The Christmas Angel (29 page)

‘I simply don’t know what we can do,’ says Sister Ruth despairingly for the third time. ‘Several times she’s appeared at Compline and we’ve agreed that we cannot lock her in her room. But to think that she’s been going out at night …’

She picks up her mug of camomile tea and sets it down again, her expression anguished.

Janna looks at her with compassion, the shock at finding Sister Ruth standing at the bottom of the caravan steps subsiding a little.

‘It was good of you,’ Sister Ruth says, ‘to come to find me last night instead of going to Mother Magda. Not that it should be a secret, of course.’

‘Why not?’ asks Janna. ‘Nobody need know except you and me and Clem. Jakey will continue to think it was Auntie Gabriel, like I told you, and the others don’t have to know what happened.’

Sister Ruth is silent. She picks up her mug and sips a little of the tea. She was almost indignant to find Janna knocking softly at her door last evening but, before she could demand a reason, Janna drew her along to Sister Nichola’s room
and
explained privately what had happened. Her relief that nobody else knows is just as great as her horror that the elderly nun has been roaming the grounds at night, and this knowledge makes her feel ashamed. And that it should be Janna who found Sister Nichola simply heaps coals of fire upon her shame.

‘The important thing,’ Janna is saying now, ‘is that we stop her opening that back door. But I see your point about needing to get out if there should be a fire in your wing. If the key is taken out and put somewhere safe it could be a real problem in an emergency. And, anyway, everyone would want to know why. ’Tis a pity she can reach the bolt.’

She is aware of Sister Ruth’s dilemma and feels very sorry for her. She remembers the look almost of outrage on her face last night when she opened her door, and the shock that swiftly replaced it. It was a shock for Janna, too, to see Sister Ruth in an ancient plaid dressing gown and her hair free of its veil. Her hair was the biggest shock: thick and dark and curling round the well-shaped head. She looked much younger, more vulnerable without the veil, and Janna for the first time saw her simply as another woman, and a woman who was frightened and at a loss.

She followed Janna quickly, gazing at Sister Nichola, who was now tucked up in bed and deeply asleep, listening to Janna’s story in disbelief.

‘But how often has Jakey seen her? Anything might have happened to her. She might have fallen or wandered into the lane. Thank goodness the evening was warm and dry.’

‘I think ’tis all to do with the full moon.’ Janna tried to reassure her. ‘Jakey says she comes when the moon shines. It probably wakes her, as it does him, and she gets up and goes down to the Lodge. Wasn’t there something about her being
engaged
to a local boy and they were planning to live there?’

Sister Ruth nodded, her frightened eyes still fixed on the recumbent form. ‘It was so long ago but her memory plays tricks.’

‘She’ll sleep now. I’m sure of it. We’ll think about what can be done. Clem won’t talk about it and neither will I unless you say so.’

Sister Ruth nodded again, biting her lips, and Janna knew that the nun wouldn’t get much sleep but would remain alert to the sound of a door opening and footsteps in the long passage.

Now, looking at her unhappy, weary face, Janna feels another surge of compassion. She can’t forget the sight of that same face – vulnerable and younger-looking – with its short cap of dark curling hair.

‘’Twill be easier in the Coach House,’ she suggests gently. ‘You’ll all be upstairs, for a start, and you could put one of those children’s gates across the stairs at night. Everyone knows that she wanders so ’twould simply be a sensible precaution. And if she has a room between yours and mine at least there’d be two of us on watch.’

Sister Ruth looks at her quickly, eyebrows lifted. ‘You’ll be staying then?’

Janna takes a firmer grip on her mug. ‘Sounds like it, doesn’t it?’ she asks ruefully. ‘I don’t know what to do, to tell the truth.’

She waits for some negative response but Sister Ruth remains silent. Outside the banties bicker in the warm sunshine and the old orchard is filled with soft golden light.

‘I love it here, see,’ Janna continues, moved to say more, to reveal something of herself – albeit reluctantly – to the woman who sits opposite at the little table. ‘I feel a bit
independent
. People can come and see me and I don’t feel we’re disturbing anyone else. I’ve never lived in a place that’s really private like this. It’s been quite special.’

Another little silence. Sister Ruth stirs, staring down into the mug.

‘But those rooms in the Coach House – your rooms – wouldn’t there be privacy there?’

