but it was a relief to have a bit of a grumble,’ Sister Perpetua said. ‘Did you see Father Malone off all right?’
‘Me and three-quarters of his congregation,’ Sister Joan said.
‘He’s bound to have a wonderful time. What’s the newpriest like? Rosy-cheeked and hearty, I daresay. Priests keep getting younger.’
‘Early forties, I’d say. Serious; very conscious of being a religious.’
‘He’ll get over that,’ Sister Perpetua said. ‘Don’t take your cloak off. I want you to run over to the postulancy for me. Sister Hilaria was supposed to take over a tin of coffee but she left it on the table and if someone doesn’t take it they won’t have a decent breakfast tomorrow.’
‘I’ll take it at once.’ Sister Joan picked up the tin, not bothering to comment on Sister Hilaria’s absentmindedness . To do that would be like remarking that the sun rose in the east.
The novice mistress and her charges had their breakfast over in the postulancy where a small kitchen enabled them to make toast and hot drinks and helped to keep them as separate from the professed nuns as possible. Sister Jerome could easily have taken it across or boiled up the comfrey leaves. Her having to do penance sounded like a feeble excuse.
‘Judge not that ye be not judged,’ she muttered, going out into the cold yard again.
A fine one she was to think ill of others when her own list of faults was growing longer by the minute!
Alice came bounding up from the shrubbery where she had been investigating an abandoned nest, circling Sister Joan’s ankles with shrill little barks of triumph to point out she didn’t have her lead on.
‘Heel! Good girl,’ Sister Joan said hopefully, and Alice promptly bounded off again.
She’d be needing firmer handling soon if she were to earn her place as guard dog, Sister Joan thought, clutching the heavy tin and walking faster.
That was when she saw the branches half lopped through and hanging limply in the still grey air. The great oak tree which had stood for more than a century at the side of the steps leading down into the tenniscourt was deeply scarred, white bark showing where the outer husk of wood had been slashed and cut. Nearby a holly bush with all its branches mangled stood forlorn, its berries trembling like droplets of blood on its desecrated stems.
Four
‘I suppose we can take it that Luther wasn’t responsible?’ Mother Dorothy said.
‘I’m sure he wouldn’t do such a thing,’ Sister Joan said earnestly. ‘He loves being out on the moor or among the trees. And he’s no history of violence.’
‘And there’s no way of telling when it was done. After the grand silence last night and before Sister Hilaria brought the postulants across for lunch this morning.’
Mother Dorothy rested her chin on her hand and frowned at the surface of her desk. Seated on the stool before her Sister Joan waited.
‘Vandalism is becoming a national disease,’ the prioress said after a moment. ‘Even here there must be those who take pleasure in slashing and destroying. Such a senseless thing to do!’
‘Sister Hilaria says that she heard nothing unusual last night or this morning and neither did the postulants,’ Sister Perpetua said. ‘Of course with the weather being so chilly the windows were closed. I agree that it couldn’t have been Luther. He’d never hurt anyone or anything.’
‘But someone did.’ Mother Dorothy frowned again. ‘Of course the gates are open and anyone can climb over the wall at the back. I think that we must all of us keep a sharp eye out during the next few weeks in case there is a recurrence.’
‘Are we going to inform the police?’ Sister Perpetuaenquired.
‘One ought to report it of course,’ Mother Dorothy said, ‘but quite honestly I fail to see what action the police could take. They are already overstretched and under-manned as it is. No, for the moment we shall merely record it and keep our eyes open. Mindless violence is