Chapter 1

"Do you think she wants to whip me again?" Penelope asked Ciara Everton, another oblate like her, as she was being taken to the abbess for what seemed to be the millionth time in the five utterly miserable years she had spent in the nunnery.

The first couple of days there were unspeakably bad. The rules were strict, and there was no room for any mistakes. Those who erred paid dearly as Penelope came to learn very early on. She could not even remember all of the rules, let alone follow them. And there seemed to be little room for kindness and leniency in the nunnery.

"Oh, no, Penelope," one of the girls told her during one of the morning inspections of their chambers. "Your bed…"

"What about it?" Penelope shrugged. Her bed was made… more or less. It wasn't perfect, but it was still made.

"If Mother sees it, you will be punished," Ciara whispered softly as the oncoming footsteps echoed in the distance. Penelope would only later come to recognize that sound as the sound of reckoning.

Every transgression, even the smallest one such as a slightly untidy bed, would merit a punishment. And that punishment depended upon the abbess herself and her current mood, rather than the transgression itself. The abbess almost seemed to take pleasure in hitting the girls with anything she could get her hands on, or she would not let them eat for days. Penelope did not know which one of the two was worse.

"I am so hungry," Penelope murmured to herself as she sat in her chamber while the other girls had breakfast. If such a thing could even be called breakfast. Still, it was food, and Penelope had already gone a whole day without any.

A knock on the door interrupted her troubled thoughts. She rushed to open it, and much to her relief, there was one of the girls with a tray of porridge and a small piece of bread. The two girls locked gazes full of sympathy.

"Eat quickly," the girl said. "If Mother finds out, we will both be in trouble."

"Thank you," Penelope replied with a trembling voice, grabbing the tray and closing the door quickly after her. She didn't even care if the abbess did find out. She would satiate her hunger, and that was all that mattered at that moment.

She hated every single moment she spent there, and because she still could not follow rules even after all this time, she had not gotten the title of nun yet, and she remained an oblate even though she was of age to become one. However, seeing that she had no other choice, she had finally decided to take the veil very soon, hoping that at least that way, she might ask to be sent to a different nunnery with a different abbess, and perhaps, lead a better life than the one she had there.

"I don't think so," Ciara's sudden response startled Penelope firstly with the sound of her voice that tore through the reverent silence that reigned around them then with the actual meaning of her words. "She did not sound upset when she instructed me to bring you to her."

"Hmm," Penelope mused incredulously. "That is… unusual." She paused for a moment then she spoke again, her voice down to a whisper. "Do you know what it is about?" Penelope herself could come up with any number of reasons to be called before the abbess, but she preferred to wait for the answer.

"No," Ciara's response was simple.

"Even more unusual," Penelope murmured to herself then she continued more loudly. "I was certain that I had not transgressed lately."

The truth was she had actually been trying actively to lead a chaste life, following all the rules of the nunnery simply because she was to take her vows within a matter of days. She would become a nun. Not something she had ever thought or hoped for herself, but in the past five years, she had slowly come to terms with it. And she realized that it was not the worst thing that could have happened to her.

Ciara turned to her with her eyes wide. "Do not let the abbess hear you talk in that manner."

"Ah, yes," Penelope nodded. "That would be demonstrating a lack of humility and the lack of knowledge that man is of sinful flesh as we are."

"Exactly," Ciara agreed with a smile that disappeared as hastily as it had appeared.

"I have been really trying my best lately," Penelope said with a heavy sigh. "I have not disobeyed orders from the abbess or any other superior. I have not been engaging in gossip. I have not been neglecting my duties. I have not violated any of the vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. I have not been failing to attend scheduled prayer sessions. I have not broken the rules of silence?—"

"All right, all right." Ciara turned to her, placing her hand gently on Penelope's shoulder. "I see you have memorized all the rules. No need to reiterate them for me."

"I have to know them in order not to break them," Penelope pointed out. "But even like that, I still cannot manage to do what is asked of me. If the abbess wants to see me, I must have done something that merits a punishment."

Ciara shook her head. "I told you that she did not appear angry. Not in the least bit."

Penelope frowned. "That only makes me more concerned."

This time, Ciara smiled. Her face held a warmth that reassured one into thinking that things were not all that bad. In fact, Ciara was one of the first girls Penelope met at the nunnery. Ciara was even younger than Penelope had been when her parents sent her to the abbey. She was two years younger than Penelope, so she must have been thirteen when she was brought to St Catherine's. She was also sent there against her will by her parents, but that was all Penelope knew about her, for she rarely spoke about the past.

"Perhaps she has summoned you for praise," Ciara suggested, but the moment she said that, they both stifled a burst of laughter that came straight from the heart. For such a thing could never be. The abbess had not praised a single nun under her care for all the years she had been Mother Superior. There was a higher chance of snow in July.

"I shall refrain from commenting on that," Penelope said, placing her hand on her lips, as if in an effort to prevent herself from speaking further on the matter. "Besides, that would be gossip and merit a punishment."

