St. Peter's Finger

chapter 8

retrospect

“And from these springs strange inundations flow

To drown the sea-marks of humanity.”

fulke greville, lord brooke: The Nature of a True Religion.

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It was the time of the afternoon break. Mrs. Bradley stood in the school grounds and watched the girls come out. With them came two nuns to supervise the recreation period. The girls came out with decorous quietness, but soon conversation became animated, groups formed, the see-saw and the netball posts were requisitioned, and girls linked arms to walk about. Some went up to talk to the nuns, but Mrs. Bradley decided that this was too good an opportunity to be wasted, so she, too, joined the group. The girls made way for her politely, and drifted off. The nuns bowed and smiled.

“I believe,” said Mrs. Bradley, “that when visiting mistresses take lessons, it is the custom for some of you to be in attendance.”

The nuns bowed again. Mrs. Bradley, remembering the curious silences and clipped-off conversation of Mother Ambrose and Mother Jude, proceeded:

“May I have your names, please, for my note-book?”

“I am Sister Saint Timothy,” said the elder of the two.

“I am Sister Saint Dominic,” said the slightly younger one. Mrs. Bradley wrote down the names, putting Mother, instead of Sister, as the title, a complimentary manœuvre which the nuns received with smiles, and then said briskly:

“On the afternoon that Ursula Doyle was found dead, the orphans had extra netball. Which of you supervised that game?”

The sisters lowered their eyes, and concentrated deeply on the question. Mother Timothy spoke first.

“I do not think anybody did.”

“There was no arrangement,” said Mother Dominic, “It was something quite out of the ordinary, you see, for Miss Bonnet to take the game then.”

“Do you know how long the game lasted?”

Neither of them knew that.

“Miss Bonnet will be here again on Thursday,” volunteered Mother Timothy. “She took the game. She will know.”

As soon as the break was over, the nuns, with further bows and smiles, went in, and Mrs. Bradley, watching them go, decided that the time had come to ask a few questions of the orphans with whom Miss Bonnet had taken the extra netball.

She went first to Mother Ambrose whom she discovered in the dayroom counting sheets. She asked permission to talk to the orphans. Mother Ambrose gave it readily, and offered to send for the children so that Mrs. Bradley could interview them apart from their classmates.

So the fourteen orphans who had had the extra netball practice were paraded in the Orphanage day-room, and stood in a deferential semi-circle to be questioned. Mother Ambrose remained in the room with the lay-sister who was helping to check the laundry count, but she removed herself to a courteous distance from the questioner.

“Now, children,” said Mrs. Bradley, “sit down and answer me carefully.”

They sat on the floor in silence, and fixed their eyes upon the middle button of her blouse.

“You remember last Monday dinner time when Miss Bonnet kindly took you for extra netball? At what time was that game over?”

“Two o’clock, madam,” they replied, more or less in chorus.

“And what did you all do then?”

“If you please, madam, we all went and washed,” volunteered a child of thirteen.

“And what did Miss Bonnet do while you had all gone to wash?”

“She came with us to see there’s no noise,” said a twelve-year-old.

“How long did it take you to wash?”

They could not answer that with any certainty.

“What did you do when you had washed?”

“We went in school and learnt our spellings ready for half-past two,” said the girl who had spoken first.

“Who was with you, then, until half-past two?” It turned out that no one was ever with them at that time. From one o’clock until two they had recreation, and then from about ten past two until half past, whilst the Community went to Vespers, the children were set to learn some piece of work or other in the classroom, and lessons proper began at half-past two, when the nuns came back from church.

“Who generally supervises the games on Monday dinner times?” was Mrs. Bradley’s next question.

“If you please, madam, nobody don’t. We plays by ourselves of a dinner time. Reverend Mother Superior put it to us to be good, and let Mother Saint Ambrose have a rest.”

“Oh, I see. That’s a very good idea. So you always look after yourselves from one o’clock until two, and then in the classroom from two until half-past two?”

When they had all been dismissed to go back to their lessons, Mother Ambrose volunteered the information that one of the orphans had been fairly badly hurt during the early part of the game.

“The child who was playing in the centre position fell and hurt herself, and was brought to me here in the Orphanage where I spent about twenty minutes in attending to her injuries,” she said.

Mrs. Bradley took out her note-book.

“How did she come to hurt herself so badly?” she enquired.

“She jumped for the ball at the same time as Miss Bonnet jumped for it. Miss Bonnet, being considerably heavier than the child, got the better of the encounter. The child was knocked down and sustained a fair number of abrasions, which I bathed, anointed and bound up. By the time I had finished, the game, I think, was over. Sister Saint Jude came over from the guest-house and gave me some assistance, I remember.”

“Miss Bonnet played centre, then, did she?”

“Oh, no. She always said that no one could direct the game from the centre position. When she took part in the games, she always played against the shooter.”

“Inside the goal circle?”

“Yes, with her whistle between her teeth, which always seemed to me dangerous.”

“The child was not badly hurt, then?”

“No, but the asphalt is rough. If the players fall they always cut their hands and knees. Then they must darn their stockings. It is all good training for life.”

