Free The Religious Body by Catherine Aird Page B

“Detective-Inspector Sloan,” he said, “would be obliged if Mrs. Cartwright would spare him a moment or two.”
    The woman looked them over appraisingly and then invited them in. She would enquire if Mrs. Cartwright was at home.
    â€œFunny way of carrying on,” said Crosby.
    â€œYou’re in Society now, constable, and don’t you forget it. Plenty of money here.” Sloan looked quickly round the room into which they had been shown. “Pictures, china, furniture—the lot.”
    Crosby fingered a finely carved chair. “Is this fashion, sir?”
    â€œIt was,” said Sloan, “about two hundred years ago. It’s antique, like everything else in the room.” He pointed to a set of Dresden shepherdesses. “They’ll be worth more than your pension. Don’t suppose they picked up that walnut bureau for five bob either or those plates …”
    â€œGood morning, Inspector.” An elderly figure appeared in the doorway. “Admiring my Meissen? Charming, isn’t it?”
    â€œGood morning, madam,” said Sloan, not committing himself about the Meissen, whatever that was.
    Mrs. Cartwright was old, ramrod-backed and thin. She rested a claw-like hand on the back of the chair just long enough for Sloan to see the battery of rings on it and then she sat down. She was dressed—and dressed very well indeed—in gray with touches of scarlet. Sloan searched her face for a likeness to Sister Anne but found only heavy makeup and the tiny suture marks of an old facelift. Her hair was a deep mahogany color and the total effect quite startling.
    â€œYou have something to say, Inspector.”
    â€œYes, madam.” Sloan jerked his mind back. She must be over eighty, and he thought he had bad news for her. “I understand you had a telephone call yesterday afternoon from the Convent of St. Anselm.”
    Not a muscle on her face moved.
    â€œAnd that you refused to take that call.”
    â€œThat is so.” Her voice was harsher than he expected.
    â€œWhy, madam?”
    â€œIs it anything to do with you?”
    â€œI’m afraid it is.”
    â€œReally, Inspector, I can see no reason why …”
    â€œYou had a daughter there.”
    Mrs. Cartwright rose and walked towards a bell by the fireplace. “I have no daughter.”
    â€œOne moment, madam. You are quite right …”
    She stopped and looked at him.
    â€œYou have no daughter. But you had one.”
    She stood rigidly in front of the fireplace and said again in a well-controlled voice, “I have no daughter.” She put her finger towards the bell.
    â€œMrs. Cartwright!”
    â€œWell?” Her finger was poised.
    â€œYou had a daughter called Josephine Mary.”
    A spasm of emotion passed across her face. “Inspector, I lost my daughter thirty years ago.”
    â€œLost her?”
    â€œLost her. She left me, she left everything.” Mrs. Cartwright waved a painted fingernail round the room. “Abandoned. Moreover, Inspector, her name has not been mentioned in this house from that day to this. I see no reason to discontinue the habit. Now, if you will either state your business or leave.”
    â€œWhen did you last see her, madam?”
    â€œThe day she left home.”
    â€œThirty years ago?”
    â€œThirty-one. She was eighteen and a half.”
    So Sister Anne had been forty-nine. She hadn’t looked as old as that.
    â€œAnd you, madam, hadn’t seen her yourself since then?” Sloan hoped he was keeping the wonder out of his voice.
    â€œNot once. I told her that she needn’t expect me to visit her. And I never did.”
    â€œHad—have you any other children?”
    â€œShe was the only one, Inspector, and she left me. She was a convert, of course. Nothing would persuade her. Nothing.” The old eyes danced. “She wanted to eschew the World, the Flesh and the Devil, Inspector, and