. Perhaps it is time for you to be Martha for a while. I mean that as we have no lay sister at the moment you could fill that gap until we can obtain one.’

The lay sisters did most of the cooking and shopping; they kept earlier hours and went to bed later than others in the convent. They slept in the two cells that led off the kitchen. At present there were no lay sisters at the Cornwall House.
Women who chose the religious life generally preferred to enter the cloister proper in an order like the Daughters of Compassion.

‘It would not,’ said Mother Dorothy with delicate irony, ‘be a demotion. Sister Perpetua has been doing most of the work but she has her infirmary duties.’

‘I would be very happy to take over the duties of lay sister,’ Sister Joan said, curbing her enthusiasm prudently. ‘I must warn you that my cooking isn’t very good – and that’s an understatement.’

‘We are always in need of extra penances,’ Mother Dorothy said, her mouth twitching slightly. ‘Fortunately Sister Teresa can cook. As novice she must not, of course, take her full place in the activities of the community until she has made her perpetual vows. However she can be of use in the kitchen.’

‘Thank you, Mother.’

‘Your things will be moved to the lay sister’s cell,’ Mother Dorothy said, making the small gesture that signified the end of the interview.

‘May I have leave to ride over to the school before chapel?’ Sister Joan asked. ‘I’d like to pick up a few things and …’

‘Take a somewhat sentimental farewell? Be back in time for chapel, please. Punctuality hasn’t been waived during your absence.’

‘Yes, Mother. Thank you.’

She waited until she was outside the parlour door before she allowed herself to grin with delight. Mother Dorothy, for all her prissy ways, knew her nuns. The prospect of being able to go shopping in the car without asking for special leave, of having some precious time to herself in which to let her mind roam while her hands busied themselves with mundane tasks.

‘So you’re back.’ Sister Perpetua, reddish eyebrows arched, clumped through from the back premises. ‘Has Mother Prioress told you?’

‘About the school being closed? Yes, it was a shock.’

‘Trust the government for that,’ Sister Perpetua said with a sniff. ‘Always sticking their fingers in the pie.’

‘But I am to take over the duties of lay sister.’

‘Leaving me free to get on with my infirmary and leaving you free to do the cooking? I call that a mixed blessing.’

‘Sister Teresa is to do most of the cooking,’ Sister Joan assured her.

‘Then my pills and potions won’t be needed so often,’ Sister Perpetua said. ‘So how was Scotland?’

‘Beautiful,’ Sister Joan said simply. ‘I painted some pictures there.’

‘Let’s hope Mother allows us to hang one of them up somewhere then. Where are you going now?’

‘Over to the school to give Lilith some exercise. Then I’ll move my things down to the lay cell.’

‘I can do that for you,’ the older nun offered. ‘You have your ride and get your bit of nostalgia over. Don’t stay out after chapel or you’ll blot your copy-book before you’ve been back five minutes.’

‘Sometimes,’ said Sister Joan, ‘I have the feeling that those words will be the first addressed to me by Saint Peter when I arrive at the heavenly gates.’

Sister Perpetua gave a harsh bark of laughter. ‘And if you arrive at the other place, which God forbid, I daresay you’ll be certain of a welcome!’

Sister Perpetua was evidently developing a sense of humour. Sister Joan smiled as she went on into the narrow passage off which the infirmary and dispensary opened before the large kitchen was reached.

She paused to put her head in at the door of the infirmary but the two old nuns who spent most of their time there were both dozing and Sister Perpetua’s loud whisper restrained her.

‘Don’t go bouncing in on Sister Gabrielle and Sister Mary Concepta now, just when I’ve got them settled for a nice little nap before chapel.’

Sister Joan put her hands on her heart and went on through the kitchen to the yard. Lilith, her head stuck over the half door, greeted her with a whinny.

‘Hello, girl. Did you miss your rides?’ Sister Joan lifted down the old saddle and led the pony out. It struck her that she was talking to the horse rather in the same way that Sister Perpetua had talked to her, as if she were ten years old instead of thirty-six. However, since only a sixth of her life had been spent in the religious life she suspected that in many ways she could fairly be regarded as a mere child.

She swung herself up into the saddle and trotted round to the front of the building. The sunshine had been deceptive. The light was beginning to fade and the joined shadows of Lilith and herself were long and thin on the grass. When she rode to school she had a special dispensation to wear jeans under her habit, but at this hour it was scarcely likely that she would meet even a casual walker on the moor.

She urged Lilith into a jog, sensing her mount’s pleasure at being out again. A gentle walk up and down the lawn on a leading rein was the most she could have expected to get from any of the other sisters.

The moor was brown at this end of the year. Unlike Dartmoor with its high, wild crags Bodmin had a brooding, secretive quality of its own. It yielded its beauties reluctantly, like a veiled woman holding back jewels. Here and there a late clump of heather clung to the turf, and the fronds of bracken were tipped with the pale gold of late autumn.

The schoolhouse lay ahead, its walls and roof softened by shadow. She drew rein and dismounted, thinking with real regret of the months she had spent teaching here. She had grown to love the children, had even managed to weld into one class the dark-eyed Romanies and the more stolid offspring of the farmers. She liked to think they had liked her too, but she was too clear headed to imagine she had had any lasting influence on them. They would move on into other schools and forget her.