"Indeed," Ciara nodded. "Let us walk in silence, then."

"Yes, we had better do that," Penelope agreed, feeling somehow relieved by the presence of Ciara.

As they walked through the corridors of St. Catherine's Nunnery, they passed by tall stone walls adorned with ancient tapestries, each telling stories of saints and biblical scenes. All around them, there was flickering candlelight, casting dancing shadows on the cold stone floors. Wooden doors lined the walls leading to various rooms where the other sisters prayed, worked, and slept.

Penelope had been taught to move with quiet reverence there. The sisters wore traditional black habits, their heads covered by white veils that framed their serene faces. Despite the solemnity of their surroundings, there was a sense of peace and tranquility in their demeanor as they carried the weight of their faith with grace and humility.

That was, at least, what could have been said of every other nun there but Penelope. Even her title was different. She was merely an oblate like Ciara, although she was now of age to become a nun or leave the nunnery and marry which had not even crossed her mind. Then again, remaining there as a nun was an equally unpalatable option. However, seeing that she had been sent there by her own family, and only they had the power to bring her back to London, Penelope knew that she had to endure much more than mere floggings at the hands of the cruel abbess. She wondered how the other girls endured it, but she knew better than to ask such a question out loud, for one could never know who was loyal to the abbess, and such words could merit unspeakable punishments.

Finally, Ciara stopped in front of a door, standing aside. It was obvious that Penelope was to enter alone. She inhaled deeply, wondering what sort of punishment the abbess would have in mind for her now. She almost laughed at her remembrance when someone told her, a while back, that discipline within a nunnery should be administered with compassion, understanding, and a focus on spiritual well-being rather than harsh punishment. The abbess was obviously not of that opinion.

"Thank you." Penelope smiled at Ciara then knocked on the door.

She was not called to come in immediately. Not that Penelope expected to be. The abbess always made them wait, even when she had called for them. It was a simple but powerful reminder of their roles in the nunnery. Penelope was not impatient. She knew that whatever was coming would eventually come. She would not be able to evade it, no matter how much she tried, so it was easier to simply come to terms with whatever transgression she had done this time, and accept whatever punishment the abbess deemed appropriate. It made life in the nunnery bearable, if only for the time being.

Finally, after what seemed to be a small eternity, a stern voice came from inside.

"Come in."

Penelope's body trembled ever so slightly upon hearing it, but she bravely grabbed the handle and turned it, allowing herself in.

The door opened to the formidable figure of the abbess, seated at her writing table. Her features were sharp with beady eyes that, although small, seemed to have the power to pierce through any fa?ade. As everyone knew, she ruled with an iron fist, imposing strict discipline and exacting punishment without hesitation for even the slightest of transgressions.

Penelope had come to realize that the abbess' decisions were driven by a sense of duty and devotion to maintaining order and purity within the convent, rather than any concern for the well-being or happiness of the nuns under her care.

"Reverend Mother, you called for me?" Penelope said, closing the door, but just as she did so, she realized that two people were standing there, partially concealed by the door, almost as if it had been done on purpose.

It took her a moment to recognize them. After all, she had not seen them in five years. They had not aged in that very sense of the word, but they had changed. While her mother seemed less strained and more youthful looking, it was her father who appeared to have aged fifteen years in the span of only five. There were deep lines etched on his forehead and crow's feet around his mouth and eyes despite the fact that he was not smiling. Not one bit. Not even when his eyes befell the sight of his wayward daughter.

However, a child could never forget the faces of her parents, and her mind momentarily acknowledged who they were.

Penelope felt her throat completely dry up. "Mother?" she managed to muster. "Father?"

Against all common sense, and everything she had endured at their hands, she smiled upon seeing them. That child who still believed with all the might of her little heart was happy to see them there, and she wanted to rush to them, falling into their arms. But Penelope knew better than to allow that child to the surface. That child had been bruised so many times before. She needed to protect it. So, she kept the smile, but remained cautious in an effort to try and think of the possible reason behind their visit.

After a moment, she found it. She was to take the veil soon. After all, wasn't that what they had wanted all along? For her to become less problematic and find a purpose in life. If a woman's purpose was not marriage and having children, then the alternative was certainly a life devoted to God. She had managed the second. Well, almost. She was only days away from it.

That must have been it. They had probably received word of it from the nunnery and arrived to congratulate her on the upcoming event. This thought comforted her. It made sense, and she preferred logic and common sense to the playful mystery of imagination. She had to keep herself protected, just like the child inside of her, lest she got hurt.

"Penelope," her father nodded gravely, without a smile. There was a bit more warmth in the eyes of her mother, but the smile was also lacking.

"Sister Penelope," the abbess spoke calmly, "your parents have come with some very important news."

Penelope frowned, feeling a tightening sensation in her chest. Something was not right, but she did not know what. She turned to her parents, expecting an explanation, but they took their time. Finally, her father spoke, crushing the little hope of a happy life for which she had hoped.

"You are to return home with us immediately, for you have a wedding to attend," he said, then added — as if it mattered not a single bit — "your own."