Peter Tremayne - Act of Mercy

‘I must apologise for the embarrassing end to our service, Sister Fidelma,’ she intoned rather than spoke, like a reciter engaged at a reading while her co-religionists were at their meal. Fidelma had never noticed her curious manner of speaking before. Perhaps it was because previously she had been distracted in the company of others. ‘I do not understand the passions of the young.’

‘You refer to the exchange between Sister Crella and BrotherBairne? I did find Bairne’s choice of text from the Holy Book somewhat bizarre!’

‘There are some things better left unsaid,’ Sister Ainder remarked, as if agreeing with her.

Fidelma asked, ‘Do you know what Bairne was accusing Crella of, or what Crella was accusing Bairne of? It seemed that something was going on between them.’

‘Whatever it was, it is doubtless no affair of ours.’

‘I would prefer your comments, Sister, and I would especially like to know more about Sister Muirgel.’

‘Is there not an old saying which exhorts people not to enquire what goes into a neighbour’s cooking pot? I see no reason for such questions.’ Sister Ainder exuded disapproval.

When Fidelma explained her purpose more fully, using the excuse she had agreed with Murchad, it made little difference to Sister Ainder.

‘The matter is perfectly straightforward and best forgotten. Sister Muirgel was silly enough to go on deck during the storm. She paid for her mistake with tragic consequences.’

Fidelma pretended to agree, concluding, ‘Yet there is wisdom in the request of Murchad for me to make an official report to ensure that he is not liable for the … accident, if compensation is claimed by the deceased’s family.’

Sister Ainder made a slight movement of her shoulders as if to dismiss the matter.

‘I know nothing of her family, but surely the captain cannot be blamed if one of his passengers is silly enough to put their own life at risk?’

‘True,’ agreed Fidelma, ‘but I have to be assured that this was, indeed, the situation. The testimony of witnesses is important.’

The voice of the tall religieuse grew cold. ‘I am certainly no witness.’

‘I did not mean witness to the actual tragedy. However, you could give me some background detail. I presume that you knew Sister Muirgel?’

‘Of course.’

Fidelma suppressed a growing feeling of irritation. Extracting information from Ainder was like trying to draw teeth.

‘Where did you first meet her?’

‘At the Abbey of Moville.’

‘So you knew her well?’

‘No.’

Fidelma decided to attempt a different path.

‘When did you decide to come on this pilgrimage?’

‘A few weeks ago.’

‘And did you travel with Sister Muirgel from Moville to Ardmore?’

‘I did.’

‘Can you give me any impression about what sort of person she was?’

‘I really could not say.’

‘Yet you must have spent some time in her company on the journey?’

‘No.’

‘No?’ pressed Fidelma, exasperated.

‘No.’ Sister Ainder suddenly relented and finally volunteered some extra information. ‘There were twelve of us who started out from Moville. One of us died before we had gone twenty miles. She was an elderly Sister and should not have even started out on the journey. Our party was large enough for me not to take a particular interest in Sister Muirgel.’

‘Isn’t that strange for a group of pilgrims from the same Abbey, setting off on a pilgrimage to a distant land? Strange that they would not share a friendship or at least a knowledge of one another’s background?’

Sister Ainder sniffed deprecatingly.

‘Why so? A pilgrimage has nothing to do with being friends with one’s fellow religieux or not. Sometimes we did not even stay in the same hostel on our journey to the seaport. Besides, while the Abbeys of Moville and Bangor are situated not far from one another, they are separate institutions.’

Fidelma decided to make a final attempt.

‘Let me put it another way then. Was there any enmity among your group?’

‘I could not say. Nor do I see the relevance of any of these questions in connection with the accident which claimed Sister Muirgel’s life during the storm.’

‘It is my way of doing things.’ Fidelma was surprised that she responded so defensively to the haughty attitude of Sister Ainder. In other circumstances, she might have rebuked the inflexible religieuse sharply.

‘It seems a waste of time to me,’ replied Sister Ainder, unimpressed. ‘And now I am going to my cabin for my devotions and meditation.’ She made a move as if to leave.

‘One moment, Sister.’ Fidelma refused to be intimidated.

‘Well?’ The penetrating dark eyes bore down at her.

‘When did you last see Sister Muirgel?’

The tall woman frowned. For a moment Fidelma believed that she was going to refuse to answer.

‘I suppose it was when we came aboard. Why?’

‘You suppose ?’ Fidelma ignored her question.

‘I have said so.’

Fidelma observed the eyes darken with anger; there was a moment of quiet in which it seemed that Sister Ainder was making up her mind whether to add something to her negative response.

‘You saw her when you came aboard but not afterwards?’

‘You already know that afterwards she was confined to her cabin with sickness.’

‘You did not go to her cabin to enquire after her?’

‘I had no interest in doing so.’

‘You were not disturbed during the night, by the storm?’

‘I would imagine that everyone was disturbed by the storm.’

‘But you did not leave your cabin?’

‘Where do these questions lead?’ countered Sister Ainder scathingly.

‘I merely want to ascertain whether anyone saw Sister Muirgel leave her cabin and go up on deck from where we presume she was swept overboard.’

Sister Ainder’s face was set firmly.

‘I did not leave my cabin.’

‘When did you learn that Sister Muirgel was missing?’

‘When Sister Gorman awoke me with the news or, rather, the sound of her conversation with Brother Cian awoke me.’

‘Sister Gorman?’

‘We share a cabin. She had apparently been woken by Brother Cian conducting some search for Muirgel. I am usually a sound sleeper. Their voices woke me up. A stupid fuss about nothing.’

‘A fuss about nothing. But Muirgel, as it turned out, had fallen overboard. That is not a charitable remark.’

‘I meant their argument,’ snapped Sister Ainder. ‘Now …’

‘Argument?’

But Sister Ainder would not amplify. Fidelma tried again.

‘What was the argument about?’

‘I could not say.’

‘Presumably, as you were sharing a cabin, you know Sister Gorman well?’ Fidelma wanted to move to the matter in another way.

‘Know? Hardly. A silly young girl.’

‘As a matter of interest, who among your party did you know?’ asked Fidelma caustically.

The eyes narrowed and darkened again.

‘It depends on what degree of knowledge you mean when you use the word “know”?’

‘What meaning would you give to it?’ Fidelma shot back in frustration.

‘I would give various meanings. And now I think that we have wasted enough time on this matter.’

She turned and left. Fidelma remembered a game that she used to play as a child. A number of apples were floated on top of a barrel filled with water. The intention was to pick up as many apples as possible without using one’s hands. This game of extracting information from Sister Ainder was like that game. It seemed to be based on the same principle.

Fidelma was left feeling utterly confounded. She could not remember anyone getting the better of her questioning before, or answering in such a way that she learned absolutely nothing. She stood breathing deeply for a moment or two, feeling rather like a young student who had been soundly trounced by in a debate with Brehon Morann. Well, if there was one thing Morann had taught her, it was not to give up at the first blank wall she encountered.