Sanctuary

Part 1

Christine sat on the hard wooden chair, gazing at the woman on the other side of the desk. The white coif and black veil framed a strong-boned, middle-aged face, a little stern, perhaps, but not without sympathy. The Mother Superior of the priory returned her gaze in silence for a while, then nodded slightly. "You have been learning patience, daughter, in your time with us. When you first came, you could not have waited so calmly."

"I was distressed, not knowing which way to turn. But you have given me this precious time for quiet thought. I see my way clearly now."

"And are you convinced that the way you have chosen is the perfect way? That it is right for you?"

"I… do not seek perfection. I do not think that is to be had, this side of Heaven. But right for me? Yes. Wholeheartedly I made my choice."

The prioress looked down at some papers spread before her. "It is some time since you came to this house with your letter of introduction from my old friend Madame Valerius. She explained a little of your difficulties. I made further enquiries on my own behalf, and I consulted those in authority over me and over this convent. As a result, you were given special dispensation to hasten your admission. Madame Valerius believed that you would find peace here. I hope that you will. It has been decided that, as a member of this community, you shall bear the name of Sister Cecilia."

Christine knew, of course, that Saint Cecilia was the patron saint of music. She bowed her head. "You do me great honour. I shall try to deserve it."

The prioress nodded. "You may return to your cell, and to your duties."

Christine rose, pausing for a moment to let her unaccustomed black habit, twin to that worn by the superior, settle into its folds around her, and quietly left the room.

O-O-O

Time passed. One day was much like another, but there came a day when the prioress had something new to think about. She had been attending to the daily correspondence. Gathering the routine letters into a pile, she summoned her secretary to take and file them, and send out the replies. Alone again, she picked up the two letters which she had kept aside, and gazed thoughtfully at them.

The one which had arrived by express courier was on fine-quality notepaper with the Chagny crest. Even in the priory, no one could rise to her position without having the knowledge and the ability to deal with worldly matters. This was a letter whose coming she had expected. She pondered the writing, educated but hasty, and the bold signature, at odds with the desperate plea expressed by the writer. The way he repeated himself, the distracted words pouring out, showed her plainly that this was written from the heart, not the intellect. Here in the convent they had been granted a time of quiet, but she had felt that this intrusion from the world would come eventually.

It was more difficult to account for the second letter. It had appeared in the gatehouse, but not with the regular post, and no one was quite sure how it had arrived. The paper was plain, of adequate quality, available in shops in any town. The address at the top was of a local hotel. The writing was less neat than that of the first letter, but it did not convey the same sense of frantic anxiety. The signature was in the same script as the letter, impersonal, without any of the distinguishing characteristics which most signatures acquire with use. Pierre Martin. The name could hardly be more common. Assumed for the occasion? Of course there were many men with that name, but she guessed that most of them would cultivate a distinctive signature.

Both writers wanted an interview with a sister of the house. The first, from the Vicomte… no, the Comte. With the death of his older brother, young Raoul de Chagny had inherited the unfortunate Philippe's title as well as the headship of his family, with all its responsibilities. His letter was fervent, pleading, pathetically eager but terrified of rejection, at odds with his position in society. The other… no pleading there. The words were formal and polite, but underneath… was that a current of arrogance? When he discussed the desired interview, the writer almost seemed to speak of it as a certainty, not as a favour to be asked. The letter had, perhaps, the tone of an authoritarian father speaking of a wayward daughter, but the sister concerned had no father. After due thought, the prioress rang again for her secretary. "Please find Sister Cecilia, and ask her to come here."

Christine entered the office with folded hands and downcast eyes. At the prioress's request, she seated herself, maintaining her modest bearing.

"Daughter, we spoke before of your quest to find peace. I hope that you have."

"Yes, Mother. You know how beset I was, out in the world. Those trials were beyond my powers. Here within, I have duties and tasks within my scope. Here I have indeed found peace."

But perhaps not happiness, the prioress thought to herself, studying the pale face, the carefully controlled expression. "Another task for you has now presented itself. You and I must deal with this." She handed over the letter from the Comte, and watched carefully as the young woman read it. Agitation crossed her features, and sadness.

"Mother, I think it is best that I do not meet him."

"Daughter, I think it is best that you do. If you are to make a life here, it is your duty not to leave such matters unresolved. Were you not engaged to this man?"

"No… not exactly. He wanted to marry me… but somehow I felt that it was not my fate to marry. And then… he was, at that time, an officer in the navy, due to be sent on a mission in a few weeks. So I said that we might… pretend to be engaged… for the short time we had. With hindsight, it was foolish, but I cared for him too much to send him away. So we played this game, and both closed our eyes to the reality, that we could never have a life together. He, I think, forgot that it had begun as a game. I never could."

"I understand. But there is one more such matter to be ended tidily. There is one more request for a meeting."

Christine's face paled even more, and for a moment she seemed to sway where she sat. But she recovered herself, and when the prioress handed over the second letter, she read it without comment.

"Do you know this man?" enquired the prioress.

"I do not know the name," Christine replied. The prioress waited silently, prompting a more complete answer. "I do not know the name, but I know the handwriting. But, Mother, even if you order me to that other meeting, I beg you to spare me from this one."

"For your own sake, I cannot. You must speak to both of them. You have not forgotten that one of the vows of this sisterhood is obedience, and I require you to obey me in this. Take comfort in that you must not be alone for these meetings. I shall be present, and what passes shall remain private between us. But I firmly believe that you can never rest happy here until these matters are finally put behind you. I shall make the appointments for tomorrow. Today, you should attend to your duties as usual, but meditate and pray for guidance."

O-O-O