white tunic and her pocketed blue skirt against the slate basement walls. She leaned into a shaft of sunlight that had just broken through the paned window-well. ‘Regardez-moi! Look at me!’
I sat bolt upright.
Marguerite’s right cheek swelled like a balloon and her eyes shined pink like a rabbit’s. Raised, red splotches trailed down her neck and then vanished underneath her collar. She swallowed, wincing as if her throat hurt as much as her face.
She threw a cigarette butt on my blanket. ‘You left this outside my window.’ After a brief pause, she smoothed her veil to her head, taking a breath. Her eyes fluttered vigorously, as if she had prayed for patience but it hadn’t arrived. Seconds passed. Only a few seesawed squeaks could be heard from other girls’ cots as they woke from the commotion. Marguerite exhaled, and her nose tooted like a smashed trumpet, swelling faster than her cheek. Her face turned redder.
‘Mother Superior wants you.’ She yanked the wool blanket from my bed and threw it on the ground before walking out of the basement.
I fell backward onto my cot, bed linens twisted around my body, and thought about the severity of Marguerite’s face. Some girls lay still under their covers, hiding. Others sat on the edge of their cots and bounced questions at me faster than I could answer them.
Claire put her hands to her forehead, mumbling to herself. Then she winced and massaged the bony part of her shoulder. ‘My shoulder… it’s aching.’ There was a slight tremble in her voice.
‘Again, with the shoulder?’
‘It’s a sign, mademoiselle.’
‘A sign of what?’
‘Expulsion,’ she whispered.
Mavis sat up in her bed, a hand to her mouth, the sound of the word ‘expulsion’ filtering through the gaps of her fingers. She scrambled to her feet and took off for the sanctuary with her Bible, still dressed in her sleeping gown.
Claire stopped rubbing her shoulder to wrap both arms around her waist. ‘What were we thinking?’ She groaned as if she was getting sick, looking directly into my eyes. ‘Her face, from the smoke. Don’t you feel terrible?’
The room turned stone-cold quiet. Girls sat up, slouched, and then pulled their bed covers up to their necks. Others waited for me to say something, anything, with their mouths drawn open. I thought about Marguerite’s tryst with the deliveryman—sinner that she was—and the note I found under her bed—my name circled over and over again, a list of women she no doubt had it in for.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Marguerite deserved what she got.’
Claire bit at her fingernails, chewing them like a dog. The convent was her only option, which I should have remembered before I asked her to get involved.
‘Don’t worry, Claire. I’m not going to mention your name.’
She looked relieved. I had manipulated Claire into helping me spy on Marguerite, and if I felt bad about anything, it was that I involved her in something she couldn’t understand at her age.
‘This is between me and Marguerite.’
*
Mother Superior’s office was at the top of Chancery Tower, up a wide spiral staircase in the keep of the oldest part of the castle. The murmur of whispering voices rolled downward; lies, no doubt, Marguerite was spilling into Mother’s ear. I collected myself on the landing, smoothing my hair into a messy bun, before setting my eyes upon Mother’s office through the cracked doorway. A large mahogany desk covered in loose papers sat in the middle of the room, and full bookcases of various sizes lined every wall; which seemed incredibly cramped, not what I had expected in such a large castle with so many rooms to choose from.
Mother Superior gazed out an open window, her hands bracing the stones on each side. ‘Take a seat, Adèle.’ She spoke without turning around.
I walked inside, taking the chair next to Marguerite, smiling, expecting her to snarl, but her eyes were glued to a letter she had gripped in her hands. I thought up how I was going to tell Mother about Marguerite, how I saw her kissing the deliveryman, passionately, making love with her lips, when Mother turned away from the window.
‘I know your secret.’
‘Secret?’ My hands flew to my chest. ‘My secret?’
She moved toward me, put her hand under my chin and looked into my eyes. ‘I know about the man you had in the Vichy police. I know about Gérard.’
She let go of my chin, and my mouth dropped.
‘There’s a reason for everything,’ she said, unpinning her black veil, ‘and there’s a reason God sent