Free The Religious Body by Catherine Aird Page A

would you say? Not facing up to things. Running away from life.”
    â€œThere’s always that, I suppose.”
    â€œNot my idea of a life. The superintendent called it a living death.” He pulled the eiderdown up. “Can’t see you going in one either, dear.”
    â€œOh, I don’t know,” said his wife.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œSuppose something had happened to you after we got engaged. What should I have done then, do you think? A living death wouldn’t have mattered very much then, would it?”
    He turned to face her, oddly disconcerted. “I … I hadn’t thought of that.”
    She snuggled down in the bed. “Mind you,” she said sleepily, “I don’t think I would have made a very good nun.”
    Marwin Ranby’s study at the Agricultural Institute looked almost as comfortable in daylight as it had done in the cozy, shaded light of last evening. There was a young woman with him. She had pale auburn hair and the delicate, almost translucent skin that often goes with it. The clothes she was wearing were deceptively, ridiculously simple, and Sloan was not at all surprised to find himself being introduced to Miss Celia Faine, the last of her line and Marwin Ranby’s fiancée.
    â€œI have been telling Miss Faine something of last night’s excitement,” said the Principal.
    â€œBut, I suspect, not everything,” said Celia Faine with a smile. She had a pleasant, unaffected voice. “Marwin’s being very discreet, Inspector.”
    â€œI’m glad to hear it, miss,” responded Sloan.
    â€œOr should I say ‘mysterious’? It’s because he thinks I should mind. But I know his boys get up to all sorts of things. They wouldn’t be boys if they didn’t, would they? I don’t think the Sisters would mind either if they did hear about it—they’re perfectly sweet, you know, and so—sort of balanced, if you know what I mean. You feel they are finished with the petty, trivial things that don’t matter. It isn’t as if it was a demonstration against them or anything. Nobody minded them coming to Cullingoak, and we had to do something with the house. In fact, I think people are glad they’re there in a way.”
    â€œCelia thinks their sanctity balances out the devilment in my young men,” said Ranby lightly, matching her tone, “but I’m not so sure myself. Until last night I wouldn’t have thought they were even aware of them. We hear their bell on a clear day—that usually provokes a crack or two about getting the cows in—but nothing more.”
    â€œWhat about last night?” asked Sloan.
    â€œNo news, Inspector. None of my staff knew anything about the guy.”
    â€œYou have other means of finding out?”
    â€œNaturally. I can if necessary interview the whole lot, but that takes time. I was hoping to appeal to them at supper tonight—it’s the first meal that they will all be at together. I have already checked that no one had a late pass on Wednesday night.”
    â€œIs that infallible? My experience is that it isn’t as a rule.”
    â€œRumor has it the Biology Laboratory window can be persuaded to open if pressure is judiciously applied in the right place.”
    â€œI’ll get my constable to fingerprint it straight away.”
    â€œYou really want this chap, don’t you?”
    â€œYes,” said Sloan shortly. “We do.”
    Strelitz Square was still a square in the sense that its Georgian creator had intended, and there was still a garden in the middle. The houses were tall, dignified and—most significant of all—still lived in. Number Seventeen was on the north side, facing the thin November sun. Sloan and Crosby rang the bell at exactly ten-thirty the next morning. An elderly aproned maid answered the door.
    He didn’t mention the Convent this time.