It was the only way I could refuse Diana’s repeated invitations to go out to dine without explaining that I was confined to quarters. And Mrs. Hennessey had asked me if I’d care to go with her to market, to see what we might find for the evening meal. “You must eat, Bess. It will do you good, appetite or not. I shouldn’t have to tell a Sister such things,” she ended with a smile on the third day. But it wasn’t my slight chill that had spoiled my appetite, it was the waiting. I’d thought surely I’d hear something before this. And the longer I waited, the worse my punishment would be. Or so I’d nearly convinced myself. The morning of the fifth day Mrs. Hennessey came up the stairs and knocked on my door. When I answered it, she stared at me with large, worried eyes. “Bess, my dear,” she said in a whisper, “there’s a man in my sitting room who insists he must speak to you privately.
