I knocked on the office door and entered. The same sergeant and constable who had been assigned to the case earlier were present. The jewels were spread out on the desk.
Sister Julienne spoke. “Here is the nurse who has known of the existence of this -” She hesitated – “this . . . little haul, for more than fortnight.”
My face was burning and I felt like a criminal.
The sergeant spoke to me, the constable taking notes all the while. They required my name, my age, home address, next of kin, father’s occupation and many more details besides.
“When did you first see these jewels?”
“On a Monday afternoon, two weeks ago.”
“Can you identify them?”
“Not really, I did not look closely enough.”
“But are they substantially the same?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you find them?”
“In the third drawer down of the bedside cabinet.”
The constable looked back through his notebook. “We looked in the bedside cabinet, sir, and there was nothing there. They must have been placed there after our search.”
“Just what I was thinking. And what did you do, nurse?”
“Nothing.”
“Were you aware that these jewels are of considerable value?”
“I guessed they might be, but I didn’t know.”
Sister Julienne intervened. “Why did you not tell me?”
“I promised I wouldn’t.”
Sister Julienne was about to speak, but the sergeant silenced her.
“Who did you promise?”
“Sister Monica Joan.”
“So she knew you had seen them?”
“Yes.”
“And she made you promise not to tell?”
“Yes – no. She didn’t make me promise. I just did.”
“Why?”
“Because she was so upset.”
“What was she upset about?”
“The jewels.”
“Upset that you had found them?”
“I suppose so.”
“Upset that she had been found out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was she upset before you found them?”
“No. She was happy.”
“And she was happy when you left her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I didn’t want to answer. But he repeated: “Why?”
“I suppose she was happy because I had promised not to tell.”
The sergeant looked at the constable. “Sister Monica Joan obviously knows what she has been doing. First she moves the jewels around to avoid detection and then when they are found, she is clearly relieved when a promise of secrecy is made.”
He turned to me again. “At the time of finding the jewels, nurse, did you know that the police were investigating a charge of shoplifting brought by local costers?”
“Yes.”
“And did it not occur to you that the jewels might be relevant to police investigations?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nurse, I won’t insult you by suggesting you are stupid!”
“Well, yes, I did think they were relevant.”
“Were you aware that withholding evidence during a police investigation is a criminal offence?”
My mouth went dry and my head began to spin. It is one thing to engage in underhand behaviour, but quite another to be told by a police sergeant that you have been guilty of a criminal offence. My voice was barely audible.
“I didn’t know until a few days ago that it was a criminal offence.”
“And what happened a few days ago?”
“I told the girls.”
Sister Julienne exploded. “You told the girls and you didn’t tell me. This is outrageous!”
“Why did you tell the girls and not the Sister-in-Charge?”
“Because I knew that Sister Julienne would have to tell the police, but the girls wouldn’t.”
“And what did the girls say?”
“I can’t quite remember. We had a couple of bottles of sherry and I’m not sure what we said. It all got a bit confused.”
The constable taking notes gave a chortle, that was quickly smothered when the sergeant stared at him.
Sister Julienne’s blood pressure was rising fast. “This gets worse and worse. You girls had a couple of bottles of sherry when you were on duty! We will talk about this later.”
I groaned in despair. Now I had got my friends into trouble too.
The sergeant interrupted. “Let’s get back to the jewels. You decided to conceal the information from the police, but what did you intend to do?”
“I thought I could take the jewels from Sister Monica Joan’s room and just leave them somewhere, in Hatton Garden, or outside a police station.”
The sergeant and the constable exchanged glances.
“But I couldn’t find them, so I couldn’t do it.”
“She had moved them from the bedside cabinet?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a very good thing for you, nurse, that you could not find the jewels. If you had done as you have suggested and been apprehended with the jewels on your person, you would have been in serious trouble.”
I went cold. Theft, prison. The end of my nursing career. The end of everything.
The sergeant was watching me carefully. Then he spoke. “We are not going to take any further action, nurse. This is a caution, and will be recorded as such. You have been very foolish. I hesitate to call you a silly young girl, but that is what you are, and I hope this will be a lesson to you. You can go now.”
I crept out of Sister’s office numb with shock. To be called a “silly young girl” by a police sergeant when you think you are so mature and responsible is not a pleasant experience.
The girls pressed me for information. We sat round the kitchen table eating cheese-and-pickle sandwiches and home-made cake and I told them all about it. Narrowly missing prison was foremost in my mind.
“Not a chance, old scout. We’d have stood by you,” said Chummy staunchly. Her loyalty reminded me of my own disloyalty – I had let the cat out of the bag about the sherry party. I was contrite in my apologies. Cynthia, as always, was soothing, pointing out that we were all in it together and no harm had come of it. She advised cocoa all round and an early night.
The jewels were taken by the police for identification and Hatton Garden jewellers who had reported losses over several years were asked to examine them. One man, Samuelson by name, positively identified a rope of antique pearls and a diamond ring as having been stolen from his stock a few years previously. He produced record books verifying his statement.
The testimony of costers who had seen Sister Monica Joan take small items from their stalls was also required. With their evidence, combined with that of Mr Samuelson, the police decided that, on a variety of counts, there was now a case against Sister Monica Joan. However, her mental fitness was in doubt, so a medical assessment was required.
The general practitioner who had known Sister Monica Joan for many years and who had attended her through her recent bout of pneumonia was consulted. He said that he was baffled and quite unable to decide whether or not she was senile, and advised obtaining the report of a psychiatrist.
The psychiatrist was a lady, a senior consultant in psychiatry at the London Hospital, who examined Sister Monica Joan twice at Nonnatus House. Her report stated that, in spite of her age, Sister’s mind was remarkably clear. All her responses were swift and accurate; she was astute, observant and cryptic in her conversation; her understanding of past and present events was impressive; and she had a clear understanding of the difference between right and wrong. No evidence of mental deterioration could be found and the psychiatrist considered that Sister Monica Joan could be held responsible for her actions.