The Sisters of St. Croix (5 page)

“Is he really as bad as you make him out to be?” asked Sarah.

“Probably not,” admitted her father, “but he’s a damned cold fish. I am sure it is he that prevents Heather bringing the child to see me. He wants nothing to do with her former husband’s family. He’d probably prefer Heather without the child, but even she wouldn’t hear of that, meek little thing though she is. Can’t think what Freddie saw in her!”

“Pop,” said Sarah, “you must do whatever you think is right for Adelaide. It is very generous of you to give me a dowry for the convent. I know you don’t want me to go back, but it’s where I belong.”

Sir George looked away again and murmured, “On that we shall have to agree to differ, my child.”

Wanting to change the subject, Sarah said, “Do you know how Molly is? Molly Day and her baby?”

“I have no idea,” replied Sir George brusquely. “She came home in disgrace, and as far as I know she lives with her parents. She was very lucky they didn’t throw her out. Not only was she expecting, it turned out that the father was a coward and a deserter. Did you know that, Sarah? The man was shot; shot for running away in the face of the enemy. What sort of man is that? What sort of father is that for a child?”

Sarah knew that this was not an accurate account of events, but realised it would be no use to explain what had really happened to the father of Molly’s child. She had been going to ask Sir George if he could see his way to giving Molly a little cash, but it was clear from his expression that he would never entertain that idea. It had been an unfortunate choice of subject and Sarah tried to turn him to another.

“How are things generally in the village?” she asked. She knew he took his duties as squire very seriously, and cared about the people of Charlton Ambrose.

“I’m making a memorial to Freddie and the other men who went to the war from the village and didn’t come back,” he told her. “I’m going to plant some trees on the village green, at the far end. One for each man who died. That way they’ll never be forgotten. It’ll be a living memorial. What do you think of that idea?”

Tears sprang to Sarah’s eyes. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, Pop. A living memorial.”

Sarah had left the next day, dressed in her nun’s habit. Sir George did not accompany her to the station, they took their leave in Lady Horner’s drawing room. Their final embrace was an awkward one, cut off as she was inside her wimple and headdress, but as she finally pulled away, Sir George said gruffly, “You’re as darned obstinate as your mother, but she’d have been proud of you, Sarah, as proud of you as I am.” With that he strode out of the room, leaving Sarah to carry her small bag out to the taxi he had called to take her to Victoria. She knew she would never see him again, and tears streamed down her face all the way to the station.

She had been right, within eighteen months Sir George had been dead, and she had made her final vows. When the news of her father’s death came, Sarah wrote to Adelaide, but she received no reply. She had heard from no one in England since that day.

Now she had this letter from Adelaide herself, asking to meet her, asking about Freddie.

Sarah drew a sheet of paper towards her and began to write: “My dear Adelaide…”

The train chuffed fussily through the flat French countryside, stopping at small stations along the way. Adelaide looked out of the window. It was the first time she had travelled abroad by herself and she felt it was quite an adventure. She had considered hiring a car and driver when she got off the boat, after all, she could well afford to do so now, but she decided it would be more fun to take the local train and soak up the flavour of the country and its people.

As the fields and villages passed by, a living tapestry of French life, she thought about her aunt, living in her convent at St Croix. She had turned out to be the reverend mother, for goodness’ sake! Would she be very religious? Would she understand why Adelaide wanted to see her, cut off as she had been from the world for more than twenty years? Adelaide was longing to meet her father’s sister, but it was a longing touched with a certain amount of trepidation.

At last the train drew into the station at Albert, and clutching her suitcase, Adelaide got off and made her way outside. In the station yard, she managed to find a taxi to take her to St Croix. It was an elderly Citroën driven by a stout man, his coat stretched across his midriff and a black beret perched on his bald head. He put her small suitcase into the boot and then held the door as she climbed into the car.

“St Croix, you say?” he asked as he squeezed himself in behind the steering wheel.

“Yes, please,” Adelaide said, settling herself into the battered seat. “To the convent.”

The driver eyed her curiously in the mirror. “You wish to join the sisters?” he asked.

Adelaide laughed. “No, Monsieur. I am merely visiting!”

