The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

Nobody felt much like eating. I managed a couple of spoonfuls of rice pudding because that slipped down easily, but most of the food went back to the kitchen. The kitchen crew did the washing up and the rest of us went through to the common room. But nobody felt like talking either. It was growing dark in the room. A lamp had been lit and a couple of girls sat beside it, working at their sewing, one darning stockings, one mending sheets. One other was knitting a baby jacket. I had no work to do and perched on a hard chair, feeling awkward, wondering if there was any way I could get to the room where Blanche killed herself and retrieve that letter. They would have to summon a doctor to certify her death. And maybe a policeman too. The other sisters would have been called in. Would this be my chance to get out? It didn’t seem right that I should use poor Blanche’s death for my own advantage, but I worried what would happen if Sister read that letter and found out that I wasn’t who I claimed to be.

I left the other girls to their sewing and walked quietly down the hall toward the one door that led through to the other half of the convent. That door wouldn’t open. Even in her haste Sister had remembered to lock it. It was almost dark now in that windowless stairwell. A little light came down the stairs from above, enough for me to make out the shapes of the various doors. I went across the hallway and pushed open the chapel door. It swung open easily and I stepped into dark silence, breathing in the sweet incense smell. The chapel had been gloomy even in full daylight. Now that the sun had set it had faded into darkness. My heart was beating fast as I felt my way past the rows of pews, up to the altar steps then crossed to the nun’s portion of the chapel. I realized I hadn’t retrieved my things from the bedroom. But there was nothing of great value among them apart from my wedding ring and I wasn’t going to turn down a chance at freedom.

My eyes had now accustomed themselves to the fading light. I walked past the prie-dieux with their kneelers until I reached the door in the back wall. It was locked. It wouldn’t be opened again until the next office at eight o’clock, which must be quite soon now. If I could find somewhere to hide until then, I could wait until all the nuns were at prayer and slip out behind them. I looked for a place to hide. Day was fast dying now and in the gloom the chapel became a frightening place. Statues loomed out at me from their niches and I realized something unnerving—there was no form of proper lighting in this chapel—no electric light or even a gas bracket. There were occasional sconces for candles along the walls, and of course there were candlesticks on the high altar but I had nothing to light candles with.

I could not bring myself to stay here alone in darkness. Call me a coward, but I’ve always been afraid of the dark. I suppose it was the Irish upbringing with all our tales of ghosts and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night. During my life in New York I hadn’t really had to face this fear, with well-lit streets and electric lights. But in a place like this—a place of such tension and secrets, where girls had died—it resurfaced with a vengeance. I could feel panic gripping at my throat, making it impossible to breathe. As I stood there I felt a cold draft creeping around my legs and feet and it seemed as if I could hear someone breathing. The wind had picked up and was rattling at the tall windows, scratching at them like bony fingers, and through the sigh of the wind I thought I could hear voices—one voice maybe, whispering, “Come and find me, Molly. Come and find me.”

I didn’t wait a second longer. I stumbled my way back to the altar steps then all the way to the back of my side of the chapel. For a horrible moment my fingers touched rough stone wall where I thought the door should be. I felt my way around until finally I made out the doorframe and pushed open that door. I came bursting out to relative safety, still breathing hard. Then I hurried back to the other girls. Safety in numbers, I muttered to myself.

Of course once I was back in a place of light and company I felt ashamed of my moment of panic. If I had only held my ground, I might have found a hiding place and been out of that door within the next hour. I reasoned with myself that it would be more sensible to plan my escape for the eight o’clock mass in the morning, when girls and nuns were in the chapel at the same time. When a priest was here—an outsider who would surely help me. I would rise early and find my hiding place, and if I couldn’t find one, then I’d be ready to go up to the priest the moment mass had finished and beg for his help.

I realized too that I probably only had one chance. If that failed Sister Jerome would take stronger measures to keep me here.





Twenty-eight

No sooner had I returned to the other girls than the bell began to toll. Those girls who had been sewing and knitting put down their work, the lamp was extinguished, two candles were lit, and we followed the candlelight upstairs to the dormitory.

“I know I’ll never be able to sleep,” Aggie said, sinking down onto the bed next to mine.