the drone of vespers, there was no mistaking that—but to our surprise not all the sisters had made it.
Sister Mary-Gertrude, a nun who was too old to do anything other than sit in a rocking chair, sat just in front of the main entrance to the private chambers. As upsetting as that was, it was seeing Mavis pacing around with her hands on her head that surprised me.
‘What’s Mavis still doing here?’ Claire whispered. ‘That old nun would fall asleep in that chair if she’d leave.’
‘I don’t know…’
Mavis would only miss vespers if she was ill, as devout as she was, and not just for a little stomach ache—she’d have to be vomiting. Besides, she didn’t have a chamber with the other postulants. Mavis slept in the delinquent corridor with us, in the basement under the convent’s bell tower.
‘Maybe she’s on guard duty,’ Claire said.
‘Guard?’ I looked at her. ‘What is there to guard?’
‘Their crucifixes,’ Claire said.
‘Gertrude is older than this castle. The sisters prop her up in the chair because they don’t know what else to do with her.’ Minutes passed, but still Mavis stayed put. ‘This changes everything.’
Mavis licked her palms, getting ready to smooth them over her limp hair and Claire scowled. ‘She’s disgusting.’
‘Shh.’ I patted her hand, rethinking my plan. I had to get into Marguerite’s room. But how? Mavis bent to one knee, meeting Gertrude at eye level, looking very absorbed. Damn it. What will I do now? I turned to leave but Claire tugged on my arm.
‘Marguerite’s room is on the ground floor,’ she said, leaning into my ear. ‘You can climb through the window.’
‘The window?’ I was shocked at first, thinking of her suggestion, climbing through the window like a child-thief. But did it matter how I got into her room if the results were the same? It was my only chance.
‘Let’s go.’
*
The sun had set behind the lush green hills that surrounded the convent. The delinquents’ giddy laughs on the other side of the meadow settled over the convent’s grounds as they picked wild flowers for breakfast service the next morning. The scent of lilac soap bubbled through the laundry doors.
Marguerite’s chamber was the last window at the end of a very long stone wall shaded by a leafy tree. Instead of lead-lined glass panes like the rest of the nun’s windows, Marguerite’s window had glass planks that slid into moveable wood brackets, the kind I normally saw in the toilets.
I looked at Claire. ‘Are you sure you want to help me?’
She nodded.
I carefully slid the planks out of the brackets and handed them to Claire. She bundled them in her arms before setting them on the ground, careful not to make any clinking noises. My heart raced once all the planks were removed and I could see into her room. I had to find something to expose Marguerite with and get her kicked out of the convent.
‘What are you going to do in there?’ Claire said. ‘Smoke? You’ll make her break out.’ She laughed nervously thinking that was what I had planned.
‘Yes! That’s it.’ I took a cigarette from my case and lit it quickly with my lighter. ‘You know she’s sensitive.’ I hadn’t planned to smoke, but it was a plausible revenge. I pointed to the window. ‘Help me up.’ She laced her fingers together, and with a little grunt and a moan, pushed me over the window ledge, sending me tumbling onto Marguerite’s wood floor on the other side. I didn’t expect such strength coming from her little arms, and lay on my back, wondering if the thud from landing on the floor was as loud as I thought it had been, before slowly moving to my feet.
Marguerite’s room looked simple: a bed, mute coverings and a tiny crucifix hanging on the wall above her headboard. A modest chest of drawers made from bleached oak sat in the corner, an oval mirror centred on the top. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. In fact, aside from her pillow, which had the slightest impression of a head set into it, I would have thought the room was vacant.
‘What are you looking for?’ Claire asked, peeping over the window ledge.
I puffed hastily on my cigarette, eyes rolling over Marguerite’s bare walls. ‘Nothing.’
‘What?’ she said over the ledge.
‘I don’t know!’
Claire turned her back to the window while I examined Marguerite’s chest of drawers. It was about the same size as that damn crate she lugged with her from the train. The knobs