The Religious Body by Catherine Aird Read Free Book Online Page A

There’s about four of them that gives me orders. The rest don’t bother me much.”
    â€œWhen did you leave last night?”
    â€œShort of five somewhere. Can’t do much in the dark.”
    â€œNice type,” observed Crosby on their way back.
    â€œAnd four doors,” said Sloan morosely, “and about thirty windows.”
    Sister Gertrude was having a bad day. First, though no one had mentioned it, she was deeply conscious of her neglect in ignoring Sister Anne’s empty cell. And now she was troubled about something else. As a nervous postulant she had fondly imagined that there would be no worries in a Convent, that the way would be clear and that obedience to the Rule would make following that way, if not easy, then at least straightforward.
    It seemed she was wrong—or was she?
    No nun was meant to carry worries that properly belonged to the Reverend Mother. Her instructions were simple. The Reverend Mother was to be told of them and her ruling was absolute. Then the Sister concerned need worry no longer.
    What they had omitted to pontificate on, thought Sister Gertrude, was at what point a worry became substantial enough for communicating to the Reverend Mother. What was bothering her was just an uneasy thought.
    It had cropped up after luncheon. There was no proper recreation until the early evening, but after their meal there was a brief relaxation of the silence in which they worked. It lasted for about fifteen minutes until they resumed their duties for the afternoon. And the person who had been speaking to her in it was Sister Damien.
    In the tradition of the Convent an empty place was left at the refectory table where Sister Anne had always sat, her napkin laid alongside it. It would be so for seven days and then the ranks of nuns would close up as if she had never been. And Sister Damien and Sister Michael who had sat for several years on either side of Sister Anne would now for the rest of their mortal lives sit next to each other instead at meals, in Chapel, and in everything else they did as a Community.
    â€œI think we will have our cloister now,” Sister Damien had remarked as they tidied up the refectory together.
    â€œOur cloister? Now?” Sister Gertrude stopped and looked at her. The Convent had always lacked a cloister but to build one as they would have liked by joining up two back wings of the house was well beyond their means. “We shall need one very badly if they build next door, but where will the money come from?”
    Sister Damien assiduously chased a few wayward crumbs along one of the tables. “Sister Anne.”
    â€œSister Anne?”
    Sister Damien pinned down another crumb with her thin hand. “She knew we wanted a cloister.”
    â€œWe all knew we wanted a cloister,” said Sister Gertrude with some asperity. “It’s very difficult in winter without one, but that doesn’t mean to say that …”
    â€œSister Anne was to come into some money and she’s left it to us.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œShe told me,” said Sister Damien simply. “She didn’t have a dowry but she knew she was going to have this money some day.”
    Sister Gertrude pursed her lips. Money was never mentioned in the ownership sense in the Convent. In calculating wants and needs and ways and means, yes, but never relating to a particular Sister. And the size of a dowry was a matter between the Mother Superior and the Novice.
    â€œSo we’ll be able to have our cloister now and it won’t matter about the building,” went on Sister Damien, oblivious of the effect she was creating. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
    Sister Gertrude busied herself straightening a chair. “Yes,” she said in as neutral a voice as she could manage. “Except for Sister Anne.”
    Sister Damien wheeled round and caught her arm. “But she is in Heaven, Sister. You don’t regret