"The Irish nun who does the maintenance work?" I looked at Matt and smiled. He smiled back.
We had our magician woodworker. It made sense. All the pieces fitted together. Sister Bernadette was good at fixing things and knew how to use tools. She also did not want her friend, Sister Margaret, to talk to us about the disappearance of the babies and Mother Alfreda.
She had also been present when the large wooden crucifix fell off the wall and nearly hit me in the meeting room. She had made that cross move, just like my magic made clocks and watches I'd worked on move to save my life. Her magic must be strong indeed. Too strong for us to confront her. We couldn't risk another wooden object flying at us.
But Matt was already striding off, his broad shoulders set. He was determined to get answers today. I could only trail along in his wake.
Chapter 12
"Wait," Sister Clare called after us. I slowed to allow her to catch up, but Matt did not.
"I'm afraid you can't stop him," I said. "Nor will I allow you to try. We need to speak to Sister Bernadette. It's more important than you can ever imagine."
"I understand." Sister Clare glanced behind her to the mother superior, drumming her fingers on the desk and glaring daggers at her assistant. "You'll find Sister Bernadette in the coach house," Sister Clare whispered. "Promise me you'll tell me what happened to Mother Alfreda if you learn the truth."
I nodded and hurried after Matt. I caught up to him on the staircase where he finally stopped to wait for me. "The coach house," I told him.
Nobody tried to stop us, or even ask us why we did not leave the convent grounds. Not that anyone seemed to trust us either, going by the frowns we received in passing. I suspected the mother superior would soon be informed that we had not departed. We only had a short time.
Thankfully Sister Bernadette was indeed in the coach house. The building also housed the stables, going by the smell of horse. A young nun sweeping out the one and only stall in use directed us to the back of the building where Sister Bernadette knelt beside a cart. She peered up at the cart's underside, one dirty hand resting on the wheel. Her toolbox sat within reach. It was wooden and filled with tools sporting wooden handles that could become weapons if she chose to use her magic against us.
"Sister Bernadette," Matt began, "we need to speak with you."
The fingers tightened on the wheel and for a long moment, she did not move, merely continued to inspect the undercarriage. "I'm busy," she said in her thick Irish accent. "Come back later."
"We know what you are," Matt said quietly.
I glanced back toward the stable area, but the young nun could not be seen from where we stood, nor could the sweep of the broom be heard anymore. "Don't be afraid," I said to Sister Bernadette, who had not moved. "I'm a magician too. That's how we discovered you. I felt the warmth of your magic in—"
"Hush," she whispered, finally emerging. "Be quiet. Don't speak that word here." Her nervous gaze flicked toward the stables.
Matt held out his hand but Sister Bernadette merely scowled at it. His fingers curled up as she stood without assistance.
"Is there somewhere we can speak in private?" I asked.
"No," she snapped. "Leave me alone."
I retraced my steps and informed the nun in the stables that Sister Clare had need of her. I waited until she put away the broom and left the stables before returning to the part of the building where they kept the cart. It appeared to be the only vehicle. I supposed nuns had no need for a second conveyance.
"She's gone," I said. "We can talk freely."
Sister Bernadette snatched up her toolbox and held it in both hands in front of her like a shield. "I will not talk to you about…that. It's foolish to discuss it here. Go away and leave me be." Her cold manner was so different to the friendliness she'd shown us upon meeting her for the first time. That day we'd come to the convent and spoken to her and Sister Margaret she'd been cheerful until we'd asked questions about Mother Alfreda and Phineas Millroy.
"We can't leave without answers," Matt said. "This is too important. Tell us why you buried the babies' records in the woods."
Her lips parted in a silent gasp. "I…I…I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes you do. The box they were buried in was made using strong magic. The cross on the mother superior's office wall was also infused with strong magic. You made it, Sister Bernadette, and I will not stand for more lies."
"Are you threatening me, Mr. Glass?"
Matt looked uncertain, hindered by his own gentlemanly code of honor. He would not use violence against a woman, and coercing a nun to speak against her wishes was a task beyond him. We needed to find another way.
"He isn't," I said. "But I am. If you do not tell us what we want to know, I'll tell Mother Frances that you're a magician."
"She won't believe you. I doubt she believes in magic."
"If she needs convincing then I'll tell her how the cross leapt off the wall in the meeting room and almost killed me."
She clutched the toolbox tighter. "It didn't."
"It came close," I said. "Too close. And you made it fall, just as I can make watches and clocks move with my magic."
Her eyes widened ever so slightly. "You can? How do you do it? I can't control it, it just happens all on its own, and only when I'm desperate."
"I can't control it either." If the circumstances were different, I would have liked to compare my magic to hers, but not now. "So you admit you are a magician."
She gave a slight nod of her head. "Don't tell anyone. Do you hear me? They'll send me away, and then what am I supposed to do? This is my home. All my friends are here. I have no family outside these walls, no friends." Her lips trembled and her eyes watered. I suddenly felt ashamed for forcing her to talk to us. "What do you want from me?"
"We want answers," I said gently. "That's all. We are not your enemy. We don't even care if you are responsible for Mother Alfreda's disappearance."
Her face crumpled and a tear fell from each eye. Matt handed her his handkerchief and she set down her toolbox and took it.
"We just want to know what happened to the boy known as Phineas Millroy," I finished. "Is he alive?"
She dabbed at the corner of her eye. "He's alive."
Relief surged through me. I felt light headed, unbalanced. Matt touched my elbow, steadying me. How could he be so calm? Then I felt his fingers tremble.
"I see him in church, from time to time," Sister Bernadette went on. "His parents still live in this parish. Phineas is no longer his name. His parents, the couple I gave him to who brought him up as their own, gave him a new name. I can assure you he is healthy and happy." She smiled sadly. "I remind myself of that every day. Sometimes it helps to banish the guilt, but not always."
"Where can we find him?" I asked.
"I cannot tell you that. I know why you want to see him, and I sympathize, but it is against God's will to use his magic to prolong life."