"Go on," Matt said.
She glanced over her shoulder then leaned closer. "We're a very quiet community here. We're not a cloistered order, but we keep to ourselves. We rarely go out into the world. There's simply no need, what with our own garden supplying us with most of our food, and a large kitchen to make our own bread. We have a little shop attached to the school, where we sell things we make to earn money to buy what we cannot produce ourselves. So when something of an unusual nature occurs, we tend to close up, not ask for outside help." She looked around again, and I was afraid she'd change her mind and stay silent.
"Sister Clare, are you asking for our help?" I asked. "We're good at solving mysteries, if that's what you require. And we are discreet."
"Extremely," Matt assured her. "Unburden your conscience, Sister Clare, and allow us to help if we can. What happened twenty-seven years ago that has you so worried?"
A nun walked past carrying a covered basket. Sister Clare nodded at her then ushered us outside to the porch and made as if she were sending us off. "The police got involved but nothing came of their inquiries."
Now I was intrigued. "Did a crime occur here?" I pressed.
"I'm not really sure. It has concerned me all these years, and I know we should keep our convent life to ourselves, but…this is different. This could be an earthly matter, not a spiritual one." She drew in a deep breath and gave a firm nod, as if she had finally convinced herself to leap off a high wall. "The previous superioress, Mother Alfreda, disappeared twenty-seven years ago. Here one day and gone the next, without telling a soul where she was going."
"Did she take any of her things with her?" Matt asked.
"We don't have things, Mr. Glass. We give up all worldly goods when we take our perpetual vows. She left with only the habit she wore."
"Did anything else of an unusual nature happen around the same time?" I asked. "Any breakins? Did she have a disagreement with anyone?"
She walked us slowly down the steps to our carriage, glancing left and right. "Something did happen at the time, but I didn't connect the two mysteries until later. And now here you are, asking about that baby after all these years. I remember his name very clearly because he was one of the children who disappeared around the same time as Mother Alfreda."
Chapter 2
"Disappeared!" I cried.
Sister Clare shushed me and glanced back at the open door of the convent. "It seems too coincidental for two babies to go missing and the mother superior to leave without a word. Don't you agree?"
"You remember that one of the babies was named Phineas Millroy?" Matt asked. "It was a long time ago."
"I have an excellent memory. I keep the records of all the abandoned children and where they go when they leave here. I created the records for those two babies when they arrived, then after they disappeared, I went to update them but couldn't find them."
"The records went missing too?" I asked.
She nodded. "I asked Mother Alfreda—our previous superioress, the one who disappeared—and she said one of them died in the night, but…it seemed unlikely. He was a healthy baby and, well, her answers were evasive."
"You think she took the children?"
"I don't know. The thing is, shortly after the second baby's disappearance, she too disappeared, and Sister Frances became our new Mother Superior."
Two nuns rounded the far end of the building, heads bent in quiet conversation, their gait ambling. Sister Clare bit her lower lip as she watched them approach. "I'm sure I'm worrying about nothing. I doubt anything untoward has happened. It's just that hearing the name of one of the missing children brought it suddenly back to me and I have been wondering all these years. I thought perhaps…" She shook her head then tucked her hands into her sleeves. "Never mind. It was a long time ago, as you say. Good day." She turned and hurried back inside.
Both of the approaching nuns looked up and paused upon seeing us. They looked old enough to have been here twenty-seven years ago. Matt must have had the same idea because he did not make a move toward our carriage.
Both nuns had friendly faces and warm smiles. One carried a wooden box by its handle and the other a basket filled with sewing needles, pins, fabric and cotton reels.
"Good morning," I said cheerfully. "Lovely day for a stroll."
"It is," said the one carrying the wooden box in a strong Irish accent. "Are you visiting the reverend mother? Can we fetch her for you?"
"We've just come from there." Matt gave them a little bow. "My name is Mr. Glass and this is Miss Steele. We offered the reverend mother a donation."
"Oh, how marvelous," said the one with the basket. "The school needs all the funds we can get. We're in sore need of more supplies for the girls to practice the domestic arts." She held up her basket. "It's difficult to teach them how to sew when we don't have enough cotton."
"Not to mention this old house needs some love and attention," said the Irish sister with the box. "The window frames are rotting on the upper floors and the roof leaks. I'm too old to clamber over roofs now but we can't afford to pay someone to look at it."
"Our little shop doesn't bring in enough to cover such large expenses," the nun with the basket said.
"I'll take a look at the roof free of charge," Matt said. "It might be just a loose tile."
"Would you?" The Irish nun with the box brightened. "I'm Sister Bernadette and this is Sister Margaret. It's my job to see that the convent and school are well maintained, but it's difficult with limited funds."
"Not to mention your age," Sister Margaret teased.
"You're just as old as me," said Sister Bernadette. "Brings us closer to God, it does." She winked at us and I couldn't help smiling.
"Your donation will be greatly appreciated," said Sister Margaret to Matt.
"It wasn't accepted," he told them. "Your mother superior didn't like my condition."
I held my breath as the nuns' smiles faded.
Sister Bernadette swung the box in front of her and placed both hands on the handle. It was a toolbox, although I couldn't see what tools she had inside it thanks to the closed lid. "And why is that?"
"We asked nosy questions about a baby that disappeared twenty-seven years ago and she didn't like it," Matt said.
The nuns exchanged glances.
"Were you both here twenty-seven years ago?" he went on.
"Yes," said Sister Margaret, her gaze drifting away from Matt's.
"But we don't know anything about missing babies," Sister Bernadette said, her accent sounding even thicker. "If you'll excuse us, we have work to do." She shuffled her feet as though she wished to walk away.