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The Greater Silence’
by Barbara Hines

‘Two Halves of One Whole’

Prologue

Be sober, be watchful.  Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith.
I Peter 5: 8,9

The chapel lights had been switched off one by one.

There was not even the rustle of cloth from the motionless figures in the choir stalls since each nun held herself immobile. Even the sound of soft breathing was a mere suggestion coming out of the darkness. Sister Margaret Michael, third front choir stall, facing Sister Jeanette across the aisle, shifted slightly, and coveted a prized seat in the back-row of the choir stalls.  At least there, at the end of a long convent day, she would be able to lean her head against the wood panelling unnoticed in the dark and without being subject to disapproving looks from the older sisters. At 35 years old, she was one of the younger nuns very much shaped in the modern mould.

Even so, she had always loved it when this particular moment had arrived at the end of the day. It was the bridge leading into the Greater Silence beckoning all towards the abyss of sleep. No talking was permitted. This was the Rule: even in sleep, nothing was allowed to distract from contemplation of the Divine Mystery.

Only a tiny flickering light revealed the presence of the tabernacle containing the reserved sacrament. Suspended by a long chain in front of the high altar, the light gently swayed in the draughts, intermittently appearing and disappearing - a tenuous yet remarkably tenacious symbol.

‘Earth without form, and void; darkness upon the face of the deep.’
 

But then – creaking and squeaking sounds as ancient Sister Emily started paddling backwards and forwards in her wheelchair which had been dutifully placed, as ever, in the central aisle in front of the choir stalls.  She was rather like a little dog who instinctively knows when it is time to go out.

No response.

She readied herself and aimed the chair at the choir stalls. Amusement rippled through the darkness and a solitary light clicked on.  The “Big 4” – Reverend Mother, Assistant Reverend Mother, Superior in charge of the Convent and Novice-Guardian were revealed directly in front of the rood screen facing the high altar with a clear view of all the sisters.  Staring at their backs, on the other side of the screen, sat the visitors - always in the outer darkness.  Everyone rose.  The senior sisters stepped down in pairs, faced the altar, genuflected efficiently and with sandaled tread disappeared into the cloisters followed by the rest of the community.

As she came down the aisle with Sister Jeanette, Sister Margaret-Michael saw that one of the visitors was making tight little nods to each sister who caught her eye.  It was Miss Hemshall:  headmistress of a highly sought-after fee-paying boarding school for girls.  Tiny in stature but immense in fearsome reputation. The girls whispered that she slept in a coffin.

Meg kept her gaze meekly lowered as she passed by, thereby managing to avoid any eye-contact. She thought back to what had happened earlier in the day. Upon taking a fastidious mouthful of tea, Miss Hemshall had astonished everyone by uncontrollably spewing out the contents. Salt had somehow found its way into the sugar bowl. Having publicly humiliated herself, her response was cold fury. This didn't bode well for whoever had stocked up the refreshments cupboard.   As Guest Mistress, Meg knew she would be subject to a lecture on sloppiness the next day and so she was thankful to get away into the enclosure knowing that as soon as they had gone, the visitors would straggle out in the opposite direction to the Guest Wing.

At last, the convent and its inhabitants had quietly settled down. Night-time preparations for bed were complete and the Greater Silence benignly wrapped itself around the convent. Margaret-Michael lay in her narrow bed and savoured this last moment before saying the final whispered words of prayer, switching off her cell light and turning on her side. In the weeks that followed, she was to look back at the glad quietness of this day’s ending with an astonished sorrow and to realise how fortunate we are that we do not know what events are hurrying towards us.

Chapter 1

Esther pushed open the door with her foot: a pile of books, boxes of test tubes and racks precariously held in place by her chin.  As the door swung back a volley of noise hit her.  She white-water rafted her way through the cheap deodorant, teenage hormones and tumult.  Three pairs of hands reached out, carefully taking the items from her.

“You really shouldn’t do that Miss Beckwith,” a young voice exclaimed “imagine what Dr. Worth would say if you broke anything.”

The noise had lessened slightly but not enough.  Esther walked round her desk and planted herself squarely in front of the class.  She did not move, did not say anything, but let her eyes roam around catching the eyes of the noisiest.  It was a technique smoothly honed through long practice: she maintained this attitude until everyone was quietly sitting at the long laboratory benches.

“Now I know that it is the last day of term,” a ragged cheer, “but I think a short test would be in order to fix what little knowledge you have absorbed this term.”  As expected, a torrent of protest burst out.  She signalled for silence.  “On the other hand……an alternative could be that we all do a good clear-up in here and then finish it off with my famous chocolate brownies.”  This announcement was greeted with intense enthusiasm.  She had learnt this trick many years ago and it never failed. The next hour was spent in joyous, mainly productive, mayhem. 

She was amused to observe several little incidents play out amongst the general bustle.  The weediest boy in the class had donned a white coat on which he had printed “Mr Universe” and was flexing his muscles whenever the occasion presented itself.  Daniel and Sharon tried to disappear into the stock cupboard but were promptly halted by the catcalls of their classmates.  Unsurprisingly, Julie minced about the room carrying each item one by one, precariously holding them between stiffly straight fingers so as not to damage her nails.  The GoHawk gang managed to unearth a breast-feeding poster with cries of “Ugh!!!Gross” followed by fairly obscene gestures and at this point, she stepped in before they could think up anything worse. At last however, a pretty decent clear-up had been achieved.

Esther efficiently handed out the chocolate brownies and then marched everyone along to the closing school assembly and finally, finally with endless farewells, jokes and exhortations it was all done: freedom and the summer holidays beckoned. She managed to get herself out of the building and onto the road even before the last student had left the building.

