When the last drop dried and they refilled the bucket, Tabitha gave her a shy, wet-eyed smile and ducked her head in gratitude before scurrying away. Rose felt a pang of regret mixed with stubborn hope. There was still some softness left to cultivate in this place.
She returned to sweeping. The mist was thinning now, glittering, shot through with hints of gold. Overhead, gulls wheeled and shrieked. They dared to break silences no novice would risk.
“Pssst. Rose.”
Rose startled, nearly dropping her dustpan. She looked up to find another novice—Sister Margaret’s youngest protégé—hovering near the gap in the cloister wall, glancing over her shoulder with the nervous energy of someone about to be caught.
She stepped closer and whispered, “What is it?”
The girl hesitated, eyes darting to the shadows where Sister Francis stalked, then leaned in so close Rose could feel her trembling.
“I heard something,” she started. “Last night. In the kitchens.”
Rose was far from the type to indulge in convent gossip, but the look in this girl’s eyes was different. She was urgent, almost afraid.
“Tell me. But quickly.”
She swallowed. “Mother Superior was talking to Sister Agnes. They said someone left a baby at the monastery gate. And then, I couldn’t hear much else, but…” she paused, wavered. “They said your name. Your full name.”
Rose’s world tilted on its axis. “That’s hardly possible. Are you certain they said it?”
The novice’s face was pinched with worry. “I heard them. They said they were going to call you in and…”
She did not need to finish the sentence. A cold weight settled in her gut, making itself at home.
Rose looked back at the cloister, but the novice was already gone, vanishing back into the tide of sweeping girls. She stood motionless for a beat, the broom slipping from her fingers and striking the stones with a hollow echo.
A baby. What could she possibly have to do with a baby?
She abandoned her post, not minding the eyes of the older Sisters, and took off at a brisk walk across the courtyard, the question hammering deeper with every step.
Why would anyone speak her name—her name—now, when there was a baby left at the convent? When she was here, stripped of everything but a borrowed habit and a borrowed prayer?
The path to the main building was slick with dew. She mounted the steps two at a time, chest tightening.
Her mind raced. It could be nothing; a meaningless, off-handed comment or trifle. When she reached the heavy oak door, she hesitated only for a moment.
Then, she slipped inside. She didn’t bother knocking. No one could turn her away, especially not if they were seeking her in the first place.
Mother Superior’s office was faintly lit. Candlelight was blotted out by the open window, and the place smelled of tallow, old vellum, and lavender.
Her abrupt entry drew startled gasps from Sisters Victoria and Elizabeth, who clustered at the window, while behind the vast oak desk, Mother Superior presided, her posture iron and calm.
On the desk, framed by immaculate stacks of ledgers, sat a basket swaddled in fine white linen, lined with a bit of quilt. Inside was an infant, blinking up at the sudden intrusion with serene, green eyes. The sight was so at odds with the somber hush of the office that Rose almost stopped breathing.
Then she saw it: a letter. It was merely a single sheet, folded and sealed with wax, but the way Mother Superior pinched it between her thumb and forefinger made Rose shake. Slowly, the angle of her hand brought the paper closer and closer to the candle at her elbow. The flame burned low, guttering.
“Stop!” The word leaped from Rose’s throat before she knew she had spoken.
Sister Victoria blinked while Sister Elizabeth looked at Mother Superior for a cue.
The older woman set the letter down on her ink blotter and pierced Rose with a stony stare. “You were not summoned, Rose,” she said. “This is none of your concern.”
“If that letter is addressed to me,” Rose said, surprising herself with how steady her voice was, “then I have a right to know what is happening.”
Sister Elizabeth inhaled sharply. “It is not our place to dictate?—”
“Enough,” Mother Superior barked. She held Rose in a clear, glacial gaze. “You and the others may leave us. Now.”
