Murder at the Queen's Old Castle by Cora Harrison

Author:Cora Harrison [Cora Harrison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2018-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

Sunday for the nuns and the lay sisters at the convent of St Mary’s Isle was the usual day for visits from family and friends. Sister Bernadette in the kitchen always baked some cakes, and various parlours, as well as the recreation room, had fires lit and were available for the entertainment of the visitors.

The Reverend Mother usually walked around the convent for half an hour or so, available to all, looking in through open doors, ready to nod and smile or to exchange some words, but never intruding by opening closed doors or by interrupting any low-voiced conversations. However, when she approached the north parlour that day, she was arrested by a chorus of exclamations and by the words ‘Queen’s Old Castle’. Somebody was telling an exciting story, drawing it out, judging by the gasps. The Reverend Mother slowed to a halt and wondered whether to join the animated crowd, searching her conscience for an excuse. At that moment, Sister Bernadette came down the corridor trundling a heavily weighed trolley with a squeaking wheel; she might, if she lingered, be of use to her in opening the door. However, despite the sounds of questions and interjections from within the parlour, sharp ears had heard the sound and the door was thrown open by a young boy before she could lift her hand to knock politely.

‘Goodness me, who is this new nun?’ asked the Reverend Mother. The wit was feeble by any standards, but Christy Callinan, apprentice to Maria Mulcahy, was young enough to enjoy the joke. When he became older, thought the Reverend Mother, he might become self-conscious about those very protruding teeth, but now they added to the charm of his broad grin and hearty laugh.

‘The Reverend Mother thought that I was a nun,’ he called back to the group in the parlour and Sister Philomena got up in rather a flustered way, while her niece Miss Maria Mulcahy looked embarrassed. Amazing how all of those holy nuns were enjoying so intensely the story of that terrible death. Still, thought the Reverend Mother, most of their lives are fairly dull. This event, the story of the gas canister being sent up, hidden inside a change barrel, was, after all, an extraordinary one.

‘How nice to see you again, Miss Mulcahy,’ she said, coming into the room and shaking hands with the guest. It was good of the woman to bring the boy with her, she thought. It showed that she had a motherly attitude to her young apprentice. His accent was that of a boy from the country, it had the sing-song lilt of west Cork. Unlike Brian Maloney, he would not have school friends to see on his one day off and might well be bored and miserable unless a relative made the long journey into the city to see him.

‘We’ve all been admiring his jacket. Look at that for smartness!’ Sister Philomena beamed at the boy. ‘Tell the Reverend Mother who bought that for you, Christy, won’t you?’

‘Miss Mulcahy,’ said the boy.

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