Janna shrugs. ‘Sort of. They’re really lovely and I’d be lucky to have them but ’tisn’t the same. When Jakey comes we sing and play and make a bit of noise and nobody can hear us. ’Twouldn’t be quite like that, would it?’

‘Perhaps,’ Sister Ruth says with an obvious effort, ‘perhaps we might like to hear you and Jakey singing.’

Janna laughs. ‘Come off it,’ she says cheerfully. ‘You know we drive you mad. Both of us.’

To her amazement, Sister Ruth raises her eyes and smiles at her. ‘I deserved that,’ she answers honestly, ‘and it’s quite true. I am uneasy with children. I don’t know how to behave with them, and I have no experience of them. No younger siblings, no nephews and nieces. I was brought up to be seen and not heard. Actually, Jakey is a good little boy and I was very touched when you told me about Auntie Gabriel and how he wanted her to go inside and have some tea to warm her up. It’s a wonder that he didn’t recognize Sister Nichola.’

‘She was standing among the shadows of the trees and he wouldn’t be expecting any of the Sisters about at night. And she was always in that cream-coloured dressing gown and a shawl and no veil.’

‘And he wasn’t afraid?’

Janna shakes her head. ‘He expected an angel and that’s what he saw.’

Sister Ruth smiles again and finishes the last of her tea. ‘Perhaps that should be a lesson to us all,’ she says.

‘A miracle.’ Sister Emily is waiting at the vestry door, beaming with delight. ‘A miracle has occurred. It seems that Janna has almost definitely decided to stay with us.’

Father Pascal gives a little cry of pleasure. ‘Oh, but that’s wonderful. Did she tell you so?’

‘She told Sister Ruth.’

His expression changes almost ludicrously. ‘Sister
Ruth
?’

Sister Emily nods, enjoying the drama. ‘That’s the real part of the miracle.’

‘She told Sister
Ruth
?’ He still can’t believe it. ‘But why? I mean, how did it happen? I believed that they never communicated at that kind of level. There’s usually too much antagonism between them to imagine such confidences.’

‘Something has happened,’ Sister Emily says. ‘So far it is only a hint that Sister Ruth dropped by mistake. We shall find out in due course when she is ready to tell us the whole truth.’

He frowns, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t quite know,’ she answers serenely. ‘That will be the final part of the miracle.’

He shakes his head. ‘You’re talking in riddles today.’

She smiles mischievously. ‘Those inner angels are being unpacked; layer by layer they are being revealed.’

She whisks out of the vestry into the chapel and Father Pascal, baffled, begins to prepare himself for the Eucharist.

Pa’s party is being a great success. The continuing warm weather allows the tea party to be held in the garden, and he is enjoying himself enormously, surrounded by
old
friends and by his family. Sister Emily, looking oddly Bohemian in smart narrow navy trousers and a loose cream linen shirt, with a small scarlet cotton handkerchief tied gypsy-fashion over her fine white hair, converses eagerly, totally at ease.

‘You look great,’ Dossie told her when she arrived, driven by Clem, with an excited Jakey in the back of the car. ‘It’s so odd to see you in ordinary clothes.’

‘Mufti.’ Sister Emily regarded her outfit with pleasure. ‘I’ve put that nun away in the cupboard for the afternoon.’

She turned away to greet Pa and Mo, and Dossie found Clem beside her, wearing his usual enigmatic expression.

‘She has a niece,’ he murmured, his eyes still on Sister Emily, ‘who lives in London. It’s a wealthy family, you know, and the niece passes on one or two rather smart bits of designer-label gear to her old auntie.’

Dossie grinned. ‘She looks smarter than Mo.’

Clem grinned too. ‘Wouldn’t be difficult. She’s never been a dresser-upper, has she, our Mo? So. Are you OK?’

He continued to stare out at the people milling about in the garden, but she was aware of his attention focused on her. She felt moved by his caring, and tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

‘Of course I am,’ she said. ‘Absolutely. Just a bit tired getting all this organized.’

‘Mmm.’

He didn’t sound convinced, though he still didn’t look at her, and she had a childish longing to burst into tears and tell him everything.

‘Go and mingle,’ she ordered him. ‘Be a good grandson. Jakey can hand round. He likes that.’

Clem gave a snort. ‘People telling him how good and
clever
he is. He revels in it. He’s in danger of becoming a spoiled monster.’

