‘I shall now show you where the bathroom is.’
Grace sighed with relief. She was positively bursting to use the toilet but hadn’t dared to ask directions.
‘And then you may either spend a quiet hour in the grounds or retire to bed. Lights out is at nine o’clock sharp in the summer. Eight o’clock in the winter.’
Grace was escorted to the toilet block, which turned out to be a crude wooden building at the back of the convent. Inside was a large bucket over which a piece of wood with a hole in it was placed. But then she supposed she shouldn’t have expected anything luxurious. What was it Sister Agnes had told her earlier? There is no room for modesty in a nun’s life. The nun left her then and when she had finished, Grace wandered out into the beautifully kept gardens. A number of the postulants in their white habits were there enjoying the last of the sunshine and they beckoned her to join them.
‘How have you found your first day?’ a young woman who looked to be in her mid- to late twenties, asked kindly. She was very tall with a hooked nose and Grace thought ungraciously that she would never have won any beauty contests, then instantly felt guilty for having such uncharitable thoughts. As she glanced around Grace noted with a little shock that she was easily the youngest there.
‘It’s been …’ She wondered how best to describe it. ‘Unlike I’d imagined it to be,’ she eventually admitted.
The woman nodded understandingly. ‘I think we all felt like that for the first few days,’ she admitted. ‘But it does get easier eventually.’
At that moment, if Grace had been honest with herself, all she wanted to do was run back to the shelter and security of Beehive Cottage, although she didn’t admit it, of course. Instead she sat back and listened to the chatter until the women began to drift away, at which point she entered the building and made her way to her own room. She lit the candle on the chest of drawers, for it was already gloomy inside although it was still light outside, and hastily washed in the cold water in the jug and dried herself on the scratchy, threadbare towel that had been provided. Finally, she knelt at the side of the bed to confess her sins to God before she slept.
‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,’ she whispered and went on to confess all the impure thoughts she had had throughout the day, which was a considerably long list. Then she gave her a hair a hundred strokes of the brush, as her mother had taught her, and slid into bed. The mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable and the blanket scratched her skin and she tried hard not to think about the comfy bed back in Beehive Cottage. Eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep which was riddled with nightmares. It was the night her father had had his seizure and she was back in her room at home fighting him as he tried to kiss her. Again, she could feel his hands on her skin and then suddenly she saw her mother standing there clutching a candlestick smeared with his blood and he was lying on the floor jerking convulsively. That’s when she woke up in a cold sweat and a tangle of damp sheets. So much of that night was still a blur. Somehow, she knew that there was something her mind had blocked from her memory and much as she longed to put that terrible night behind her, she knew that she never would until she remembered what it was.
Down in Beehive Cottage, Gertie was also lying awake thinking of her niece and wondering how she was coping with her new life. Poor girl, she had led such a strange life. She remembered the letter Madeline had sent to her with Grace shortly after the girl had come to stay following her father’s seizure. She had read it late the same night after Grace had retired to bed and it was clear that all Madeline’s concerns were for her daughter.
She seems to have no recollection of what really happened so please never tell her unless she ever remembers, Madeline had implored. The only other person who knows is Mabel and I would trust the girl with my life.
Gertie had read the letter with a heavy heart and then tucked it away in the bureau. ‘It’s all right, Madeline, she’ll never learn the truth from me,’ she whispered to the empty room, then turning on her side she tried to sleep but it was a very long time coming.
Chapter Thirty-One
‘I believe you have found the first few days difficult?’
