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She managed her best smile instead. Chin up, back straight. Fairy-tale adventure over.
‘You’ll be all right now?’ Alex frowned at the metal-studded black oak of the door. ‘This doesn’t look like the most hospitable of places.’
‘Convents don’t, from the outside.’ Or the inside, in my experience. ‘And I will be perfectly fine. Thank you again.’ She put out her hand, brisk and impersonal, and when he took it and gave it a quick squeeze she tried not to think about how his arms had felt around her.
Alex pulled the iron chain beside the door. Somewhere far away a bell clanged. ‘I’ll wait in the carriage until you are safe inside. Goodbye, little nun.’ He stooped, dropped a quick kiss on her cheek and strode back to the chaise.
‘Yes?’ enquired a disembodied voice from behind the darkened grille while Tess was still fighting with a blush.
If she had only moved her head a fraction that brief kiss would have fallen on her lips. It would have been her first kiss. ‘Teresa Ellery. Mother Superior is expecting me.’
The door swung open and she stepped inside. It banged closed behind her and she heard the sound of hooves on the cobbles as the chaise moved off. The prison gates slammed behind the doomed woman... Stop it! The effect on the imagination of reading Minerva Press novels, smuggled in by the boarders, was exceedingly unwelcome just at the moment.
She limped after the silent nun down a dark, tiled passageway to a door. The sister knocked and opened it, urged Tess in with a gesture, then closed it behind her.
Offices in convents must be all created from the same pattern book. Dark walls, small fireplace, solid, plain desk placed uncompromisingly in the centre of the room with the chair turned with its back to the window and any possibility of a distracting view. It was all safely, depressingly, familiar.
‘Miss Ellery. I confess I am most surprised to see you.’ From behind the desk Mother Superior studied her, unsmiling. She was thin and pale and Tess thought she looked unwell.
‘Good evening, Mother.’ She bobbed an awkward curtsy, hampered by her sore ankle. ‘I was delayed on my journey—’
‘So I understand.’ The nun glanced to one side and Tess realised they were not alone. Seated against the wall was a middle-aged woman who looked vaguely familiar. ‘Delayed hardly seems adequate to cover your...activities. Mrs Wolsey was on the same boat as you from Ostend.’
Of course, this is the disapproving matron who glared at me.
‘Mrs Wolsey has a niece boarding at the convent. She recognised the clothing of the Ghent house orphans and then she recalled seeing you there.’
It began to dawn on Tess that all was far from well. ‘I missed the canal boat. I had a fall and hurt my ankle and—’
‘And took up with some rake. Yes, that much is obvious. Your disgraceful behaviour was observed. Embracing in public, sleeping in his arms, going into an inn with him. I am both deeply shocked and exceedingly disappointed, as will be my Sister in Ghent when I write to inform her of this.’
‘I can explain, Mother—’ Tess began, only to be cut off by a slicing hand gesture from the nun.
‘Enough. I have no wish to hear you make things worse by lying to me. I most certainly cannot have a woman of your character in this house. Your antecedents are bad enough, but this behaviour is the limit. You will leave at once.’
‘My character? But I have not done anything wrong. I can explain everything that occurred. It was all perfectly innocent. And what about my employment?’ The room swam with shifting shadows, flickering candlelight, waves of disapproval. It was unreal; she was bone-weary. Tess wondered vaguely if she was going to faint. Perhaps they would put her to bed if she did and she would wake up in the morning and this would all be a dream.
‘You think that I could recommend you to any decent household? There is only one kind of employment for fallen women, my girl, and I suggest you go and seek it forthwith.’
Not a dream. Fight back. ‘I did not do anything. I am not Lord Weybourn’s lover.’ Tess tried to stand up straight, find some authority in her voice. ‘I had an accident, hurt my ankle. He helped me, just as I said.’ And I do not want to be here, with you, you judgemental old witch, she thought as a spark of anger burned through the confused fog of misery. My antecedents, you horrible woman? Two parents who loved each other, who loved me? I am illegitimate—how is that my fault?
‘Lord Weybourn? Hah!’ Mrs Wolsey said. ‘One knows all about the likes of him. A society rakehell, I have no doubt.’
