"Phineas came to the nursery. Another magical baby. When I learned what he was, I grew instantly afraid for him. I prayed that Mother Alfreda would never find out. But she did. I know she did. To this day, I don't know how."
"Could she have been a magician too?" I said. "Perhaps she'd kept it secret."
"It's possible."
"There's another possibility," Matt said. "Did you confess to Father Antonio?"
"No. I'm no fool."
"Then perhaps Abigail confessed her suspicions about him and he told Mother Alfreda."
"It no longer matters." Sister Bernadette's tears had dried and her eyes took on a glassiness as she dug up painful memories. "I'll never forget when I saw Mother Alfreda leave the nursery one day with a hard gleam in her eyes and a twisted smile on her face. I knew then that she was the one possessed by demons. She was the evil one—not the babies, not me. And she was going to have the so-called devil exorcised from that tiny body too, just like the other one. I couldn't let that happen, not when I had the power to stop it. I suspected the first baby had died during the exorcism, and it was my duty to see that another innocent didn't suffer the same fate. So I stole him. I squirreled him out of the nursery one night when everyone else was asleep."
"And gave him to the childless couple," I said.
She nodded. "I begged them to take him. I already suspected the husband of being a magician, and my suspicion was confirmed when they took the baby in without question after I explained what had happened. The following Sunday, when I didn't see the wife in church, I asked where she was. Her husband said she'd gone on an extended visit to her sister's, to nurse her and her ill infant. A few weeks later, she returned with the baby, claiming her sister couldn't care for him. They raised him as their own, and I've watched him grow up." She drew in a deep breath and gave us a watery smile. "It has been my greatest joy to know that I saved his life. It has made everything worth it."
Matt rested a hand on the cart and leaned into it. "Everything?"
It took her a long time to answer, and for a moment, I thought she wouldn't. But eventually she said, "I've come this far, and perhaps it will ease my conscience to tell you."
"You'll suffer no censure from us," I assured her. "We will not judge you harshly."
"But God may."
"Or he may understand that you did what you could to rescue an innocent baby."
She bit her lower lip. "I killed her. I killed Mother Alfreda." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. I placed my arm around her shoulders and waited for the trembles to stop before letting go.
"You don't have to tell us," I reminded her.
"I want to." She exhaled a shuddery breath. "Mother Alfreda suspected me of taking the baby out of the nursery and demanded I tell her where he was. It wouldn't have been difficult to work out that it was me, since she knew I was a magician. She came to my cell and accused me of being a witch, of being possessed by a demon, and said I needed to have the devil driven out of me. She wouldn't listen to reason. She didn't care that I was born like this, that magic is a God-given talent. I asked her how she would get rid of the devil and she said it would be exorcised from me by a layman she knew. A man with excellent results whose subjects always became meek and mild when he'd driven the demons from their bodies. She described to me how he did it. His methods were much harsher than Father Antonio described. The body was tied up and nails driven into the extremities to mirror the suffering of Christ. It was sickening. Utterly awful. I asked her if she'd taken the first baby there, and she admitted it and then told me he'd not survived." Sister Bernadette closed her eyes, but it didn't stop her tears streaming down her cheeks. "Mother Alfreda was glad he died. She claimed that the devil was too deep within the baby for the exorcism to work, and that death was the best result for such monsters. She smiled as she told me."
She leaned back against the cart as if needing the support. She was pale and shaking, her face red and swollen from crying. "I pushed her. I was so angry and terrified that I pushed her. She fell and hit her head on my bedside table. She bled to death right before my eyes. I watched her die. I did not call anyone for help. I did not try to stop the blood. I simply sat on my bed and waited for her to take her last breath. Sometime after midnight, I wrapped her body in my blanket, carried her to the wheelbarrow stored in the gardening shed, and wheeled her to the river. I found some loose bricks along the way and tied them into her habit. Then I rolled the body into the water. She sank and as far as I know, her body was never recovered. It was easy. There are few people out at that time of night, and those who did see me didn't ask." She huffed out a humorless laugh. "Nobody questions a nun, even one acting strangely."
"And the babies' records?" I said. "You buried them that night too?"
She nodded weakly and slumped against the cart, her shoulders hunched. The strong, fiery Irish nun looked defeated. "There could be no questions asked about either child or the truth might come out. I didn't dare risk it. Sister Clare caused a small stir when she said she couldn't find them, but the convent was a hectic place at that time. Nobody was interested in files when Mother Alfreda was missing."
"You confessed to Father Antonio, didn't you?" Matt asked. "The murder, I mean, not about your magic."
She blinked at him, surprised he knew. "I had to or my soul would bear the stain. I didn't tell him why. He knew nothing about the exorcisms. I simply told him we'd argued, that I'd pushed her and she'd fallen. He said he'd take care of the police and, true to his word, they did not return and ask questions after that first day. Thank God."
"We won't tell them either," I assured her.
While I believed in justice, and I trusted Detective Inspector Brockwell to reach the conclusion of accidental death, Sister Bernadette didn't deserve to go through the traumatic experience and have her reputation damaged. The matter was best left alone now. She believed she would face God's judgment one day, and worrying about that was punishment enough.
"But please, you must tell us where to find Phineas," I urged. "I know you think that we are playing God in keeping someone alive, but you said yourself that magic is a God-given talent, that he made us like this." I took both her hands in mine and dipped my head to meet her gaze. "If he gave us the magic to keep someone alive, isn't it our duty to use it to save the life of someone who is dying from a gunshot wound?"
I could see the moment my reasoning got through to her. Her eyes cleared, the color returned to her cheeks, and she almost smiled. It seemed as if agreeing with me came as a relief.
"Magic has been given to us by God," she said.
"And murder is not God's will," I added.