Driving along she savoured the changing surroundings: the houses and little shopping parades gradually thinning out, the sight of quiet fields and farmlands, the peaceful English countryside on a summer’s day. She could feel the layers of responsibility slipping away. It was a beautiful July afternoon: not too hot but just about right and she opened the window to bring her that little bit closer to freedom.

She turned down a little lane and yes – there was her destination: the convent of the Sisterhood of the Holy Saints & Angels, the gates open in welcome.  There were roses woven into the hedges and she could smell their talcum powder scent as she went by.  The car park was discreetly hidden behind the tall gothic building and she was pleased to see that there were not many visitors’ cars.

Lifting out her suitcase, she walked around to the imposing front of the Convent.  She noticed the glorious velvet pansies in the old sink by the door – Sister Honoraria had done well.  She pressed the rather incongruous electric doorbell knowing that Sister Margaret-Michael would answer it.  Almost immediately the oak door swung back – and to the unwary this would have been a moment of dislocation - it was as if her reflection was looking back at her, but astonishingly wearing a habit.

Sister Margaret-Michael and Esther were identical twins.

Two halves of one whole.

Chapter 2

“Live Long and Prosper!” they said in unison and laughed.

 “Come in quick!” said Margaret-Michael “before anyone spots you and stops us and wants to talk to you.  I want you to myself FIRST.”  They linked arms and moved quickly along the stone-flagged corridor.

“Ah! My favourite twins!” said a voice behind them. Esther gave a cry of delight, neatly spun both of them round, righted Margaret and enveloped Sister Florence in a bear hug.

“And my darling, favourite Sister-Granny!” she said into the top of Sr. Florence’s veil thinking how nice it would be to pick her up and put her in her pocket.  Sr. Florence reached up to her:

“My dear!  You look as beautiful and bonny as ever! However…” here she peered closely at her “I can see those teenagers have been tiring you out.  We must give you lots of TLC”.  Esther stooped down and hugged her close feeling the fragile fineness of her elderly soft skin.

Sr. Florence stood back, still holding her hands: “Now dears” she said briskly: “I’m not going to take up anymore of your time.  Off you both go; you’ve got a bit of space before Margaret has to come to chapel.  Don’t bother to come down Esther dear, use it for settling in.  You’ll enjoy the lunch.  When I told Sister Joan you were coming, she made sure that your favourite soup was on today along with those delicious sesame rolls she knows you love.  See you later my dears” and with that, she whisked herself out through the oak door into the sunshine.

They looked after her, both heads tilted at the same angle: “Aahh – ain’t she loverly” they said together and laughed.

“Come on!” repeated Margaret, this time grabbing her arm and pulling her along.  “I have put you in the Rose Room”

“Oh I –“

“I know you do." “Are there?  –“

“Miss Hemshall I’m afraid.”

Reading each other’s thoughts and answering each other’s unfinished sentences. Coming home.

Meg opened the door and stood back - the convent training in effacement automatic, even with her twin.  Esther loved this room – in fact it was a favourite amongst the guests and competition for it was fierce.  The scent of climbing roses wafted in through latticed windows and sunlight shone on the crucifix over the bed.  A simple room: whitewashed walls, a surprisingly comfortable single bed facing the windows, washbasin, desk and chair tucked away in the corner, polished wooden floorboards, the curtain recess with the railing for a few - a very few - clothes and best of all, the shabby comfy armchair drawn up to the windows framing peaceful gardens and sight of hills in the distance.  “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help” Esther murmured.

“Cooee!! What have you been doing? Reading a bible?” responded Meg. At that moment, Miss Hemshall appeared in the doorway:

“Now I understand! I did wonder who was the lucky person to get this delightful room that we all love so much.  Sister Margaret-Michael, I’m sure that would count as favouritism – I’ll think I should tell Mother Benedictus.”

Meg turned, smiling with genuine amusement: “Ooh!! Shouldn’t do that if I were you Miss Hemshall.  It was Mother who suggested it.” 

Miss Hemshall dealt with this, as she did with anything that was inconvenient.  She ignored it.  Turning to Esther, she raised her straight eyebrows and laughing gently said:  “Lovely to see you Esther dear.  You made very good time for the last day of term.  I hope you didn’t run over any of the pupils as you raced out of the gates”.  Esther was annoyed to find herself feeling defensive but Miss Hemshall had already turned back to Meg saying: “Dear Sr. Margaret-Michael: you know Esther your twin is such a vital presence here.  Many are the times when I have been in the chapel and heard her merry laugh echoing round the cloisters.  Certainly wakes us up!  Talking of chapel, I am assuming that we shall be seeing you there shortly.  It would be such a shame to miss out – particularly as you have arrived in time for it.  I will see you there – and if you need any help with the order of service – I shall of course be on hand to help.”  And on that note, she swept out of the room.

“Don’t you dare go down to chapel now” hissed Meg and at that point, the electric bell, which reminded Esther rather unfortunately of school, pierced the air.  They both clutched at each other and giggled.  “See you at lunch” said Meg and was gone.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

7.30pm: that brief time of freedom in the space after supper and before Compline: “Non-Contact time even with God” Esther would say to the mock horror of her twin.  Meg, Sr. Florence and Esther were dawdling in the garden.  After the heat of the day, the air was redolent with the scent of the sun-warmed plants and earth. In the distance the hills softened and blurred in the approaching dusk.

“How beautiful it all is” breathed Esther.

“All we need now my dear, is a lovely gin and tonic to complete our happiness” piped up Sr. Florence.   They all chuckled.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

 Inside the convent, it was cool and deserted.  Miss Hemshall walked along the edge of the corridor with exactly the right degree of pious humility. Whilst working in the library, she had come across a long discarded tome that detailed the steps that had to be taken in order to break down each individual and rebuild them into humble, pure and obedient nuns.  She had been particularly struck by the idea that it was considered prideful to walk in the middle.  Since then, her wall-hugging progress throughout the convent was second to none. Sister Jeanette used to say that Miss Hemshall had seen ‘The Nun’s Story’ too many times and had a secret plan to morph into Audrey Hepburn.