Grace sighed and nodded before lowering her eyes from Father Luke’s. Difficult was an understatement. She had been at the convent for four days now, four days that felt like four months. On her second day, she had been assigned to the laundry for the afternoon where she had managed to drop a whole basketful of clean clothes onto the floor as she carried them outside to hang them up. Every item had had to be washed all over again, which hadn’t pleased the rest of the staff and had made her late for prayers in the chapel, which hadn’t pleased the Reverend Mother. On the third day, she had fallen back to sleep after being woken by Sister Agnes, which had resulted in her being late for prayers yet again. The trouble was, Grace had never been taught to do housework and six o’clock in the morning felt like the middle of the night to her. Later that day she had been sent to work in the kitchen garden and was soon in trouble again for pulling up a whole row of lettuces that she thought were weeds. She had also been scolded for speaking when the nuns were observing a rule of silence and for being sick when she had been relegated to toilet cleaning.
‘There is no favouritism here,’ the Reverend Mother had told her firmly as Grace stood before her desk with her head bowed in shame.
‘No, mother,’ Grace had muttered miserably. And now here she was with Father Luke who would read her scriptures with her. The Reverend Mother had given her a list of them that she wanted Grace to be able to recite by heart by the weekend.
‘I just can’t seem to do anything right,’ she confided to him as tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She was tired and hungry and her hands were sore from the time spent in the laundry. Her knees ached too from the many hours she had spent kneeling in prayer.
She had never thought becoming a nun would be so hard.
‘It is early days and you have much to learn and forsake.’ The sympathy in his voice was the last straw, and the tears started to roll down her cheeks.
Father Luke meanwhile was perplexed. There was something about Grace that he found very endearing and worrying all at the same time. He felt tempted to put his arm about her and comfort her, although he didn’t of course. He tried to tell himself that he was merely being kind. After all, he was a priest and as such he shouldn’t allow himself to become overly involved … but she looked so sad and vulnerable.
‘I don’t think I quite realised what was involved in becoming a nun,’ Grace confided in a choked voice. ‘And I’m beginning to understand now what a privileged life I’ve led. At home I had maids to wait on me and things continued much the same way when I went to Aunt Gertie’s. I’m afraid I must be a very selfish person.’
‘Of course you’re not, you’re a lovely person,’ Father Luke blurted before he could stop himself and instantly wished that he could bite his tongue out. It had been a very unprofessional thing to say but that was the effect she had on him. Sometimes, when he was with her, he forgot that he was a man of the cloth and spoke to her about things that had nothing at all to do with religion. He knew she loved white roses and toffee; that she had learned to swim in the sea since coming to live in Wales and that she loved animals. None of these things had anything to do with the path they had both chosen to take in worshipping the Lord and the Holy Mother, and yet the more he saw of her the more he wanted to know about her. It was very unsettling.
‘Perhaps it would be better if I left you to study the scriptures alone today,’ he suddenly said as he rose abruptly.
Grace blinked with surprise. This wasn’t the first time he had cut their meetings short and she wondered if he was annoyed with her. She watched as he gathered his things together and strode away without another word. Once he was gone she lay her head on her arm and wept, feeling more alone and abandoned than she had ever felt in her life.
By the time Grace’s first visit to her aunt was due, she was feeling much better. Bein
g the newest and the youngest member of the convent meant being responsible for the most menial jobs and Grace had done plenty of them by then. She had scraped potatoes and peeled vegetables with the elderly nun who did the cooking until her fingers were so sore they tingled from being immersed in cold water. She had scrubbed toilets and mopped floors, scrubbed laundry until her hands were red raw and worked for long hours digging vegetable plots in the kitchen garden until she was sure her back would break. Then there was the ironing: mountains of sheets and pillow cases that she never seemed to come to the end of. And between these chores she had spent her time on her knees in prayer or learning parts of the Bible by heart. More and more she realised what a pampered life she had led. Back at home, Mrs Batley and Mabel had waited on her hand and foot and when she went to live with her aunt, Mrs Llewelyn had continued to do the same. She had never known what it was like to have to prepare or cook a meal, her clothes had always been washed and ironed for her and she hadn’t even known what it was like to have to make her own bed, let alone clean toilets.
