gest still speaking in an infant voice. Most of them gathered in small groups, chattering away, leaving Fiona alone, nervously fiddling with the silver Holy Spirit hanging from her chest, unsure of how to fit in with her classmates.

As they listened to the nuns'' daily service in the chapel, the girls kneeling beside her clasped their hands together in prayer, exhibiting a posture of both heartfelt and deliberate piety. Quietly observing their mannerisms, Fiona mimicked their hand gestures and muttered some words under her breath.

The new girl noticed how their hands were all as creamy and soft as velvet, while her own still bore traces of calluses and frostbite that hadn''t completely healed. After finishing her prayers, she tucked her fingers into her sleeves, feeling inferior and sad.

As the bell for recess rang out, the girls, tall and short alike, streamed out of the classroom. They ran around the yard, playing and laughing, their joyful voices like wind chimes flying over the lifeless high walls.

The matron nun, her face veiled in black, watched on ghostly from afar. Yet she could not in the slightest deter their exuberant joy - this solemn garden haunted by religious spirits, was in an instant flooded with sunlight.

Sarah and Claudia, girls of twelve or thirteen, were the centre of the children. Miss Sarah Hensfield''s elder aunt was a prominent duchess in the area who had also been educated at this ancient convent school. She was now one of the important sponsors of the sanctuary.

The girls adored Sarah for this, espec