Unaware of this, Miss Hemshall felt pleased with the way the day had gone. Earlier, she had been able to alert Mother Benedictus that she had spotted two of the novice sisters talking and giggling when working in the garden within the Lesser Silence.  ‘Mother is far too weak’ she thought. ‘You have to be prepared to firmly lead those beneath you. It’s obvious. Obedience. Discipline. Law. Purity. Without them the soul is lost.  I now accept that it has fallen to me to strengthen Mother Benedictus’ resolve. How gracious is the Lord to entrust me with this task. What an extraordinary choice of guest mistress that Sister Margaret-Michael is.  A loose cannon if ever there was one. Step by step: I need to bring them into line – well not into line exactly – but people would rather expire than change their point of view.  It is a case of helping them to see that an ex-hippie is not the best sort of person for the public face of the community. Such a ramshackle sister: far too informal and over-friendly with the visitors: no sense of the dignity of her calling.  She would be better placed in the laundry: the silence of the ironing room would bring her back to humility’.  She gave a satisfied nod to herself and opened the door.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

Instinctively, the three of them had been making for a secluded garden seat in the Rose Garden.  Getting to it however involved squeezing through a too narrow gap in the yew hedge and navigating round an ancient Hawthorn.  However its advantage was that once safely seated, you were unlikely to be disturbed. Sister Florence’s veil got caught and Esther trod on Meg’s foot but finally they managed to sit down, look at each other and laugh.  “How very sylvan this is” said Esther.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

The room felt uncomfortably warm as Miss Hemshall walked in and there was an unpleasant whiff of something even though the windows were wide open.  She didn’t stop to investigate but made straight for the desk where she had placed a notepad and pen dead-centre.  Quickly and efficiently she jotted down the salient points she wished to discuss with Mother Benedictus replacing the cap with a satisfied click.

It was then that she saw it.

Where the crucifix should have been a large dead crow was suspended upside down. In that moment an atavistic frisson of revulsion flashed through her.  She took a heaving breath, stumbling backwards and screaming “Sacrilege” over and over again.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

When the word erupted across the gardens, the three of them - who just a second ago had been laughing over Esther’s school tales - were stupefied.  Unknowingly Esther & Meg gripped each other as the awful shouts continued. 

Pandemonium. 

Doors slamming, babbling voices, running footsteps and slicing through it all, the voice of Miss Hemshall:  “Where is Sr. Margaret-Michael?  As guest mistress she should be here.  She needs to be fetched!”  Meg was already on her way, veil flapping wildly, strong calves displayed as she raced along.  Esther was right behind her and as they ran, she connected with Meg:

“I’m right here. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it as we always do.” 

And then she knew that Meg was praying and ceased.

Chapter 3

As they entered the room Esther was reminded of one of the more chaotic days in school.  Two elderly female guests in the corner were making turkey gobbling noises: the youthful Rev. John Tunkison (also known as ‘Hunky Tunky’) who should have left with his teenage study group long ago, had somehow managed to get himself into the scene and was sitting on the bed stroking Miss Hemshall’s arm.  His wife meantime was perilously leaning out of the window shouting out “I still can’t see her” finishing with a little scream and catapulting back inside when she realised the Cavalry had actually arrived.  Meanwhile Sister Verity ineffectually flapped round two novice sisters who were scrabbling to release the bird. 

“STOP THAT!”  Esther rapped out in a voice that had been known to stop a dozen teenagers in their tracks.  Everyone froze and in the ensuing silence Meg went over to the bed and stood by Miss Hemshall.  The novices looked guilty and Sister Verity bowed her head meekly.  Esther and Meg exchanged glances: 
 

“Come along everybody: I think it is better if we leave Sr. Margaret-Michael and Miss Hemshall alone.”  As she was saying this Esther was firmly shepherding everyone out into the corridor.  “Mrs Tunkison?  We need you here.”  She was hoping that Tunky would also take the hint but he remained firmly in place.  Once outside, she could be heard marshalling everybody: Mrs Tunkison to fetch Mother, Sister Verity to track down Sister Melanie the Convent Superior, novices and visitors off to make tea.  The door closed. 
 

Silence 

With deadly precision, Miss Hemshall said:  “You have allowed in this abomination. This is a place consecrated to prayer and yet this – this – thing has been placed in my room.” 

“Oh no please!” protested John: “I know this has been a great shock but really, you cannot be suggesting that Sister Margaret-Michael has deliberately allowed this to happen.” 
 

Miss Hemshall pointedly moved away from him: “Should you not be with the others?” she said witheringly.  He reddened and hurriedly stood up: 
 

“I thought...well if you are sure.....” 

“Yes!” Miss Hemshall’s usual high colour had deepened into puce.  Meg collected a chair and sat down.  They stared at each other and then Meg said gently: 

“This is horrible and I am so sorry that you have been subjected to this.  Shall we go and sit somewhere else? It seems to have been a particularly nasty prank - ” 

“PRANK??  Is that how you view it?  I tell you frankly Sr. Margaret-Michael, an attitude of permissiveness has crept into this place and with such laxity, vile things like this will happen.” 

The Meg of earlier years would have hotly responded, but that life had been left behind:

 

Let all guests that come be received like Christ

 

 and so now it was Sister Margaret-Michael, struggling hard, who carefully said: 
 

“Certainly that is a discussion that we can have but right now, I am concerned about you.” Meg bit off the words she could feel surfacing and tightly clasped her hands beneath her scapular. 

It was at this point that the door opened and – oh blessed relief – in walked Mother Benedictus and Esther. 

“For the life of me:  I can see no reason why the sister of Sister Margaret-Michael should be included in these discussions: she is not even an Oblate.”  Miss Hemshall immediately said.  Having removed Esther, Miss Hemshall then set to work.

