Death of a Duchess, Nellie Steele [non fiction books to read .txt] 📗

dress was clean and unsullied. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands folded in my lap. I wanted to be sure I was ready the moment my mother arrived. After one year, four months and ten days, I would finally be reunited with my mother.

Not wanting to wrinkle my dress, I sat unmoving. My muscles began to ache after an hour of waiting. Still, I sat unflinching on that lumpy bed until the lock released and the door swung open. I stood as the form of Mother Superior appeared rimmed in the hall’s light. I searched behind her but found no one. Mother must be waiting in the foyer, I mused.

I gazed into Mother Superior’s face, searching for answers as the candlelight flickered across her features. She glanced to my suitcase, then to me. “Are you packed?”

I nodded. “Yes,” I answered, my voice breathless.

Mother Superior glanced to my bed. “You did not finish your meal?”

I followed her gaze, staring at the inedible lump of food in the bowl. My heart leapt into my throat and my mouth went dry. I hoped it would not be the reason I was kept from my mother for a second longer. I licked my lips, preparing to reply. My mouth opened and closed, but no sounds emerged.

Before I could respond, Mother Superior spoke again. “No matter,” she said. “Come, Lenora.”

A smile crept across my face and I grasped my suitcase’s handle.  I hurried across the room and followed Mother Superior into the hallway. The hall was empty of others. Mother Superior ambled down the corridor to the main entrance, her black habit flowing around her, making her appear to float. I nearly floated behind her, my excitement building with each step.

We reached the foyer. The late afternoon sun shined through the stained glass, painting the floor a rainbow of colors. My eyes darted around the space, searching for my mother. I found no one outside of Sister Mary Margaret. The young nun stood by the doors, a handkerchief clutched in her hand.

As we approached the door, Sister Mary Margaret sniffled, a tear escaping her eye. “Pull yourself together, Sister,” Mother Superior warned. “Or I shall ask you to leave.”

Sister Mary Margaret nodded, wiping the tear away and clenching her jaw. My brow knitted in confusion. As I approached her, she knelt on the stone floor in front of me. She offered me a genuine but wavering smile as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She choked them back, pushing my hair behind my shoulders.

Of all the nuns, young Sister Mary Margaret had always been kind to me. On Christmas, she snuck me an orange and a small piece of chocolate. A family member had visited her and gifted them to her, and she had shared her bounty with me. On a separate occasion, she brought a small doll back, gifting it to me as a belated birthday present. Over my stay here, she had given me several other small items. Once or twice, she was caught and reprimanded for indulging me. It did not stop her.

“God loves you, Lenora,” she whispered. “You are a special child. Remember that. No matter what they say.”

I nodded. “I will,” I promised.

“Be a good girl,” she said, choking back a sob.

“I will,” I reiterated. “Do not cry, Sister Mary. I shall be happy now. And I shall visit you when I am able!”

The statement seemed to upset her. She gulped back another sob and nodded in response. Sister Mary Margaret glanced to Mother Superior. “Come, Lenora,” Mother Superior said, “it is time to go.”

Before we parted, Sister Mary Margaret pulled me into a tight embrace, kissing my cheek. I returned her embrace before Mother Superior tugged at my arm. “Come along, Lenora,” she instructed.

Sister Mary Margaret clutched my hand, giving it a squeeze. I returned the gesture before letting her hand drop. I offered one final smile as Mother Superior guided me through the door. We stepped into the cool March air. I expected to find my mother waiting on the sidewalk below. Instead, I found no one. A carriage awaited us on the road below. We descended the stone steps and climbed into the carriage.

Funny that Mother did not come for me. She must have sent for me instead, I surmised. I placed my suitcase on my lap as the carriage set off. As we wound through the streets, I wondered how long the journey home might be. My parents did not live in Glasgow, but rather in a small country town outside of it called Glenrock.

I searched the depths of my mind, trying to recall how long the journey took when my mother brought me to the convent. Just shy of six years old, I could not remember the duration of our trip. It did not matter, by nightfall I should be asleep in my own bed, I was certain. Contentment swelled in me. At long last, I would return to my home, to my mother and father, to my life. A smile passed over my lips as I gazed out the window, the buildings racing past me.

We continued for another fifteen minutes before the carriage slowed to a stop. My brow crinkled in confusion. Despite not recalling the exact duration of the journey between the convent and my home, I knew it was not this short. Outside the window, a ramshackle building rose multiple stories above the street.

Mother Superior disembarked from the carriage, suggesting I do the same. “Come, Lenora,” she said.

I did not budge for a moment, still confused. Mother Superior’s head popped back into the carriage. “I said come along, girl!” she exclaimed.

I climbed out of the carriage to the sidewalk, my suitcase in hand. My eyes lifted upward to study the battered building looming over me. What was this place, I wondered?

Mother Superior was already climbing the steps leading to the peeling black doors. I rushed to catch up to her. “Where are we?” I inquired.

“Hush, girl,” she