I had no money or friends, no resources other than my former husband’s diamond ring (the pawning of which might take some doing), and I hadn’t been able to track down my few possessions. The maidservant I questioned only shrugged and said they’d been disposed of. Great. The next evening at dinner, however, Sir John informed me that he was making arrangements for me to find lodgings at the nunnery of Armathwaite, seventeen miles southeast of Carlisle. Startled, I focused on my food, trying to think how to respond. I hadn’t anticipated this particular side effect of looking twelve years younger than my true age. Sir John was correct to send me away. Although women lived among his court, I had no guardian, no authority over me besides what he chose to wield. It made it impossible for me to stay at the castle for more than a few days. “A nunnery?” I said. “Yes, of course. It isn’t far. You will leave in the morning—early, mind—and should arrive at the nunnery before noon.