Meg’s shortcomings, laxity and general unsuitability as a Guest Sister were forensically displayed and dissected.  In fact, as Sister Melanie drily commented to Sister Florence, the dead crow had done Miss H a great service in providing the ammunition she needed.

Mother Benedictus – an elderly, unworldly scholar – was not a street fighter.  It wasn’t until Sister Melanie appeared that the cutting, precise voice was silenced. A practical tone entered the proceedings.  Miss Hemshall was upgraded from a room to a little flatlet normally reserved for visiting priests and speakers.  Since it had its own ensuite bathroom and sitting room, it had the added attraction of being slightly set apart from the hoi polloi.  The only way of reaching it was through an archway at the end of the guest bedrooms.  A winding narrow corridor ensured privacy since there were no other rooms beyond that threshold and its entrance was at the far end.  Miss Hemshall would be able to reside in splendid isolation.  Janet Mundy, the large, capable Cleaning Supervisor would be instructed the following day to thoroughly clean the room.  It was with difficulty that Sr. Melanie persuaded Miss Hemshall that spiritual cleansing in the shape of bell, book & candle was not really necessary.  A compromise was reached: prayers would be said and holy water sprinkled.  Meg knew that the news had spread throughout the convent and received many sympathetic looks, pats on the arm and silent hugs.  In this way the sisters neatly sidestepped the sin of gossip whilst still managing to communicate.  A way would be found of talking about it later. Only Sr.  Florence took both her hands close murmuring:  “My dear.  My dear.  What rough work.  Try to forgive that ghastly woman....If you can’t, just let go and let God”

And then it was time for Compline: the observance of the Liturgy of the Hours continued ceaselessly.  This was the Rule.

‘You must pray at all times and not lose heart’ Luke 18.1

The time-honoured words of the Night Office carried Meg forward, and she found a degree of peace.  Concluding prayers were said and the lights switched off. The silence however, did not bring the quiet peace before rest.  Somewhere, within the convent, malicious mischief had entered.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

Just before she got into bed, Esther was annoyed at herself to find it necessary to wedge the desk chair under the door handle.

“I’m just too tired: that’s all.  I shall allow myself to do this tonight but, after a good night’s rest, there will be no excuse to give in to such paranoia.”

Her sleep was not restful however.  Into her dreams came large, fetid crows that twisted and screamed.  Briefly surfacing she imagined strange sibilant sounds outside the door. These accompanied her back into the depths of sleep and became monstrous.  At last it all came to an end, she was pulled up from sleep by the dawn. She was awake in birdsong and sunlight.

Pulling on her dressing-gown, she unhooked the chair from the door wishing that she had an ensuite bathroom, but the next moment she was back in the nightmare.

On both sides of the corridor, next to the skirting boards, two trails of earth had been laid.  These led to the archway through to Miss Hemshall’s quarters. Here the earth had been spread across the entrance in a dense layer. Out of this a wooden crucifix protruded obscenely and around its base, ash had been scattered.

The teacher in her came to the rescue: unhesitatingly she walked to the stairs and pulled out the crucifix, managing to say with credible indifference: “I think this is all getting rather stupidly gothic.”  She was just congratulating herself on being so calm when she heard Miss Hemshall’s door open: the teacher immediately disappeared.  Clutching the muddy crucifix to her, she turned and fled back to her room.

Chapter 4
 

Inside the safety of her room she pressed her ear against the door

Nothing.

Esther had to fight with herself not to look out. The silence seemed to be going on too long.  Perhaps Miss Hemshall had fainted: dropped down dead with shock: crept back to her room: was hiding under the bed: locked in the wardrobe.  “Get a grip woman” she thought “hysteria isn’t going to help”.  Suddenly, next to her ear, came a sharp rap on the door.  She leapt back, clutching the crucifix to her breast.

“Esther? Esther?” The sharp tones brooked no delay.

“Er....Miss Hemshall?  Just a moment, hang on...” horrifyingly she had almost opened the door with the crucifix in her hand. Within a few seconds she had thrust it under the bed, torn off her earth-smeared dressing-gown and then, in her pyjamas, opened the door.  She looked into the puce face of Miss Hemshall and remembered to be astonished when she spotted the two earth trails.

“Miss Hemshall!!”  She was quite pleased with that: a believable mixture of shock and concern.

Miss Hemshall never lost control in her fury but at certain points she could not help speaking in capitals.  “You haven’t seen the WORST of it:  SEE!  This is OUTRAGEOUS. I shall make it my business that whoever did this will be BROUGHT TO BOOK.”

Suddenly she stepped over the trail of earth and was inside the room before Esther could stop her. “Did you hear anything? Anything at all?”  As she was speaking, she was looking round the room, as if expecting to come across a pile of earth and a shovel.  All of Esther’s attention was on wondering whether the crucifix had been pushed far enough under the bed. She willed herself not to look in that direction: 

“No I slept right through!”

“Then in that case we must question the other two guests on this corridor.”

“Forgive me Miss Hemshall, I hardly think that the two, rather deaf, elderly ladies currently in those rooms would have enough strength to lug up sufficient quantities of earth to spread along this corridor.  Furthermore.....”At this point Esther stopped.  She had been about to say “...I don’t think they could have wedged a wooden crucifix under the arch.”

“Furthermore?”

“I was about to say – er – furthermore since the community at this very moment is reciting Lauds, nothing further can be done at this point.  I suggest you take this space to focus your thoughts so that you will be able to report this – this incident – with clarity and accuracy.”

“And up yours with a rotating pineapple” came the unexpected thought.  This scandalous insult picked up from the Go-Hawk gang, pleased her.  Her anger at what Miss H had done to her twin was still very much with her.  Miss Hemshall grunted “Yes” but still stood there until Esther was practically screaming.  “Yes” she said again, and then suddenly – was gone.

