My heart sank. Could we not have one conversation in this investigation without being blocked at every turn? I shifted my glare from Father Antonio to the effigy of Christ in the sanctuary and back again.
"Please, Father, just hear what we have to say before you dismiss us," Matt said.
"I'll speak with you on one condition." Father Antonio leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Don't tell Mother Frances." He winked and sat on the pew in front of us. "You wish to know about a particular baby brought to the convent many years ago. I am sorry, but I know nothing about the infants taken there, and even if I did, I'd be sworn to secrecy. Most of the adopting couples prefer anonymity. I'm sorry your journey here has been wasted."
"We have other questions," Matt said. "About the missing Mother Alfreda, for one thing."
A blink was the only change to the priest's features. "I know nothing about that either. It was a long time ago."
"You're on record claiming she wrote to say she left the convent of her own free will, and yet we know she wrote no such letter. Her departure is still shrouded in mystery. Why did you lie to the police?"
Matt had spoken in hushed tones but the priest still glanced toward the elderly parishioner, the only other person in the church. "Come with me," Father Antonio said.
He led us to the rectory next door and into a sunny sitting room at the front of the house overlooking the street. From here, he could see the comings and goings at the church, the convent, and many of the houses. He adjusted his cassock and sat in a chair by the window. The sunshine bounced off his bald head and picked out the golden stubble on his chin.
I wondered how much he'd been told. If only the mother superior had warned him and not the other nuns, Matt's question about the missing Mother Alfreda would have come as quite a surprise. Yet he had shown very little sign of being ruffled. Perhaps a man in his position had heard a great many odd things over the years and was used to not giving away his thoughts.
"How do you know what was reported to the police?" Father Antonio began. "Do you work for them?"
"I consult for them on occasion," Matt said.
"On this occasion?"
Matt settled into the chair and smiled at the priest who smiled back. It was a battle of pleasantness with no clear winner—yet. "We're looking into the departure of the previous mother superior on behalf of an interested party."
"Who?"
"Someone who does not wish to be named. Can you help us?"
"I'll certainly try." The priest's smile slipped a little and his gaze lost focus. He was trying to think who could have tasked us with finding out what had become of Mother Alfreda, and what, if anything, it had to do with our inquiry into baby Phineas.
"The mother superior was reported missing by you," Matt went on, "and you retracted the statement the following day. However, no correspondence was received from her by anyone at the convent. They're still under the impression she did not leave of her own accord. Why did you retract your original police statement?"
I held my breath and watched Father Antonio very closely. It wouldn't be often that he was called a liar, yet he managed to keep his features schooled. "It's true that no correspondence was received, but I retracted my statement anyway. You see, the convent is securely locked at night. No one from the outside can get in without great commotion. There were no signs of a break in, no evidence of an intruder, and Mother Alfreda's cell was as it should be. There were no signs of foul play, as the police put it. After contemplation and prayer, I decided it wasn't worth upsetting the rest of the nuns by having police crawling over the convent. Some of them are young and very naive about the world. It would upset them greatly to think something awful had happened to their beloved reverend mother, and I wanted to spare them that. Please understand, sir, that if there was evidence of something having befallen Mother Alfreda, I would have been the first to invite the police in. But there was not. All evidence pointed to her having left of her own accord during the night. That alone was disruption enough for the good sisters, but to upset them further by involving the police, when there was no cause, would have been irresponsible of me. Without a mother superior, I was their only spiritual guide, their parent, if you like, and it was my responsibility to take care of their wellbeing. So yes, I made the decision to retract the statement. I never regretted that decision."
It sounded plausible, if somewhat patriarchal, yet I wasn't sure I entirely believed him. Surely he must have been as worried about the mother superior's disappearance as Sister Clare and the other nuns?
"Do you have any inkling why she left?" I asked.
"No. She seemed devoted to her work. It came as quite a shock. That doesn't mean I think she was met with foul play, just that I didn't know her all that well."
"Didn't you ask the sisters if it was out of character?" I went on.
"I spoke to them," he said tightly.
"So did we, and it seems Mother Alfreda wasn't the sort to just leave without word."
His only answer was a small shrug.
"The nuns you spoke to about her," Matt said, "what did they say to you?"
"I cannot tell you that. Surely you understand my position, Mr. Glass, even if you're not Catholic."
Matt inched forward on the chair. "They spoke to you about the matter in the confessional?"
Father Antonio clamped his mouth shut and forced a smile. Another shrug told us his answer to that question. Someone had spoken to him in confession, but he was not able to say more. Why would one or more of the nuns have something to confess if they were innocent?
"How convenient," Matt murmured, sitting back again.
"Did you look for her?" I asked.
"No," Father Antonio said. "If she wanted to be found, God would have guided me to her."
"Her disappearance occurred around the same time two babies disappeared from the convent," Matt said. "They were not given away for adoption and their records also disappeared. Do you know anything about that?"
The priest adjusted his cassock again and crossed his legs. "No. Are you suggesting that the reverend mother's disappearance is linked to theirs?"
Matt spread out his hands. "I'm not suggesting anything, merely stating facts."
"Are you sure you're not a policeman? You sound like one." Father Antonio's eyes crinkled at the corners. When Matt didn't return the smile, the priest sobered and adjusted his spectacles. "As I said earlier, I know nothing about the babies that go through the convent. That's something organized entirely by the sisters."
"You must know the families who adopt them," I said. "Aren't they your parishioners?"
"I'm not at liberty to say, Miss Steele. I hope you understand."
I sighed. We were getting nowhere. Apparently Matt thought so too because he changed the subject. "There was a young nun who left the convent around that time. She's not missing; she left of her own accord. Her religious name was Sister Francesca, her real name Abigail Pilcher. Do you remember her?"