The whole experience had been a huge change for her but now that she was becoming more accustomed to the nun’s way of life Grace was sure that eventually it would make her a better person. Admittedly there were things she missed. Sweet-smelling shampoo for a start, rather than the coarse soap the nuns used, and soft towels and tasty meals, but then she accepted that going without these things would be worth it in the end, so she endured everything without complaint. Now at last she had permission to leave the convent with strict instructions that she should be back within two hours, so she set off immediately, determined not to miss a precious minute with her aunt. As she made her way down the hillside through the forest she breathed deeply. That was another thing she had missed; being able to wander where she wanted to at will.
Soon the cottage came into sight and Grace hurried her steps. Her aunt was in the garden feeding the goats and she raised her hand in greeting as Grace approached although she raised her eyebrows when she saw what she was wearing.
‘Well, you’ll certainly win no fashion contest in that get-up,’ was her greeting and Grace had to stop herself from laughing. This from someone who was clad in big boots and men’s breeches. One of the dogs ran to greet her, his tail wagging furiously and Grace bent to stroke his silky ears as her aunt asked, ‘So how is it going?’ She thought Grace had lost a little weight; worrying, considering she was already thin as a beanpole.
‘Fine.’ Grace gazed about appreciatively. The garden was a blaze of colour with every sort of flower she could think of growing closely together. There were hollyhocks, foxgloves, roses of every hue, tall Michaelmas daisies, all giving off a heady scent that made a lovely change from the smell of disinfectant and carbolic soap she had become accustomed to at the convent.
Her aunt glanced at her reddened hands then and commented, ‘It looks like you’ve been working hard?’
‘Yes, all the nuns have to. We have a rota so I’m probably doing something different every day between masses and learning the Bible. But have you heard how my father is?’
‘Still the same according to Nurse Matthews. I still ring every week and should there be any change I’d get word to you.’
Grace made to go into the cottage to see the Llewelyns but her aunt caught her sleeve gently and warned, ‘Dylan is in there, just so you know.’
Grace nodded and moved on. She had hoped she would avoid seeing him but she supposed they were bound to bump into each other at some point so she may as well get it over and done with.
He was sitting at the table sipping some of Mrs Llewelyn’s excellent home-made lemonade when she entered the kitchen.
‘Hello, Dylan.’
He nodded but made no attempt to speak, and just for a moment she felt a pang of regret. What an easy life she could have had compared to the life at the convent had she married Dylan, but the trouble was she didn’t love him. Luckily she got a much warmer welcome from Cerys, who hurried over to give her a hug.
‘Why, I swear you’ve got thinner,’ she declared as she looked disapprovingly at Grace’s shapeless dress and the string in her hair. ‘There’s some dinner left in case you haven’t eaten. Will you have it now? I’ve got it keeping warm in the oven.’
Grace had eaten but the thought of one of Mrs Llewelyn’s lovely dinners was too much to resist so she nodded.
‘Yes, please.’ Grace sat next to Dylan at the table but he instantly rose.
‘I’d best be off,’ he said to his nan. ‘I promised me dad I’d help him do some work on the boat this afternoon.’
‘Right you are, cariad. I’ll see you the same time next week, shall I?’
He nodded and left the kitchen without even glancing in Grace’s direction, which hurt her more than she had thought it would. She had hoped that they could remain friends but it appeared that it was all or nothing with Dylan.
‘Don’t mind our Dylan,’ Mrs Llewelyn soothed, seeing Grace’s glum expression. ‘He was fair taken with you and you’ve dashed his hopes but happen he’ll come round in time. A handsome young chap like him won’t be on his own for long. The girls will fair queue up for him.’
Grace hoped that she was right. Dylan was a lovely young man and she wanted him to be happy. She then went on to tell Mrs Llewelyn all about her first month in the convent as the woman darted about getting her a drink and fetching the dinner she had saved for her from the oven. Grace’s stomach rumbled in anticipation at the sight of it. Thick, juicy slices of roast beef, cauliflower and carrots fresh from the vegetable patch, and roast potatoes cooked just the way she liked them all awash with thick, creamy gravy.