Chapter 5

“Hello!! What’s been going on here then.......?”

 A little knot of people consisting of Sister Clare (the current ineffective Asst. Rev Mother), Miss Hemshall, Meg, Esther and by chance Sister Florence, were gathered round the arch gazing at the earthy mess. At these words, they turned so see the convent’s Maintenance Manager staring at the 2 trails of earth whilst unhurriedly strolling up to the group. Calling upon maintenance was an example of the niceties of convent hair-splitting. Since earth was involved, it was considered that repairs rather than cleaning should be summoned. Sister Florence opined to Meg that in

that case shouldn't the gardeners be asked to roll up?

Charlie Goodson was the Maintenance Manager and at 46 had achieved the dizzy heights of overall responsibility for the repair and maintenance of all the convent buildings.  A solid, reliable worker seemingly capable of dealing with anything - as well as having the huge advantage of being a woman.  The benefit of this had been summed up by one of the elderly sisters: “If you’re seen without your wimple, it won’t matter so much”.

Charlie stood by the earth barrier, large and solid, in her worn green boiler suit. Everyone felt that matters would now be put right and started talking at once.  She stepped back rumpling her hair leaving it comically spiky saying:  “Whoa!! Let’s just see what’s what: I’ve been told that you found all of this, when you got up this morning, but no-one heard anything. Right?”  A collective nod.  Miss Hemshall started to say something but Charlie had turned back to the archway.

She took her time looking:  “Very odd – look - something’s been wedged in there.”  Her tobacco-stained finger pointed at the hole where the crucifix had been. “And now it’s been removed.”  Esther felt herself go cold and suddenly Meg knew she was gripped by alarm.  Quietly, she moved beside her and gently rested her hand on her twin’s back. All this time, Esther’s stare was fixed on the back of Charlie’s head as if seeing for the first time how short and untidy it was.

Charlie straightened up and looked directly at Miss Hemshall. “I heard about the crow - and now this.  Sorry, but this seems to be directed at you.  Has anything happened that might set somebody off doing all this?”

A red flush started to crawl up Miss Hemshall’s neck: “Don’t be absurd!  You are here to get this cleared away: it’s not your job to start questioning people.  I presume that security of the convent has been lax, or a repair has not been completed, thus allowing access into the building.  That is all you need to be concerned with”

The watching group held its breath. Charlie was unmoved: “You don’t get it.  Who’s to say other things won’t happen?  Well it’s up to you.  Lock your door at all times.  Don’t you worry about security:  this place is in safe hands.  I always make sure that everything is locked up tight but if someone wants to get in, they will.  No building can ever be 100% secure.”  She turned to Sister Clare: “I’ll get the lads to clear away the earth and then Janet or one of the girls can wash down the floorboards.  I leave you to decide what you do next.”  She looked at Miss Hemshall and, with a slight shake of the head, walked away.

Suddenly, the electric bell shrilled madly to summon the sisters to the Chapter House for Morning Meeting.  Everyone jumped.  “Saved by the bell” murmured Sister Florence.  To the sisters’ astonishment, Miss Hemshall made as if to go with them.

“Er.....Miss Hemshall?” said Sister Clare.

“It is obvious I need to alert the sisters that there is some very nasty mischief-making going on and we need to discuss strategies.  I will also make this a warning shot so that if it is one of the community, the individual will be made aware that this will not be tolerated”.

There was a collective intake of breath.  Swiftly St. Florence stepped in front of Miss Hemshall, blocking her way – a diminutive sparrow facing up to a snake.  She said:  “Miss Hemshall: in your understandable distress, you forget the rules of this house.  Morning meeting is for the sisters and is held in the enclosure.  Since the founding of this community in 1879, lay people have never participated.  We will approach what is happening steadfastly and with prayer.  Please be assured that we will support you but it is the community that will take the lead".

Belatedly, Sister Clare stepped forward:  “And....after discussion amongst the senior sisters, we’ll get together with you to decide the best course of action”.  Firmly, she took hold of Sister Florence’s arm and walked away.  With an apologetic look at Esther, Meg followed.

At this point, “the lads” appeared, bringing buckets and big grins.  Esther made her escape.

**********LATEST INSTALMENT ADDED: 24^TH SEPTEMBER 2013*********

Chapter 6

 

With its heavy thick walls, the Chapter House was cool and calm after the heated exchanges in the Guest Wing.  Meg and Sister Clare joined the line of sisters as they filed though the elaborately carved doorway to their assigned places there to sit in silence with bowed heads and eyes cast down.  There was no sound except for the tread of sandals on flagstones and the swish of long habits.

The Chapter House, beloved by the sisters, was an octagonal-shaped building, built when the Order was founded in 1879. Over the years, the harsh grey stones had mellowed to a soft silver. A solid survivor, it had stood adjacent to the chapel cloister along which countless sisters had processed in and out of the enclosure over the decades.  Only Religious were allowed inside and the gothic windows were set high so that outsiders of an inquisitive nature could neither hear nor see what went on.  Stone benches were built into the walls and each sister had her assigned place. Hierarchy, as ever, was observed and members were moved up and down the benches according to seniority.  It was a source of suppressed hilarity to the novices that the seats for the senior members were slightly larger than the rest: “They’ve obviously got bottom” as one had cheekily said. The Big 4 achieved even greater distinction since their stone benches were elevated above the others on a dais whilst the pre-eminence of Rev. Mother was signalled by enthroning her in the centre of the platform on what could only be described as a royal seat.  Nothing else was placed in the chamber. Nothing was allowed to distract the attention of the sisters ranged round the walls.  This was a throwback to the Order’s formation.  Within its space, Victorian sisters had confessed to their faults and done due penance before the community, lying face down on the flagstones, arms outstretched in the shape of the cross.