The taxi drove into St Croix, passing through the square and then along a winding lane to the convent itself, which stood four storeys high overlooking the village below.

What a forbidding place, thought Adelaide as she looked up at the bleak, grey stone walls towering above her. Almost like a fortress.

The taxi dropped her at the main entrance and she walked up the steps to the old oak front door. With its iron hinges and grille, it looked more like a castle gate than the entrance to a convent. Adelaide paused for a moment, and then, drawing a deep breath, tugged on the iron bell-pull. She could hear the bell clanging away in the distance, but almost at once the grille in the door opened and a face peered out.

“May I help you?” The question was, of course, posed in French and Adelaide happily answered in the same.

“Oh, yes please. My name is Adelaide Anson-Gravetty, I’ve come to see Reverend Mother.”

There was a scrape of bolts being drawn, the door swung open and Adelaide was greeted by a small nun who peered at her anxiously. “Mademoiselle Adelaide? I am Sister Celestine. Yes, Mother is expecting you. Please come this way.”

Adelaide followed Sister Celestine across the stone-flagged hall and along a corridor. There was no decoration on its stone walls and despite her warm overcoat, Adelaide felt even colder than she had outside. The nun led her up a flight of stairs and opened the door to a small room at one end of a long corridor.

“Here is your room, Mademoiselle. I have put hot water in the jug so that you may wash after your journey. There is a lavatory at the other end of the passage. If you will make yourself comfortable, I will come back in fifteen minutes and take you to Mother. In the meantime, I will tell her you have arrived.” So saying Sister Celestine stepped aside to allow Adelaide into the cell-like bedroom, and then closed the door behind her.

Adelaide tossed her case onto the narrow bed, and having shed her hat and coat, crossed to the window to look out. Below her was a courtyard, circled by a high stone wall. Outside this was a field with woodland beyond and over to one side another, walled area, with a tall stone cross at its gate; a cemetery perhaps. The sky was grey and overcast and the view rather depressing. Shivering, Adelaide turned back into the room to find the jug of water Sister Celestine had promised. It stood on the top of a chest of drawers, steam rising from it, and folded neatly beside it was a small white towel. Adelaide washed her hands and face, brushed her hair and paid a quick visit to the lavatory at the end of the corridor. There was no mirror in the room, but she squinted into the small mirror on her powder compact and smiled encouragingly at her reflection.

It’s ridiculous to be nervous, she told herself firmly. She’s your father’s sister, and even if she has turned out to be Reverend Mother, she’s your aunt, Sarah.

She chewed on her lips to give them a little more colour, not liking to wear lipstick within the convent, and awaited the return of her guide.

She did not have long to wait. There was tap on the door and on her calling “Come in,” Sister Celestine peered round the door.

“Mother is ready to see you now,” she said and led the way into the depths of the huge, grey building.

Eventually the nun paused outside a door and knocked gently. A bell sounded from within and she opened the door.

“Mademoiselle Adelaide is here, Mother,” she said and stood aside for Adelaide to enter.

“Thank you, Sister.” The voice was soft, with an interesting lilt. “Would you bring us some tea, please.”

Adelaide walked into the room and found herself facing a middle-aged nun, rising from a desk and smiling across the room at her.

“Adelaide,” she said, her eyes alight with pleasure. “You’ve really come.”

“Aunt Sarah?” began Adelaide and then hesitated. “I’m sorry, perhaps I should call you Reverend Mother?” Her voice rose interrogatively as she paused just inside the door.

“Just Sarah, I think,” replied the nun cheerfully. “You’re almost the only one in the world who can call me by that name. Come in, come in and sit down. I’ve had them make up the fire so we can be comfortable.” She indicated two chairs, one on either side of a tiny fireplace in which smouldered a small log. Despite the fire, the room was chilly, but Sarah did not seem to notice. “I hope Sister Celestine has shown you your room and made you comfortable.” She added with a laugh, “It’s a tiny room I’m afraid, but you’re luckier than I was when I first arrived, I had to share it!”

“It’s fine, thank you,” Adelaide replied, still standing a little awkwardly by the door.