‘That was delicious,’ she said when she had cleared every morsel from her plate. She thought gloomily of the tasteless meals she would be eating when she returned to the convent.
Mrs Llewelyn smiled. ‘Good. I’ve heard the meals aren’t up to much up there. Is that right?’
‘The food is very plain,’ Grace admitted. ‘To be honest I left a lot of it for the first week or so. I’m afraid old Sister Mary who does the cooking believes more in quantity than quality, bless her, but then I got so hungry that I would have eaten anything and I always clear my plate now.’
‘So why don’t I make you a nice hamper of food to take back with you?’
Grace giggled. ‘I don’t think that would go down very well with the Reverend Mother. But thank you for the thought. I have quite enough to eat, it just isn’t as tasty as your food, that’s all.’
The time she spent with them seemed to pass in the blink of an eye and before she knew it, it was time to go back to the convent.
Aled Llewelyn had come in by then and he offered to walk back with her but Grace told him she would be fine.
‘So, will you rest for the remainder of the day now, it being the Sabbath?’ Mrs Llewelyn asked her at the door. She thought that Grace looked worn out and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes.
‘No, I shall be going to a mass in the chapel when I get back, then after the evening meal myself and the postulants will be studying the Bible.’
Cerys thought it all sounded very boring but she kissed her lightly and made no comment as Grace left to spend a few minutes with her aunt in the garden before she set off.
Aunt Gertie kissed her soundly on the cheek and when Grace left her there were tears in her eyes.
That evening, Father Luke joined the sisters for supper and once or twice his eyes locked with Grace’s but they both hastily looked away from each other.
It was the young priest who was supposed to take Grace and the postulants for Bible study that evening so she was somewhat surprised after they had all entered the chapel to find Sister Mathilda waiting for them.
‘Father Luke had matters to attend to down in the village,’ she explained as they all settled into the pews. Grace seemed to have a permanent ache in her backside nowadays from sitting so long on the hard wooden seats. But she missed Father Luke. He always managed to inject some humou
r into the lessons whereas Sister Mathilda was very straight-faced. Now that she came to think of it, the priest had missed quite a few lessons with her lately and she wondered if she had offended him in some way. Perhaps I should ask him the next time I see him, she mused. But then the lesson began and soon she was immersed in it.
Back in Nuneaton Mrs Batley was still struggling to come to terms with the way of life Grace had chosen. ‘Why would a young lass like that choose to lock herself away from the world in a convent, eh?’ she asked Mabel. ‘I mean she had everything going for her. Admittedly she ain’t had the happiest of lives, but I reckon when him upstairs pops his clogs she’s going to be a very wealthy young woman.’ She paused then as something occurred to her. ‘An’ have you noticed what a frequent visitor Mr Mackenzie’s become?’
Mabel put her head to one side and thought about it for a moment before saying, ‘Aye, he has been calling round a lot now you come to mention it. To be honest, I don’t reckon he’s ever had much time fer the judge, although he always had a good word to say fer the mistress, God bless her soul. But then now he’s in charge of all the master’s finances, I dare say he has to keep him up to date.’
‘Huh! Finances, me arse!’ Mrs Batley scoffed. ‘I reckon it’s Nurse Matthews is the draw. Think about it, she’s goin’ to great lengths to look her best nowadays, ain’t she?’
‘I suppose she is,’ Mabel admitted thoughtfully.
‘We were as thick as thieves till lately but I’ve noticed she ain’t comin’ down to keep me company so much anymore. Happen she’s worried that I’ll disapprove but if they were to get together it would be no bad thing, if you ask me,’ Mrs Batley went on. ‘Mr Mackenzie was widowed young and to my knowledge Nurse Matthews has never been married. But they’re the right age for each other so good luck to ’em that’s what I say. A bit o’ romance never hurt anybody, to my mind.’
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