In the present age however, punitive discipline did not figure and these assemblies were more like a spiritual board meeting. Getting together at the beginning of each day meant that community matters, prayer needs and spiritual AOB could be dealt with practically and pragmatically.  Prayers and plumbing followed each other seamlessly: “Pray without ceasing” was no idle slogan but was meant to be the bedrock of their existence.  Nevertheless, a way was usually found round such spiritual absolutes when practical solutions were needed. Thus, the Chapter House was only used in summer.  In winter, unheated as it was, it became icy.  Sister Florence commented” We’re not tough like they were”.

The early morning sun poured in through the windows lighting up the room and to Meg, the simple empty spaciousness of it was a balm.  She was with her community and looking round at them, heads bowed, hands folded beneath scapulars, she experienced a moment of exquisite clarity. This was indeed her community and she was surrounded by her sisters who, imperfect as they were, strived to be benign presences.
 

Mother Benedictus stood, saying the familiar opening words: “Let us listen to The Rule”. 

All rose.  Meg wondered what extract would be chosen and what would be said about the incidents.  There would have been no time for proper discussion amongst the seniors:

One of the novices cleared her throat nervously:

“I give you a new commandment:  love one another John 13:34

Having managed the opening extract, she took a deep breath and plunged in:
 

“We have been called to live as members of a community: as yet imperfect but by our love for one another, we bear witness to Christ.

We are called to love our sisters and the people within our walls as they are: to be accepting and open, forgiving and loving.

In this way so we help one another in our journey towards wholeness.  For it is only when we leave behind the constrictions of our small selves that we are liberated into becoming that which God wants us to be....”

“Good choice” thought Meg.  She allowed herself to sink down beneath the words and relaxed, only coming to when she heard Sister Melanie say:

“You all know that there has been a series of unfortunate practical jokes played on Miss Hemshall who is with us during these summer holidays to reorganize the Oblates library.  We are dealing with these pranks –“

 “Really?” thought Meg.

 “- but in the meantime, dear Sisters, I ask you for goodness sake to keep a sense of perspective and not let your imaginations run away with you.  A nonsensical and unhelpful response.  In your prayers, I suggest that you not only pray for the – er- prankster – but that you pray for steadfastness and sense!”  This was said with a definite acerbic edge whilst her stare bored into the unfortunate novices who had been heard excitedly discussing the incidents when they should have been in silence.  They blushed.  “Having said that, if any of you still have concerns about this come and talk to us. 

Remember, if something troubles you, we are here to be of service. That is all that needs to be said.” 

In a completely different tone, she concluded: “After the meeting, Sr. Margaret-Michael would you please remain behind.”

 This last instruction jolted Meg and suddenly, she felt like a guilty schoolgirl who had been summoned to the head’s office. Concluding prayers were said and the sisters filed out.  As Sr. Florence passed Meg, she gave her a surreptitious wink.

“Don’t look so worried my dear.” said Mother Benedictus “We have asked you to be here as the situation involves one of the guests and we need your input. They stepped down from their dais on high to democratically group themselves around Meg.

“Now tell us from the very beginning what has been happening: be robustly honest!”

 At the end of her recital where was a charged silence.

“Sisters, I fear that at the heart of this there is something wicked.”  Mother Benedictus said.  “It does not seem to me to be just a series of pranks.  We must set up a prayer vigil.”

“Nevertheless Mother, we cannot allow a contagion of fear to spread through the community” interposed Sr. Melanie.  “We must be practical as well as prayerful.    We need to be careful how much we pass on.  I suggest that Sr. Clare and I select the most sensible of the senior sisters to help us deal with this.”

“Good old Sr. Melanie,” thought Meg “always keeps us grounded.”

After that, matters moved speedily:  selected sisters would be deputed to be particularly observant as they went about their daily tasks and when night came would keep watch sitting on a chair in the guest house corridor.  “An ideal time in which to pray” said Mother Benedictus. A rota system would be set up.  Hunky Tunky would be tactfully questioned by Sr. Verity about his teenagers – in case what was happening was indeed just a series of adolescent pranks. Charlie, in the meantime, would be asked to come in each evening to make sure the building was secure, closing and locking the tall wooden gates when she left.  This would ensure that the community would be locked down both inside and out.  Each evening, after supper, the sisters charged with these duties would meet in the Chapter House to pray.  Both temporal and spiritual bases were thereby covered.

Finally, Mother and Sr. Melanie would meet with Miss Hemshall to suggest perhaps she leave the library re-organization and have a holiday whilst this was sorted out.

“Some hope.” thought Meg.

 

Chapter 7

 

Whilst all this was going on Esther was sitting on her bed gloomily staring at the crucifix which she had fished out from under the bed.  Her thoughts were not comfortable. “What an unbelievably daft thing to have done!  Now what?”

Suddenly, she was aware that Meg was on her way to her.  She waited for the secret knock they only used with each other.

“Oh darlin’ Come in!”

“Honey, what’s with you?  I got all your alarm bells – Hey!  What are you doing with that?”

“Shut the door, shut up and I’ll tell you.”

At the end of her recital, she was astonished and then comforted when Meg burst out laughing. “Oh Esthy, Esthy!  In the middle of all this ghastliness what’s your best shot?  Run off with a crucifix!  Well, if a vampire is doing all this, you’ll be alright.  Good grief! I’ll scout round the convent to see where there is a crucifix-shaped empty space and then sneak it back.”  They both knew it wasn’t as simple as that but Meg had tuned into Esther’s agitation and was working to bring the ordinary, everyday back. 

This was the unique gift they brought to each other: effortless attunement.

“So..How are the Big 4 with all this?”

