What on earth was it? I watched, fascinated. She must have read my mind because she laughed and said, “You wonder what I am doing. This will be my girdle. I am approaching the time of my first profession, when I shall take my first vows. A Sister wears a woven girdle wound three times around her waist and, at the end, we tie three knots. This is a constant reminder of our three vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.”
She had such a beautiful face and such a radiant smile. Her vocation clearly filled her with joy.
Conversation continued about the Christmas Fayre and who should attend the stalls. Mrs B as usual, was in charge of the cake stall, and Fred, the boiler man, always managed a very good stall selling second-hand tools, which attracted men to the Fayre. It was Fred’s proud boast that he could sell anything. Give him a bag of bent, rusty nails and he would sell them for you.
The doorbell rang.
“Now who can that be?” said Sister. “We’re not expecting anyone. Would you answer it, please, Nurse Browne.”
Chummy laid down her expert embroidery and left the room. We continued talking about the Christmas Fayre, speculating if the band from the SPY Club could be asked to provide some entertainment. Should they be paid and, if so, how much? “How about tea and cakes?” someone ventured. “Wouldn’t that be sufficient payment?”
“What on earth has happened to Nurse Browne?” Sister Evangelina grunted. “She’s been gone at least five minutes. It doesn’t take that long to answer the door.”
At that moment Chummy re-entered the room. She was bright red. She took a step forward and kicked a waste-paper basket, which shot into the air, spilling its contents as it flew. It hit Sister Evangelina on the side of the head, knocking her veil and wimple sideways. The shock caused her to prick her finger and blood spurted over the handkerchief she was hemming.
“You clumsy fool,” she shouted. “Look what you have made me do.” She sucked her finger and waved the ruined handkerchief at Chummy.
Sister Julienne took charge. “Never mind, Sister, use the handkerchief to bind the finger or we shall have blood all over the other work. Better to spoil one item than half a dozen? Now, Nurse Browne, what on earth is the matter?”
Chummy opened her mouth and her lips moved but no sound came. She tried again with no success.
The Sisters were seriously concerned. “My poor child, do sit down.”
Chummy sat down and again tried to speak. Her vocal chords finally responded and the words came out in a rush. “Please, Sister, the policeman is at the door and he wants to see you.”
Trixie gave a scream of laughter. “Didn’t I tell you! There, look, Chummy’s sweet on the policeman!”
Cynthia kicked her hard.
Sister Julienne looked troubled. “Oh dear, oh bother. I’ll go at once.”
We all looked at one another. Sister Julienne would only use such an extreme expression as “oh bother” in an extreme situation.
The knowledge that the policeman was at the door again gave me a nasty jolt. I had managed to lay aside the awful dilemma of the jewels found in Sister Monica Joan’s room. I looked anxiously at Cynthia, who was embroidering a cushion cover and who refused to look up. All the Sisters were silently bent over their work. Chummy took up her sewing again but her hands were shaking so much that she could not control the needle.
Only Trixie spoke. “Well, now for it. They’ve come to take her away. There’ll be a right old rumpus.”
Sister Evangelina turned on her. “Hold your tongue, you thoughtless, loud-mouthed girl. Just keep quiet for once.”
“Sorry, I’m sure.” Trixie didn’t look at all sorry.
I managed to catch Cynthia’s eye and we exchanged a look of alarm. Novice Ruth stifled a tear and worked furiously at the girdle she was making. Sister Bernadette was stuffing a golliwog, poking the stuffing down hard into the legs. The clock ticked and no one spoke except for the occasional “Pass the scissors, please”, or “Have you got the light-blue thread over there?”
The soft footsteps of Sister Julienne were heard and we all looked up expectantly, but she passed the door and went upstairs. Glances of real anguish were exchanged between the Sisters.
All the muscles around my chest and stomach seemed to tighten at once and I felt hot all over. “Could we open a window, do you think?” I enquired.
“I was about to suggest the same thing,” said Sister Bernadette, and Cynthia, who was nearest to the window, stood up and opened it. The clock ticked on and we continued sewing. No one spoke.
Again footsteps were heard – descending the stairs this time. We all looked up, each with the same thought in mind. What were they going to do with her?
The door burst open and Sister Julienne stood there, her features filled with joy. “They are dropping all charges and taking no further action! Oh, the relief, I can’t tell you the relief. I have just been up to see Sister Monica Joan to convey the news, although I am not sure that she understood what I was saying because she just looked at me in complete silence.”
“Praise the Lord,” said Sister Evangelina, sniffing hard. She blew her nose loudly into the blood-stained handkerchief and wiped the corner of her eye. “Let us praise the Lord for his mercy.”
We were all overjoyed at the news, but Sister Evangelina displayed more emotion and relief than anyone else in the room. Her reaction brought home to me the genuine goodness and charity of the woman who had suffered so much from Sister Monica Joan’s verbal cruelty. The apparent dislike between the two women was not of her making, and a less loving soul might have been indifferent, if not secretly glad, to see her Sister’s downfall.
Sister Julienne sat down. “This calls for a celebration so I have asked Mrs B to bring up an early tea and we will have jam with our scones today.”
Mrs B came bouncing in with a large tray. “There, din’ I tell yer? As innocen’ as a new-born babe, she is. An’ them police, they wants their bleedin’ ’eads (beggin’ yer pardon, Sisters) bangin’ together, vey do. An’ I’d like to ge’ me ’ands on vat lyin’ coster, I would.”
Sister Julienne burst out laughing. “You’ll do no such thing. We don’t want you had up for assault. Perhaps you would pour the tea, Novice Ruth, and pass the scones.”
Mrs B withdrew. The tea and scones were passed round, not forgetting the jam. Everyone was in festive mood.
Sister Julienne continued her story. “Apparently the legal adviser to the police has suggested that, due to the age of the suspect and the triviality of the items found in her room, the police might find themselves in a position of ridicule if they were to proceed with prosecution. The costers involved have been informed that a charge will not be brought by the Public Prosecutor but they would be within their rights to bring a civil action. Due to the fact that a civil case costs so much money and that they would be unlikely to get compensation, damages or costs, the costers have decided not to proceed.” Sister Julienne gave a huge sigh of relief, caressing her cup as she raised it to her lips.
We four girls could not share the happiness of the Sisters. We knew something of which they were completely unaware. The knowledge of the jewels in Sister Monica Joan’s possession weighed heavily upon us. I was terrified that Trixie would blurt out something ill-considered that would give the game away. Cynthia and I exchanged glances and clearly the same thought was going through her mind also. She was sitting near Trixie so she nudged her and I was grateful to see her mouth the words, “We’ll talk later.” A plan was forming in my mind to remove the jewels from Sister Monica Joan’s room, take them to Hatton Garden and just leave them somewhere. My mind was racing – yes, that would be the answer, or perhaps I could leave them outside a police station a long way away, so no one would suspect. But where would I find them? The beastly things had gone from Sister’s bedside cabinet. Perhaps I could talk to her about it. Would she see reason? It would be good to talk to Cynthia later; she was always so sensible.