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you expected. You’ll be comfortable enough, for all the time you’ll be stopping here.’
    Despite all these assurances Jane was awake long after Alice was snoring, a feeling of dread gnawing at her stomach.
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    It was worse the following morning, when she had to bid goodbye to Alice. For all her fine words her old nurse dissolved in tears at the thought of parting with her ward.
    Jane was forced to put on a brave front, but she felt so heartsick that even Cooper and Fletcher seemed the lesser of the two evils. ‘There, there,’ she said, patting Alice’s heaving shoulders. ‘Dry your tears. I shall be back soon.’
    She stopped as Fletcher led Alexander past and tied him to the back of his own horse. ‘Where are you taking Alex?’ she demanded. ‘I shall need him here.’
    â€˜I think not,’ said Mother Ursula coolly. ‘The convent has stabling only for its guests. We do not have the resources to keep such a great beast, eating us out of house and home.’ She clapped her hands and Jane watched in dismay as Fletcher tested the fastening, to make sure it was secure.
    After one last tearful hug, Alice mounted her hated donkey and the small procession began to move out of the courtyard. Jane waved goodbye, tears blinding her eyes as she strained to watch them growing slowly smaller in the distance.
    â€˜Right,’ said Mother Ursula briskly. ‘Now that your escort has left, you will take your cell in the block with the other novices.’
    Jane stared at her in shock. ‘Novices?’ she gasped. ‘I am no novice. I am merely here to make a retreat. I have no vocation for the religious life.’
    â€˜That is not what your father said,’ smiled Mother Ursula. ‘Once you have passed your noviciate, you will take your vows and join our order.’ She clapped her hands again and four nuns scurried to obey her.
    As the heavy courtyard gates swung shut, cutting off her last contact with the outside world, a horrifying realisation dawned on Jane. She was effectively a prisoner.
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Chapter Eight
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    For a moment she stood there, rooted to the spot, then she took to her heels and ran towards the gates, her hair billowing out behind her like a copper banner. Shrieking, she banged her fists against the unyielding wood until she realised the hopelessness of her task. Like an animal at bay, she turned and faced her captors.
    Mother Ursula had made no move to follow her. She stood watching the tearful girl with a cool smile on her lips. Some of the nuns regarded Jane with frightened, sympathetic eyes, while others tittered behind their hands, exulting over her misery. Either way there was no help forthcoming. Jane’s shoulders sagged.
    â€˜Have you quite finished your tantrum?’ enquired Mother Ursula sarcastically. Jane nodded dully and the woman’s lips twisted in a cruel smile. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Then perhaps you will do as you are told without any more of this foolishness.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘Sister Marie, Sister Michael. Take our young novice to the dorter,’ her eyes ran disparagingly over the rich fabric of Jane’s dress, ‘and see that she is more suitably clothed.’
    The spirit of generations of ancestors who had fought on every English battlefield since William first came from Normandy came to her rescue. Suppressing her panic, Jane straightened her shoulders and stared coldly back at Mother Ursula.
    â€˜I will not go,’ she said, forcing herself to speak with a calm she did not feel. ‘I have told you already. There has been some mistake. I will return to the guesthouse and remain there until it has been rectified.’ Ignoring them all, she turned and, head held high, began to walk towards the grey stone building.
    She had barely gone four steps before a hand seized her hair and she was jerked to a halt. She twisted round, screaming as flares of pain