Shadows of the Workhouse

in authority. I’m only telling you because you guessed something was up.”
    “But you can’t keep it to yourself. You’ve got to tell Sister Julienne.”
    “If I do, she’ll tell the police and they might arrest Sister Monica.”
    “You’re not being rational. They won’t arrest her. She’s too old.”
    “How do you know? This is big stuff, I tell you. It’s not just pinching a few crayoning books.”
    Cynthia was quiet for a while. “Well, I don’t think they will arrest her.”
    “There you are, you don’t know. You only think, and you might be wrong. If they arrested her it would kill her.”
    There was a bang on the door. “I say, you chaps, how about a game of Monopoly, what? No one in labour. All the babies tucked up in bed. What say you, eh?”
    “Come in, Chummy.”
    Camilla Fortescue-Cholmeley-Browne. Descended from generations of High Commissioners of India, educated at Roedean and polished by a Swiss finishing school, Chummy represented the upper crust in our small circle. She had a voice that sounded like something straight out of a comedy and she was excessively tall, which caused her to suffer much ragging. But she took it all with sweet good nature.
    Chummy tried the handle. “But the door’s locked, old bean. What’s going on? Something rummy’s afoot, or I’m a brass monkey.”
    Cynthia laughed and opened the door. “We’ve got some pudding in here. If you want some go and get a dish, and while you’re about it, tell Trixie.”
    When she had gone, Cynthia said to me, “I think we had better tell the girls. Neither of them is in authority so the police won’t be called, and they might help. Chummy’s father was a District Commissioner or something in India and Trixie’s cousin is a solicitor, so they might know something about the law.”
    I agreed. It was a relief to be sharing the responsibility after all my silent anguish.
    Both girls came in with a dish and a spoon, Chummy bearing the Monopoly board. We shared out the pudding. Cynthia sat on the only chair and three of us sat on the bed. The Monopoly board was laid out on the bed, supported by books to stop it sagging. I had been against playing Monopoly, but Cynthia said it would help relieve the tension, and she was right.
    We sorted out our money and tucked it in piles under our knees while Cynthia told them the story.
    Trixie burst out laughing. “What a scream! So the old girl’s been pinching things left, right and centre. Tucking them under her scapular and no one would ever suspect. The cunning old vixen.” She roared with laughter.
    “You cat. Don’t you call Sister Monica Joan names or I’ll—”
    Cynthia intervened. “I won’t have you two squabbling in my room. If you want to start a row you can go elsewhere.”
    “Sorry,” I muttered reluctantly.
    “I’ll be good,” added Trixie; “I won’t even call her a female fox. But you must admit it’s a scream. I can just see the headlines: ‘The Secret Life of a Naughty Nun’.”
    Trixie threw the dice. “Two sixes. I start.”
    “That’s just the sort of thing I’m not going to allow to happen,” I snarled. “The police are not going to be told.” I moved my piece. “Liverpool Street. I’ll buy that.” I laid down my money with determination and took the card.
    Chummy threw her dice. “This is a Council of War, and I’m with you, old horse. The important thing is to protect Sister Monica Joan from the machinations of the Constabulary, what? Mum’s the word, I say. What ho! Not a syllable. Lips sealed.”
    Cynthia shook the cup slowly and thoughtfully, and rattled the dice. “Well, someone’s going to find out, even if we don’t say anything. The police will search her room again; they are not fools, you know.”
    “I’ve thought of that,” I said. “Perhaps we could take the jewels out of her room and hide them.”
    “Don’t be a fool.” Trixie was always too sharp for my liking. “Then you’d be an accessory.”
    “What’s that? I thought accessories were things like gloves and handbags.”
    “Accessories are the law. You can be an accessory before the fact, or an accessory after the fact. It doesn’t matter if it’s before or after; either way you’d be in for it.” Trixie pushed the dice to her neighbour as she spoke.
    Chummy shook the dice. “I’d say she’s got to the root of the matter. If the jewels were in your possession, the Robert Peelers would say you’d egged the old lady on. Bally awkward