The Rosary Garden by Nicola White (good books to read for women txt) 📗

way and reassured him that no emergencies were in progress. Swan introduced himself and said he’d be obliged if the doctor could remain in the house for the moment.

Nolan exchanged a furtive glance with his eldest daughter before retreating behind his door.

Sister Bernadette led Swan and Garda Fitzmaurice into the living room and took a seat on the very edge of a chintz-covered armchair, hands demurely clasped over one knee. Swan experienced a surge of impatience in the face of her composure, an urge to shout or throw some delicate ornaments about. Instead he wandered past her to take in the view from the window, settling his breathing. When he spoke, he addressed the windowpane.

‘Your nuns think you’re in Newry.’

‘I needed to come home.’

‘To check on your sister?’ He turned.

She gave him a steady look. ‘Yes.’

‘I’ve been to St Jude’s. Your sister had her baby there, didn’t she?’

A quick nod. ‘My sister’s not well.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I think having a child disturbed her – disturbed the balance of her mind.’

‘Can I ask: where is that child?’

Sister Bernadette looked over at the dried flowers arranged in the empty fire grate. ‘You have it.’

‘The baby in the shed?’

The nun turned to look at him, her eyes full of rising tears. ‘I recognised her the moment I saw her lying in that basket. I delivered her myself. Held her in my arms each day she lived.’ She pulled her black sleeve down over the knuckle of her thumb and wiped her cheeks quickly.

‘You misled us. You lied.’

‘I was worried about Peggy. I discovered she disappeared the same day the child was found. I came down here as soon as I could get away, to find out what had happened.’

‘Do you know for certain that your sister killed her baby?’

‘We argued about the child. I thought Peggy should bring her back home, despite what people might say, but she wanted her to disappear, that’s what she said.’

‘Your sister’s not married – wouldn’t it be tough for her to keep a child and raise it alone?’

‘We would have managed. I told her I’d help.’

‘But you’re up in Dublin.’

‘I could have come home.’

More tears appeared and Sister Bernadette swiped at them irritably.

‘That seems mighty liberal of you. We spoke with someone who saw your sister leave St Jude’s with the baby. She saw her being driven off in a car. You drive, don’t you, Sister?’

Sister Bernadette looked at him, plainly surprised or acting it well. ‘That wasn’t me.’

‘Who else did she know in Dublin?’ he asked.

‘No one.’

‘Did she tell you who the father was?’

‘I asked her, but all she would say was that they couldn’t be together – yet.’ Sister Bernadette took a breath. ‘I think he must have been a married man, but she still had hopes for him. The hope was more precious than the child. Maybe I pressured her too much.’

‘Did she admit to killing it?’

Sister Bernadette shook her head quickly. ‘But having a baby can bring on depression, even psychosis. Peggy was – not herself. Like she didn’t have her feet on the ground. I didn’t think she could something like that, but what do I know?’ There was bitterness in her voice.

‘And what does Peggy say?’ asked Fitzmaurice.

‘She says the baby in the shed wasn’t hers, that her baby was adopted and taken abroad. It’s a fantasy. I held Grace in my arms, so how can she be in another place and happy? She wasn’t just Peggy’s, she was something to me too …’

‘Grace?’

‘Peggy wouldn’t name her, but I call her Grace.’

They sat in silence for a minute while Sister Bernadette struggled to control her breathing.

‘Why did you unwrap the coverings from the baby?’

‘I needed to see what was done to her.’ She brought a curled fist to her mouth, pressed it hard against her lips. ‘I wish I hadn’t. I don’t know why I hid the blouse; I think I was in a panic in case it was Peggy’s. I sent the Hogan girl away for water so I could have some time. Just an excuse – she’d been baptised already in the little chapel at St Jude’s, only the three of us there.’ She smiled briefly at the memory.

There was a knock at the door and Considine stuck her head in, asked to see Swan for a moment. They went into the small front porch and kept their voices low.

‘I was making small talk, boss, wasn’t trying to do my own interview, but she just started talking about the kid.’

‘Okay. What’s she saying?’

‘She says the one found in Dublin wasn’t hers. Says that hers was taken to England. She won’t say who took it.’

‘Do you believe her?’

‘It’s pretty unlikely.’

‘Did she talk about being picked up in the car?’

‘No – I wanted to hold off till you were there. How’s the nun?’

‘Chatty. Now she says she recognised the baby in the shed as her sister’s. She thinks her sister snapped and killed it.’

‘Wow. Just like that.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Swan. ‘She’s assuming no one else was involved, but who was driving the car that picked Peggy up from St Jude’s – if it wasn’t her sister? Time to bring her downstairs.’

Peggy Nolan sat in the corner of a small sofa in a bright room off the kitchen, her bare feet tucked under her. The room was painted yellow with little mirrors and pictures livening the walls, the kind of old-fashioned things Elizabeth would like. Swan remembered the sentimental note he had left for his wife and quickly bundled her from his mind.

Apart from her russet colouring, Peggy was quite different from her sister, made from some heavier element, her face full and sensuous but lacking animation. Moving quietly, Swan took a chair opposite. Considine sat on the sofa beside Peggy, while Fitzmaurice lurked somewhere behind him.

‘This is Detective Swan, my boss,’ said Considine. ‘Can you tell him what you told me?’

Peggy moved her gaze slowly from Considine to Swan. ‘My baby is in England, in a house by the