Vow of Chastity by Veronica Black Page B

David said plaintively. ‘It is always refilled on Wednesdays as you know and now there isn’t a drop left. I can’t for the life of me understand it. I checked the stoup for cracks but there aren’t any, and in any case the floor would have been wet had it leaked. It looks as if someone actually drank it all up and that’s too ridiculous to contemplate.’
    ‘What have you done about it?’
    ‘Fortunately there is sufficient for the blessing and tomorrow morning we must ask Sister Margaret to take the water cans over to Father Malone so that he can bless them as soon as they’re filled. I did suggest to Mother that we telephone and ask Father to come here for the blessing, but she said we couldn’t expect him to come rushing backwards and forwards when we were the ones who had been careless – but I am certain that I was not careless, Sister. The stoup was full otherwise I would naturally have asked Father to bless the next batch of water after he had heard confessions this afternoon.’
    Little Sister David sounded near to tears.
    ‘I’m sure it will be sorted out‚’ Sister Joan said warmly, wishing she was as sure as she sounded, and went on into the chapel, sliding to her knees with a sense of relief.
    Prayers and the nightly blessing that immediately preceded the grand silence were effective barriers against discussing the matter further that night. She put the other questions firmly into the storage cupboard at the back of her mind and concentrated on her Maker.
    Morning brought a light shower of rain that was refreshing to the spirits even though it meant she would have to don the unwieldy gaberdine over her habit to protect herself against a wetting. When she went out to the back to saddle up Lilith she bumped into Sister Margaret who looked less than her normal cheerful self.
    ‘Mother Dorothy has told me to go to the presbytery with the water cans so that Father can bless a new batch of holy water‚’ she said. ‘It seems there isn’t any left, which seems quite extraordinary to me. I do so dislike driving in the rain. Lampposts are apt to leap up at one, you know, and the car skids on the wet track.’
    ‘Wait until it clears up. It is only a light shower‚’ Sister Joan suggested.
    ‘One hopes so, which is a very ungrateful thing to say‚’ the other replied, ‘seeing that without rain the flowers wouldn’t grow. But it is terribly bad for poor Sister Mary Concepta’s rheumatism, and the worst of it is that she never complains. I can feel every twinge of her pain in my own joints – oh, what a grumbler I sound today! You must forgive me, Sister. This is poor thanks for the delightful visits we have paid.’
    ‘You probably got out of bed the wrong side this morning. I know that I did.’
    ‘I’m sure you’re right. Gadding about isn’t conducive to a quiet mind, is it? Well, as I have to drive into town at least I can get some more of Sister Mary Concepta’s embrocation at the same time. Have a pleasant day, Sister.’
    Something, thought Sister Joan, saddling the horse and mounting up, had ruffled the clear stream of thelay sister’s spirits. Surely not the weather or the unaccustomed visiting? Perhaps the evil that William Holt had so startlingly mentioned had reached out to affect even Sister’s tranquil spirit. She wished that her former prioress were here. Mother Agnes with her El Greco profile, her air of timeless aristocracy, had understood subtleties, half-formed fears, uncertainties in a way that the brisk Mother Dorothy could not. For the latter there were no greys, no shadows, only plain black and white. She was perfect when it was a matter of dealing with would be saints in the postulancy or a nun uncertain of a particular aspect of the rule, but she couldn’t deal with spiritual cobwebs.
    Once riding across the moor her spirits lifted even though the rain was becoming heavier. The air up here was clean and sharp and heathery and the faint pain that had been