“Come here, my dear. Let me look at you,” Sarah said. She took Adelaide’s hands in hers and turned her face to the light of the window. “My dearest girl,” she said with a break in her voice, “you could be your father.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Sarah with tears in her eyes, then as if suddenly recollecting herself she said, “I’m sorry, Adelaide, do come to the fire and sit down. Sister Celestine will bring us some tea directly, I’m sure you’d like something warm to drink after your long journey. Tea is the one thing I have allowed myself as a treat since I became Reverend Mother. The sisters indulge me, and, I think, smile at my English ways behind my back.”

Adelaide suddenly realised that they had, quite naturally, been speaking in French. She said, “Aunt… Sarah, how do you come to be a nun in a French convent?”

“That, my child, is a long story and bound up with the story of your father, too. I will tell you, of course, but let’s have our tea first. I think I hear Sister Celestine at the door.” Sure enough there was a light tap on the door, which swung open, and Sister Celestine struggled in with a tray, which she set down on the desk. On it were a teapot and two cups and saucers.

“Thank you, Sister,” Reverend Mother said, and with a bob of her head the nun left the room.

“I hope you can drink tea without milk,” Sarah said as she poured them each a cup of tea. “If the French ever drink tea it is almost always without milk!”

When they were sitting on either side of the fire, Sarah stared across at her niece, her eyes drinking her in as if she couldn’t get enough of her. Adelaide sipped her tea, and said nothing, allowing her to look.

“Adelaide, I am so glad you wrote,” Sarah said at last. “I have had no news from England since my father died in 1920. That’s a very long time. I did write to you at the time, but of course you were only a tiny child then and you wouldn’t remember the letter.”

Adelaide smiled ruefully. “I doubt if I ever got it, Aunt Sarah,” she said. “I think my father… my adoptive father… didn’t want me to know that he wasn’t my natural father. As I explained in my letter, I only found out about Freddie and you on my twenty-first birthday.”

“I can understand that he wanted you to think of him as your real father,” Sarah said. “But I think he was misguided. A person needs to know where she comes from.”

“I think so too,” agreed Adelaide, “which is why I am here now. I want to know about Freddie’s family. I am afraid I’ve come to think of him as Freddie in the last few weeks. Father still means the father I’ve grown up with.”

“Of course it does,” Sarah agreed, “and so it should. He has been your father all your life. But Freddie is there too.” She smiled across at Adelaide again, saying, “You really are so like him, especially when you smile. Did your mother see it, I wonder?”

“She said so,” Adelaide replied, “in the letter I was given on my birthday. I’ve brought it with me, in case you wanted to read it.”

Sarah shook her head. “No, Adelaide, I’m sure it is far too personal, but I am so glad so much of Freddie lives on in you.”

The late afternoon light began to fade as they sat and drank their tea and Sarah lit the lamp that stood on a stand behind her desk. A bell began to toll in the distance and Sarah got to her feet. “I have to go to the chapel now for vespers. If you would like to join us, please do. If not, you can wait here and after vespers I will come and fetch you for the evening meal. After that, in recreation, we’ll be able to talk properly for a while.”

“I think I would like to come to the chapel with you, if that’s all right. My mother was a Catholic too, and though I don’t go to Mass as often as I should, I have been brought up in the faith.”

Reverend Mother smiled. “I’m glad,” she said simply. “Follow me.”

She led the way through the winding corridors of the convent, joining with a flow of sisters heading towards the chapel. Adelaide was shown to a seat at the back, and she watched with interest as the sisters filed into their stalls. Before the nuns began to sing their office, there was a scuffling of feet and five children were led into the chapel by a flustered-looking novice. They sat down on a row of chairs just in front of Adelaide. Four of them were girls and all dressed the same in grey skirts, white blouses and pinafores. Each had her hair tied back off her face and each wore a white cap on her head. The fifth was a boy, aged about seven, with closely cropped hair that stood in a tuft at the back of his head.

“They’re our orphans,” Sarah told her when, after a supper of soup, bread and cheese, they repaired once more to her office. “After the war there were several children in the village who were left without fathers. One poor mother asked if we would accept her nine-year-old daughter as a novice. She had five other children and nothing to feed them with.