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"A great pity," said Thomas, jerked out of his silence.
"Well she was being rather a nuisance," Zanny said mildly, "and she did get rather on my nerves. Sister Clemence was a very intense nun - not very well balanced, if you know what I mean."
There was silence for several minutes. The curtains moved softly in the breeze and the scent of autumn wood smoke drifted in.
"She said she'd pray for you," said Thomas. "Those were her last words." Like a little angel on a tombstone you are, he thought, with the breath of life breathed into you - more's the pity. Little angel of death.
Mother Benedicta would pray for her, too, Zanny was quite sure. All this praying was a bit of a bore. Sister Clemence dying was an incredible bit of bad luck, though at the time she had hoped with some pa.s.sion that she would. It was a pity that she hadn't died at once - before she could talk. Like the others. She hadn't included her in the confession she had made to Caradoc. She hadn't been dead when she'd left her and a wounding had seemed too trivial to mention. Besides, she hadn't attacked her on Murphy's account. Unlike Bridget and the judge Sister Clemence had nothing to do with him. She had jabbed her with the compa.s.s before she could stop herself- or think of the consequences. It was as simple as that. Caradoc's five years might still prove true after all. He would come and visit her in prison. They would reach out and touch each other's hands through the grille. Her prison dress would be grey with a white collar. Her hair, cut short, would curl into the nape of her neck. Her cheek-bones - high and dramatic like Garbo's -- would accentuate the deep glowing blue of her eyes. She would be pale and interesting and terribly beautiful - and mature. She would look at least nineteen. He would tell her how much he loved her. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l," he would say, "my body burns for you." His wife, in the meantime would have a fatal fall from a horse - unaided. Or she would meet someone else and there would be a divorce. It would be quite all right in the end. Nothing particularly unpleasant would happen to her. It never had. Why should it now?
Why was Mummy s.h.i.+vering and moaning on the sofa?
And why was Daddy looking at her like that?
"It will only be a few Hail Marys," she told them cheerfully, "and I've always found the police awfully nice."
"Good," said Warrilow softly, standing up. "Then perhaps you wouldn't mind accompanying us?"
"Not at all," said Zanny.
Then she smiled at him. Brilliantly.
The End.