Mrs. Bradley digested what was to her a novel view, and then asked:

“You came out into the playground, perhaps, before Vespers?”

“Certainly. Five minutes, I should think, before time, to make sure that the game was over and the children had gone off to wash.”

“Thank you, Mother Saint Ambrose. What happened to Miss Bonnet between the end of the game at about five minutes to two, then, and the time when she went for her bath, so very much later?”

“She had asked permission, I understand, of Sister Saint Francis, as the afternoon was at her own disposal— she would ordinarily, but for the holiday, have been at Kelsorrow School—to give some extra gymnastic coaching to some of the girls at the private school.”

“That would have been between two o’clock and two-thirty?”

“Yes. While the Community were in church.”

“I suppose she did give them the coaching?”

“I assume that she did. It is no concern of mine, and I know very little about it, and nothing directly—that is to say, from Miss Bonnet or Sister Saint Francis.”

Mrs. Bradley thanked her again, and then went to find Mother Francis, in order to get permission to speak to one of the girls. She wanted a girl who was friendly with either of the cousins of the dead girl, but not with the dead girl herself. She disliked the necessity for questioning the children at all, and was resolved to cause as little distress as she could.

“Oh, child,” she said, when a girl of twelve was sent out to her, “did you know Ursula Doyle?”

“Yes, a little. Not as well as I know her cousin, though.”

“On the day Ursula died Miss Bonnet gave extra teaching to some of the girls in the gymnasium, didn’t she?”

“Yes. I was one, and Ursula was supposed to have been another. Then there were two of the sixth form, and a girl who is terribly good. The rest of us had the extra coaching because we’re fairly bad at gym, and Miss Bonnet wanted to improve us before the drill inspection.”

“Drill inspection?”

“All this Keep Fit—-you know. They send people round to the schools. Miss Bonnet was very anxious to have us make a good impression.”

“She seems a hard-working young woman.”

“Oh, she’s ever so keen. I wish I could do P.T. better. It’s lovely for the girls who can. She took us individually. I was the last one she came to.”

“How do you mean—individually?”

“She gave us all an exercise to get on with, and then she went the rounds and put each one right in what she was doing.”

“You were all in the gymnasium at once?”

“Oh, yes. One had rope-climbing, another the parallel bars, two others had to practise the box work, with two more acting as supports, somebody else had ribs tails, and I had the balancing form because my balance is so frightful.”

“And Miss Bonnet was with you all the time up to half-past two?”

“Well, twenty-five past. She was quite disappointed she couldn’t have us for longer.”

“I see. Yes, thank you, child.” The girl went back to her class, and Mrs. Bradley went back to Mother Francis.

“I would like to question all the girls who took extra physical training with Miss Bonnet last Monday afternoon between two o’clock and two-thirty,” she said.

Mother Francis looked at her in perplexity.

“But no one took extra physical training then.”

“I have just been told that Miss Bonnet took a few girls—half a dozen or so—for extra gymnastic work on that day at that time.”

“Oh, well, she may have done so, then. There is no reason why she should not, if she had the time to spare. Only—I knew nothing about it.”

“Mother Saint Francis, are you certain?”

“Perfectly certain. Does it matter?”

“I don’t know. The child who told me about it certainly thought that your permission had been given.”

“My permission was hardly necessary in the circumstances, except that it would have been more courteous to ask for it. That would not occur to Miss Bonnet, I daresay.”

“Except also that I thought the girls were always supervised when they were in the charge of visiting mistresses,” Mrs. Bradley remarked.

“Yes—the whole form. But an extra piece of recreational work is not, perhaps, quite the same thing. Nevertheless, I am glad you have found out about it. On Thursday, when she comes again, I will have a word with Miss Bonnet. She is very zealous. I suppose she did not think.”

“One could almost imagine she thought very hard,” said Mrs. Bradley. Mother Francis looked at her, but if she felt any curiosity it went ungratified, for Mrs. Bradley remarked:

“May I ask you not to mention the matter to Miss Bonnet just at present?”

Mother Francis gave the promise, and also gave permission for the girls who had participated in the extra physical training to be questioned.

The girls—there were nine of them—were unanimous in the assertion that Miss Bonnet had been with them until two-thirty or just before.

“And Ursula Doyle?” said Mrs. Bradley. They agreed that she had not been there.

“What happened when the practice was over?”

“We dashed to wash.”

“Was Ursula Doyle with you then?”

They looked at one another, and one by one replied that they could not remember. At last one child burst out:

“I’m sure she wasn’t! There are only six basins, and Kathleen and I shared one, and so did the two third form girls, and the rest had one basin each, so Ursula couldn’t have been there, and, anyway, she hadn’t been at the practice. Miss Bonnet didn’t seem to notice her absence, though. But, really, she was such a little quiet thing we hardly ever noticed whether she was with us or not, so I don’t suppose Miss Bonnet noticed, either.”

“And what did Miss Bonnet do after she had left you?” Mrs. Bradley enquired.

