Death of a Duchess by Nellie Steele (the beginning after the end novel read TXT) 📗

A figured stepped from the shadows at the end of the hall. Even in the dim light, I realized she was not a member of the dead. The white of her habit was visible even in the dark. As she moved into the moonlit hall, I recognized the face of the Mother Superior.

The stern expression she wore made her disapproval obvious. She approached, looming over me. I stared up at her, my hands clasped in front of me. “Mother,” I greeted her.

She did not speak for a moment, her mouth set in a grim line. “What are you doing, Lenora?” she barked after a moment.

I considered my response. Should I lie or tell the truth? I decided honesty was the best policy. “I was going to the garden for some air.”

“Going to the garden?!” she exclaimed. “You are meant to be in bed.”

“I spend all day in my room,” I countered. “I only wanted to get out for a bit.”

“What you want and what you should have are separate things, Lenora,” she lectured me. “You spend all day in your room to correct the illness from which you suffer. At night, you are not to do as you please. You are a child. You are to be in bed, sleeping like a normal child would be at this hour.”

“I am not ill,” I insisted.

Mother Superior grasped me by the arm, dragging me back toward the cells. “You ARE ill, child. Illness is not always physical. You suffer from a spiritual illness. The devil taunts you with these visions.”

I struggled against her, but to no avail. Despite her age, she still possessed strength beyond that of a small girl. “They are real,” I argued. “I am not ill!”

We arrived at my door and she opened it, shoving me inside without a word. The door slammed shut and the clank of the lock fastening sounded throughout the room. It echoed in my ears long after it settled into place.

I climbed into my bed, snuggling under my blanket as tears formed in my eyes. I still had the hair pin I used to unlock my door, but I dared not use it again tonight. I blinked back my tears and focused my energy on how I might avoid a punishment for my misbehavior.

The following morning, no one retrieved me as usual before breakfast. I huddled on my bed, my knees drawn to my chest as I heard the convent come to life. The hall became quiet again as the sisters gathered for morning devotions and breakfast. Perhaps this was my punishment, I reflected, as silence settled around me. I was to go without breakfast. While my stomach growled, the punishment was not so terrible. I could withstand it, I told myself.

The morning wore on with no one approaching my door. The sounds of the day carried on outside my room as I sat in the dark cell. As the lunch hour approached, the clanking of the lock releasing sounded throughout my room. The door cracked open, and I squinted against the light as it shined in from the hallway.

The outline of Mother Superior was framed by the back light. I climbed from my bed as she hovered at the door. “Lunch,” she said, leaving a tray on the floor inside the doorway. The door swung shut, and I heard the lock engage.

A small candle glowed from the tray, giving me enough light to retrieve the lunch setting and return to my bed to eat it. I set the candle on my night table and picked at the cold oatmeal in the bowl. The food, clearly left over from breakfast, had hardened into a lump. Even my intense hunger failed to make the meal appetizing.

I forced a small amount of the oatmeal down, gagging as it stuck in my throat. I pushed its hardened mass around the bowl as I pondered eating another bite. I scooped a small amount of the sludge from the bowl and brought it to my mouth. My lips formed a grimace as a whiff of it passed through my nostrils. I dropped the spoon into the bowl. It clattered against the dish, resounding through the room.

I sat crossed legged on my bed, my chin in my hands as I stared at the inedible food. My stomach ceased growling, the unappetizing food turning it enough to stop me from desiring to eat. With no window and no outlet from my room, I could not dispose of the food. I would surely earn myself another punishment for leaving it uneaten, but I could not stomach it.

The sound of the lock unlatching reverberated through the room. I leapt from my bed, my bare feet touching the cold floor. Mother Superior stood in the doorway, her features flinty in the flickering candlelight. She glanced at the barely touched food, then back to me. “Get dressed, Lenora,” she said curtly.

I stood silent for a moment. “Now, Lenora!” she said, raising her voice. “And when you have finished pack your things.”

My eyes widened and my breath caught. “Pack my things?” I questioned.

“Do not quibble with me,” Mother Superior warned. “Do as you are told.”

“But…” I began again.

“But nothing!” she snapped at me. “And finish your lunch.” She spun on her heel, slamming and locking the door behind her.

The room darkened with only the light of the small candle flickering its feeble flame from my night table. My heart thudded in my chest as I pulled my tattered suitcase from under the bed. I changed into a dress, folding my nightgown and placing it in my suitcase. Why must I pack, I wondered? My heart skipped a beat. Perhaps my mother returned for me! The notion hurried my pace. This must be the reason Mother Superior requested me to pack.

I placed my limited belongings into the suitcase. I snapped it shut and set it on the floor near my bed. I used the dim light to ensure my