“Lady Matilda Sterlington?” she asked in a gentle Irish lilt.
“Yes,” Matilda replied, stepping down carefully from the carriage.
“I am Sister Agnes,” the woman said with a small smile. “Mother Beatrice asked me to welcome you. We’ve been expecting you since dawn.”
Matilda inclined her head. “I hope my arrival has not been too much of an inconvenience.”
“Not in the least, my dear. It brings a little excitement to our morning.”
The warmth in her tone drew a faint, genuine smile from Matilda. “I am afraid I will bring very little excitement once I’m settled. I mean to cause no disturbance.”
“Disturbance?” Sister Agnes laughed softly as if she had no idea what the word meant. “You’ll find peace here soon enough. Come, let me show you the grounds.”
Matilda followed her through the arched gate in slow, measured steps. The courtyard was simple but lovely. It was a square of pale stone paths surrounding a small fountain, and the sound of water was gentle and rhythmic. Beyond it, the chapel doors stood open, and she could hear faint singing from within, clear voices rising in prayer.
Sister Agnes led her first to the refectory, where a handful of sisters sat in quiet companionship over their morning meal. They looked up, curious but kind, and a few offered shy smiles. Matilda inclined her head politely.
“Meals are taken together,” Sister Agnes explained. “Silence, except on Sundays. You’ll grow accustomed to it. We find comfort in quiet.”
Matilda nodded. “I think I shall too.”
They continued through the long cloisters and through the archways. Matilda saw the gardens with their rows of herbs and flowers, a small orchard, and beyond that, fields dotted with sheep. The air smelled of rosemary and earth, clean and honest. Sister Agnes pointed out the small library, the sewing room, and the guest chambers as they walked through the sunlit cloister.
“If you choose to stay longer than a season,” she said kindly, “we can prepare a proper cell for you. Many women come to us for a time, seeking reflection. Some stay forever.”
Matilda’s steps slowed. “Then I shall stay forever.”
Sister Agnes glanced at her, faintly surprised. “Forever is a long word, my dear.”
“I have spent too many years in the wrong places,” Matilda said quietly. “If peace can be found here, I should like to spend what remains of my life keeping it.”
The nun’s expression softened, touched with both pity and respect. “Then we will do our best to make you at home.”
They continued on in silence until they reached a modest chamber off the main hall. It consisted of whitewashed walls, a narrow bed, a wooden desk, and a single window overlooking the garden.
“This will be yours for now,” Sister Agnes said. “It isn’t grand, but I daresay it’s peaceful.”
“It’s perfect,” Matilda murmured, stepping inside. She brushed her fingertips along the windowsill, relishing the stone cool beneath her touch. “Truly perfect.”
“Mother Beatrice will meet with you after noon prayers,” Sister Agnes added. “Until then, rest if you wish or walk the gardens. We rise with the dawn and sleep when the candles burn low, no one will expect anything of you yet.”
Matilda inclined her head. “You have all been most kind. Thank you.”
Sister Agnes smiled. “Kindness is easy, my dear. It is peace that takes work.” She bowed her head and withdrew, leaving the door slightly ajar.
When she was gone, Matilda crossed to the window. The morning mist was lifting, unveiling the quiet beauty of the garden below with its soft gleam of dew on the herbs and thepale roses nodding in the breeze. It was serene, ordered, and untouched by the noise of the world.
“This is how I shall live,” she whispered to herself. “Quietly, simply… forever.”
Her voice did not tremble, though her heart did. She told herself this was what she wanted, that here, among women who asked nothing of her, she would be safe. Hopefully, she would learn to stop remembering.
But when she closed her eyes, memory betrayed her. The warmth of his hand, the depth of his gaze, the sound of her name when he said it… all returned, unbidden and unrelenting.
Her throat tightened. She clasped her hands together, as if in prayer, though no words rose to her lips.
“Peace,” she murmured to herself. “You came here for peace.”
Outside, the abbey bell began to toll for prayer, its slow rhythm echoing across the fields. Matilda turned toward it, straightened her shoulders, and breathed in the stillness.