“She went to the Orphanage, I think. At least, she said she was going there. She said that one of the children had been hurt playing netball. She said, too, that she felt very dirty, but that it was much too soon after lunch to have a bath, although Mother Saint Jude had promised her one in the guest-house as soon as she was ready,” said one of the girls.

Mrs. Bradley went back to Mother Francis.

“Where would Mother Saint Ambrose have got the impression that you had given permission for the girls to have that extra gymnastic instruction?” she demanded.

“No doubt from the girls themselves. Sister Saint Ambrose is a great favourite in the private school. She does not teach the girls there, and that gives her a certain distinction in their eyes.” She paused, and then added, with the disquieting naïveté of the religious: “To her I am indebted for all sorts of information which I should not otherwise obtain.”

Mrs. Bradley, English enough to feel uncomfortable at the thought that Mother Ambrose could be guilty of breach of confidence, did not reply to this. Instead she said:

“Did Miss Bonnet spend time at the Orphanage between two-thirty and the time she went across to the guest-house for her bath, Mother Saint Francis, do you know?”

“I have no idea. It seems possible, as she had been taking the netball game with the orphans.”

“She did not go to the guest-house until half-past three or so, did she?”

“I believe not. It was after four o’clock when I received the news that the child was dead.”

“That allows for the interval during which they were trying artificial respiration, telephoning the doctor, and so on.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Mother Francis agreed. “But to obtain a full report of her movements I am afraid you will have to go to see her at Kelsorrow School or wait until she comes here again on Thursday. She lives in Kelsorrow. I do not know her private address or I would give it you.”

“There is no particular hurry,” said Mrs. Bradley. School finished for all the children at twenty past four. Tea at the guest-house was at half-past four, so Mrs. Bradley missed it in order to question the child who had been injured in the game of netball.

She proved to be a big, strongly-made girl of fourteen. The scars of her injuries were still visible, and she showed them with obvious pride.

“Dear me!” said Mrs. Bradley, examining with very great interest the marks of battle. “You must have had a very bad fall.”

“I did, madam. Didn’t half hurt.”

“Yes, I should say it did. Do all you children come from London?”

“Mostly, except for the Irish. And lots of them are London born. Father Thomas sends us, mostly, and helps to pay for some of us, too and all.”

“He must be a very wealthy man.”

“He’s rich in good works, madam,” the child quaintly responded, “and his place is prepared in heaven.”

As this proposition was unarguable, Mrs. Bradley accepted it with a nod. She had heard much from her son about Father Thomas and his London-Irish flock.

“Now, how long were you out of school on the afternoon that this happened?” she asked, pressing a kneecap delicately with her long, thin, yellow fingers. “That hurt? Yes, and you limp a bit still, don’t you? You ought to rest that leg. I’ll see Mother Saint Ambrose about it.”

“I never went in school that afternoon. I couldn’t walk, and the classrooms are up the stairs,” the girl responded.

“I see. Who was with you all that time?”

“At first, when Miss Bonnet carried me in, Mother Saint Ambrose came. Then Mother Saint Jude, she came. Then they had to go, and Miss Bonnet came, but she didn’t stop very long.”

“How long?”

“Not hardly five minutes. Then she said: ‘Oh, lor! I’d forgotten those private school kids. You’ll be all right here, won’t you?’ So I said I would, and she give me a comic, what I shoved away under the cushion if I heard any steps, because we’re never allowed to have comics because Mother Saint Ambrose says they’re low and wicked, although the lay-sister winks the other eye—”

“So Miss Bonnet left you and went to the private school. Did she come back later on?”

“Just poked her head in at half-past two, and asked me how I was, but my belief she meant to bunk straight off again, only we heard Mother Saint Ambrose coming back, so Miss Bonnet took a seat and never moved off it until Mother Saint Ambrose had gone off to check all the laundry.”

“Does she check the laundry every Monday afternoon?”

“Yes, to see what we’ve tore, and whether we’ve kept ourself clean. She tells by the pillow-cases mostly.”

“I understand. What does she do, then, on Monday mornings?”

“She learns us in school.”

“I see.”

“The private school washing gets done of a Monday, you see, and ourn gets done of a Tuesday.”

“Ah, yes. I understand. Did Miss Bonnet come back any more?”

“Yes, popped her head in about playtime, and asked how I was, and said she was going to ask for a bath and go home. She said she was ever so sorry she knocked me down, and give me a tanner, and then she hopped it. She never came in any more.”

“Thank you very much, my dear. What’s your name?”

“Minnie Botolph.”

“I see.” Mrs. Bradley wrote it down and added a note. “Now mind you rest that leg. There’s slight fluid, and we must disperse it. Have you had the doctor?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I said it never hurt.”

“Silly to say that when it does.”

“Don’t want no doctor messing me about.”

“Probably not. You sit where you are for a little while, anyway, Minnie, and I’ll go and talk to Mother Saint Ambrose.”

“Want me tea,” said Minnie, sotto voce, to Mrs. Bradley’s back. Her tea and Mother Saint Ambrose came in seven minutes later. Mrs. Bradley walked into Hiversand Bay and had tea and buttered toast at the hotel.