“Oh usual thing: Mother theologically concerned: Sr. Melanie organizing everything within a matter of minutes: Sr. Clare bleating helpfully, Novice Guardian silent and encouraging and me telling it like it is with both barrels.  Anyway, fear no more.  Darling granny Flo will be watching over you all tonight on her little lonely chair at the end of the corridor and then Yours Truly will take over at 2.00am.”

“Don’t you think this is all getting a bit hothouse and mad?

“Nah the absolute opposite.  This will nip any funny business in the bud.  You have to remember that we are on the good ship of faith and apart from jumping overboard, getting off is not an option.  Doing this will stop any hysteria and the whole thing will just wither away.  You’ll see."

They were both to remember these words in the time ahead.

 

Chapter 8

 

1.00am

‘Lord, you are in the midst of us, and we are called by your name; leave us not, O Lord our God.’

In the corner of the sitting room, Miss Hemshall was kneeling perfectly at the Victorian Rosewood Prie Dieu reciting Compline.  She had been delighted to see it when she was moved into these quarters and had made much use of it. Father had installed one in her bedroom. How glad she was that he had trained her not to move a muscle: the fall of the ruler across the shoulders when the childish body slumped.  “To slouch in the presence of Almighty God is blasphemy.  What is it?”

Blasphemy father.” 

“I am doing this for you Anita.  You are going to be a true warrior for God. And a warrior is not made by soft-living and giving way to weakness”

She had shown weakness earlier that evening: her focus during the community Compline had not been up to standard; instead her thoughts had been pleasurably occupied with her successful re-establishment of control. Due devotion was still required: 

“I am a warrior for you Father – Father God - aren’t I?” This was one of those uncomfortable moments when she found that somehow, in her thoughts, Father and God had merged – blasphemy again. 

‘To you before the close of day,

Creator of the world, we pray –‘

As Meg had foreseen, she had speedily scotched the hesitant suggestion of Mother Benedictus and Sister Clare that perhaps a little holiday away would be a good idea? 

‘Really.  They have as much idea how to deal with this as kittens facing a rattle-snake”. 

Since she had no doubt that God had entrusted this work to her, she did not hesitate to deploy one of the most effective weapons in her armoury.  It was the equivalent of a spider’s web: beautiful to look at, deadly to encounter, from which there was no escape.

Charm.

It was impossible to resist as this sudden 360° change of tone totally befuddled and bewildered all who were on the receiving end. 

Mother Benedictus and Sister Clare were no exception.  Afterwards they realised that they had agreed to a daily progress meeting once morning meeting was over, that Miss Hemshall would take charge of all future rotas of the night watchers:

“Obviously I do not wish to overstep the mark but I can lift this particular burden from you.  A great deal of my professional life concerns rotas, timetables and schedules and for me it would not be difficult organise.”

And on it went.  Game, Set and Match to Miss Hemshall.  They had even agreed to her supervising Charlie each evening on the final lockdown.  (How this was to be achieved was anybody's guess since Charlie brooked no interference in her work.)

“V.      Keep me as the apple of your eye.

  R.       Hide me under the shadow of your wings”

The words continued but something odd was happening.  At first it barely registered but her devotions flickered.

There it was again.  A strange sound out in the corridor.

Her mouth continued:

“My own eyes have seen the salvation:

  which you have prepared in the sight of every

       people....”

A rhythmic metallic sound.

“Antiphon: Preserve us, O Lord, while waking and guard us while sleeping, that....”

And then suddenly, her mind knew what it was. 

“Wheels turning on a cart”

Why did the image of a tumbril come into her mind?  Prayer was arrested; everything focused on that dreadful thin sound that was coming nearer to her door.

Her father was beside her shouting: so close she could feel his breath:

“Is this the way you worship the Lord? With a wandering mind and a squirming fear?”

“I believe in God, the Father almighty,

  creator of heaven and earth –“

What was happening to the sounds?  She crept to the door.  Carefully picking up the fire poker, she switched off the light and slowly eased open the door.  All she could make out was a faint glow of light coming from beyond the bend of the winding passageway.

“Of course! That’s the guest corridor where Sister Florence is” she thought “I must be more overwrought that I thought.  Forgive me Father.” She was not even aware that the two fathers had become one. 

Straightening her shoulders, she took herself firmly round that corner - 

placed across the archway was a funeral bier covered in a black cloth.  A monstrous steel cross had been placed on top of it and the words “In Memorium” scrawled on a piece of card. This was the bier on which the coffined bodies of the sisters were carried to their graves.  The final truth.  And in that truth, Miss Hemshall knew she was alone in the vast blackness of the Greater Silence looking at the preparations for her death.

She wept.

The tears abruptly stopped: even as we meet our end, the body will fight for survival.  Her ears had picked up the stealthy sound of a soft footfall.  With a yelp of terror, she crouched own behind the bier.  A torchlight shone through the archway followed by a shocked exclamation.  Sister Florence had found the bier.

Hearing this, Anita Hemshall surged forward from behind the bier.  Sister Florence screamed and fell back against the wall "like in a scene from some ghastly horror film" she later told Meg. 

“Where ..... WHERE were you?” shrieked Miss Hemshall.  You stupid pathetic old woman.  You’re supposed to be keeping watch.   You’ll be sorry you left your post.”

“I needed to go to the lavatory.  I’m so.....”

“So they put an old woman who can’t control her bladder to keep watch: get out of my way.  I can’t bear to look at you.  You have failed”

Suddenly, all of the corridor lights blazed out and Esther was by Sister Florence’s side.

“Enough!!” she bellowed: “Are you alright dear Sister Florence?” and indeed, Florence was looking grey and unsteady.  “Would you kindly wake up Meg and tell her to fetch Sister Melanie?”

“Of course,” said Sr. Florence “I...” It was at this inopportune moment all hell broke loose. The silence was ripped apart by the ear-splitting wail of a siren powered by 240 volts.  They were engulfed. 

The Fire Alarm.