She laughed. ‘Good luck to him,’ she said. ‘It’ll soon pass. Let him enjoy it while he can.’

He was smiling as he went down to join Pa’s friends, and she watched him go, her heart full of love for him, suddenly seeing his father in Clem’s tall, long-limbed grace. She bit her lips, the tears coming quickly now, and turned away into the house, hurrying into the kitchen.

Now, she closes the door behind her and stands holding the Aga rail, trying not to weep with the sensations of loss and frustration. It is odd how Rupert’s excuses have hurt her. She tries to believe him, to make allowances for the explanation of a former arrangement with his mother, but it has simply brought to the fore the things she’s been trying to ignore. Perhaps he’s just using her and has no intention of considering any kind of future with her apart from this present friendship.

Dossie picks up a tea cloth, twisting it to and fro, trying to decide what she should do about Rupert. She hears footsteps running across the hall and quickly wipes her eyes with the cloth. Jakey bursts in, eyes gleaming with excitement and importance.

‘Mo says we need more tea. More
tea
, Dossie,’ he shouts gleefully.

She takes a wavering breath, trying to smile brightly, but he comes closer, his own smile fading a little.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asks anxiously. ‘Are you clying, Dossie?’

‘No, my darling, of course not,’ she says, though his concern makes her want to weep even more. ‘No, I just burned my hand a little bit on the Aga and it made my eyes water. Isn’t
that
silly? I’m absolutely fine. Go and tell Mo that more tea is on the way. I’ll put the kettle on.’

He hovers, some instinct telling him that she isn’t being truthful, but she swiftly picks up a plate of small cakes and turns to him.

‘Now,’ she says seriously. ‘Do you think you could carry these out into the garden without spilling a single one? What d’you think?’

He grows solemn at once, taking the plate carefully and going out with them, his eyes fixed on the plate. Dossie watches the small earnest figure and is obliged to quell another urge to burst into tears.

‘Honestly,’ she mutters. ‘What is the
matter
with you? Get a grip, for God’s sake!’

It’s a relief that Janna hasn’t been able to come to the party; there are rather a lot of guests staying at Chi-Meur for St Luke’s Day tomorrow and she is just too busy. Dossie knows that she wouldn’t have been able to hold on to her composure under Janna’s sharp, compassionate gaze.

John the Baptist comes wagging in, panting with the exertion of being fussed over by so many people and having been given rather too many little treats. He seems almost to be laughing with the fun of it all and she can’t help smiling back at him; tugging at his ear and smoothing his head.

Quickly she takes her mobile from her pocket and checks it for messages: nothing. She’s sent a couple of texts to Rupert but has had no reply: obviously he is far too busy with his mum. Her heart weighs like lead in her breast and she makes a little face at John the Baptist.

‘No go, old chap,’ she murmurs.

The kettle is starting to sing and she picks up a big teapot and makes the tea.

Mo watches her come out onto the terrace and put the big teapot on the table. Her heart aches too. She knows that Dossie is unhappy, that her explanation for Rupert’s absence has been much too brittle and bright, and her heart is wrung with pain for her daughter.

‘Parents are only as happy as their saddest child’– she’s read that somewhere recently and has been struck by the truth of it. Her gaze wanders over their guests. Pa is in his element: nothing he loves more than being surrounded by friends and dispensing hospitality. Presently the gin and tonics or wine will be poured, and Dossie’s delicious little nibblies will appear, and the party will trundle on into the evening; some of the guests will inevitably be invited to supper. Dossie has planned for that too.

Mo sighs: oh, how she longs for Dossie to be truly happy. And she believes that she
has
been happy with this Rupert, but something has gone wrong. She watches Clem, tall and elegant, laughing with an elderly couple, and is sharply reminded of his father. How often this must happen to Dossie; and how does she cope with this constant reminder of her loss? And there is little Jakey, weaving his way in and out of the chattering groups, pausing to offer cakes and to receive praise and pats on his head, as if he were old Jonno. How does Clem manage to contain the pain of his wife’s death whilst bringing up their child?

She drops her hand and feels old Jonno’s head beneath it; she strokes him gratefully, accepting his silent comfort. Pa glances around, spies her, and raises his arm in a cheerful gesture that says, ‘Come here. Come and join me,’ and she
steadies
herself and makes her way across the grass with the old dog plodding behind her.