Bees hummed love songs to the flowers. A gentle breeze caressed her cheek. In the distance, a seagull called out its pride in the successful hunt for food. Even the autumn sun gave what vigor it had left to warm her. This peace should have cheered and strengthened. Instead, like a prisoner granted one final glance of the bright world, she felt the heaviness of despondency. “Oh, you are a foolish creature,” she muttered aloud. “May I help, my lady?” The prioress had forgotten that Gracia was so close. She had brought her maid along so the child might have a few moments for simple play, something the girl rarely had time to do. I have burdened her too much with tasks involving this murder, Eleanor thought. Yet she noticed that Gracia was delighted with those challenges and even suggested clever ways she could do more. This was not a girl happiest when clutching her cloth poppet, the prioress decided, and now she wondered if the education offered at Tyndal Priory could match the quality of the child’s wits.