 All three blundered towards the Guest Wing entrance as people tumbled downstairs, dressing gowns askew, hair on end.  Sister Florence led the way to the Assembly Point in the courtyard. The cold air bit into the skin whilst the pitiless security lights created a scene uncomfortably reminiscent of a POW camp.  

A slightly overwhelmed novice was waiting, clutching a clipboard from which she ticked off names.  Figures could be seen racing along various passageways and cloisters and then – oh Glory – the noise subsided, balefully crawling down its scale before finally becoming silent.  The contrasting stillness pressed in on the eardrums. The Novice Guardian appeared.

“All is well!  We have tracked down the problem – a faulty sensor by the drying cupboards.  It has been disabled and tomorrow we will get the engineer to come in.  I am so sorry this has happened.  Has everyone recovered from the shock?  Uncertain nods were made: “I don’t expect you fill find it easy to get back to sleep but get back to your beds and rest bodies even if you remain awake.  Do not feel you have to attend Lauds.” With this kindly dispensation, she took Novice Jenny’s arm and started to walk away.  Esther darted up to her, speaking in a hurried undertone:

“Novice Guardian, may I have a word?”

“Now? Ah - yes, I see now.  Jenny you did extremely well: go back to bed and thank God that it was a false alarm!”

Esther walked to the edge of the courtyard, away from the returning guests.

“There has been another incident –“

“Another one?  Oh no, Please God what is happening here?”  As Esther was describing the events, Miss Hemshall appeared.  She remained silent throughout the rest of the recital.  “A sure sign” though Esther “that the stuffing has been knocked out of her – and no wonder...”

“I will get Sister Melanie and the other seniors said Novice Guardian immediately “and in the meantime, will you both quietly make your way back to the Guest Wing without mentioning this to others.  We do not wish to spread further alarm.  Let’s allow people to get back to their rooms – it’s now 1.30 am.  We will meet you in – er say – 20 minutes time at 1.50. I think that rather than going back to your rooms, you wait in the Guests’ sitting room.  We will come and fetch you”. 

Esther had to admire the quick-thinking of the last suggestion.  The sitting room was located well away from the guest bedrooms down yet another odd offshoot from the main corridor.  Its advantage lay in the fact that whenever over-exuberant Christians wanted to loudly celebrate their faith: they could not be heard by anyone else.

*          *          *          *          *

The fluorescent lighting did nothing to lessen the middle-of-the-night-dreariness of the sitting-room.

Esther looked across to Miss Hemshall.  She had not said a word on the walk over and now, as she made her way to the long table, she stumbled.  Suddenly into Esher’s mind came an image from an old newsreel she had seen as a child.  A convicted Nazi was being marched towards a courtroom where sentence of death would be passed on him. He was a slightly chubby elderly man and as he and the guards reached the door way, he flung his arms out and clutched the doorframe screaming and crying like a child, refusing to go through.  In Esther’s childish mind all she could see was a terrified old man.  Looking at Miss Hemshall, past and present images intermingled. 

“Miss Hemshall: let me make you something to drink.”

A shake of the head: moist eyes.

“Come and sit over here.  These armchairs are much more comfortable.”

“I am not a child.  I do not need to be mollycoddled and soothed.  It is required of us that we face what has to be faced without flinching and without weakness.”

“I see!  Then I won’t trouble you any further.”  With that Esther sat down in one of the easy chairs by the cold fireplace just managing to stop herself from hunching a shoulder.

Promptly at 1.50 am, the door quietly swung open and there were the Big 4 plus Meg.  She and Esther looked at each other and into both of their minds came their private motto:

“Two for One and One for Two.”  Eyes smiled into eyes.

Mother Benedictus went over to Miss Hemshall and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“My dear Miss Hemshall: what a terrible trial.”

“I think it is more than that Mother.  Someone/something wants me dead.”  There was a stir of consternation.

“No, no Miss Hemshall.  These are indeed wicked deeds but I know you will not give way to fancies but remain steadfast and calm.  We are here with you.”

“Refusing to see what is happening is not the way to deal with what is going on.  I can only hope that once you have actually seen what I have seen, you will face up to the seriousness of the situation.” 

After this, the walk to the Guest Wing was uncomfortable.  Miss Hemshall allowed herself to fall to the back of the group:  “So that we can all get the full impact” thought Esther.

As they passed through the first archway that led to the ground floor bedrooms, it was a relief to see that the guests had heeded Novice Guardian’s advice and taken themselves back upstairs and into their rooms.  Not a sound could be heard.

Miss Hemshall stood still as the little band walked towards the archway at the end of the corridor.  All she could see was their backs: they stopped: turned to each other: then once more turned back.   Complete silence.  

“Miss Hemshall, please come forward.” said Sister Melanie: the group parted as she came to that dreadful place.

The archway was empty.

 

 

50 WORD EMAIL ON PAST EVENT 
There has been a vile prank. Somebody carefully placed a dead sparrow outside a guest’s room. Superstition declares this will bring bad luck. I’m busy calming everyone down by suggesting it’s the cat but - entre nous – if that were true, our cat has a keen theatrical sense of the macabre.
 
MM


POST SEVERAL MONTHS LATER : FUTURE EVENT

CONVENT OPEN DAY: SATURDAY 17th AUGUST 
The Press are besieging us. In the middle of Vespers a photographer was perched on a ladder snapping away! On the advice of the police, we are not going ahead with Open Day. Instead we will hold a vigil throughout the day to which you are all warmly welcomed for as long or short as you wish. Since all Convent Gates and Doors are now firmly locked you will need to telephone us before Saturday (01274 437792) so that a sister can be on hand to let you in.
 
MM 

TWITTERING AWAY:-Reports of strange goings-on in a remote convent. Something very odd. What’s going on behind those high walls?Check it out ‘Two Halves of One Whole’.