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“There were many rules, and the punishments for breaking them were severe. But I made it through.” She smiled, managing to chuckle even, because the pain was too strong to bear. Laughing through it was hard, but those emotions had to go in some direction, and it was better to laugh than to cry. “You could say I even learned something about resilience and strength.”

Things were much worse than she had shared with them.

Lord Kirdale’s eyes were filled with empathy. She could tell that he still had so many questions.

“Did you ever consider bringing these matters to His Majesty’s attention?” He paused for a moment, obviously incredulous about what he had just heard. “Such treatment is unacceptable, Ciara. And in a convent, of all places, where they should preach forgiveness and understanding.”

Ciara almost laughed aloud at those words. She doubted that Mother Superior or any of the other women under her thumb knew of those terms. They had forgotten them somewhere along the way, choosing cruelty and judgment instead, filling their hearts with hatred and the feeling of superiority exercised over those they were supposed to protect and guide.

Ciara shook her head, her expression troubled. “I have thought about it, but I fear that if I did, the other girls who are still there might suffer even more. The nuns might punish them out of spite.”

Rebecca leaned forward, her face determined. “Ciara, you must tell someone. If not for yourself, then for the other girls. Archie has connections that could help bring about change at St. Catherine’s. You could prevent others from enduring what you went through.”

She looked over at Jonathan again, noticing his fists were clenched tightly. “No one should ever have to suffer like that,” he said, his voice low and controlled.

Ciara looked at Rebecca then at Jonathan. Hope began to flicker in her heart, blossoming despite everything. “You really think it could make a difference?” she asked, her voice tentative and fearful still.

Lord Kirdale nodded firmly. “Absolutely. I know people in positions of influence who could investigate and bring reforms. We could ensure the safety of those girls and at the same time, make sure such an atrocity doesn’t happen again.”

Ciara felt a surge of determination. If there was a chance to help the girls at St. Catherine’s, she had to take it. She owed it to them and to herself as well. “All right,” she said, her voice steady. “I’ll do it. I’ll speak up.”

Rebecca smiled warmly, reaching out to squeeze Ciara’s hand. “You’re doing the right thing, Ciara. We’ll support you every step of the way.”

She felt renewed, as if she could see that light at the end of the tunnel even clearer, even brighter. As the evening continued, the atmosphere lightened. They spoke of happier times and shared stories that brought laughter and smiles. Yet, beneath the surface, a new resolve had taken root within Ciara. She knew that the path ahead might be difficult, but she also knew she wasn’t alone.

It was already quite late when she and Jonathan were saying goodbye to the Kirdales. Rebecca wrapped her arms around Ciara, keeping her in a warm, tight embrace for what seemed to be an entire eternity. That was exactly what Ciara needed at that moment—the welcoming embrace of someone who cared about her.

“Thank you,” Ciara gushed, turning to Lord Kirdale as well. “To both of you. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“There is no need to thank us; we are family,” Rebecca reminded her. “Family helps each other.”

Ciara had never experienced that feeling, the love and unity of a family who helped each other. Hers was a family of people who betrayed her, sent her away and caused her painful traumas she doubted she would ever forget. Before she could say anything, Margaret and Henry rushed to hug her as well.

“You will come and visit us, Ciara, won’t you?” Margaret’s eyes beamed at her.

Ciara smiled back. “I would love to.”

As the family settled into their carriage, Ciara waved them goodbye until they disappeared from sight. She turned to Jonathan who still seemed lost in thought. She wondered what he was thinking about, but she dared not ask him.

“It’s late,” she heard him say somewhat gravely. “We’d best turn in.”

All she could do was agree.

The walls seemed eerily familiar. It was a small, claustrophobic space with walls of rough, cold stone that seemed to absorb every bit of warmth and light. The air was damp and musty, carrying the faint scent of mildew and decay. A single, narrow window high up on one wall allowed a sliver of pale light to filter in, casting long, eerie shadows across the room.

“No…” Ciara shook her head, looking frantically around her. “It can’t be…”

She looked down. The floor was made of uneven flagstones, slick with moisture and covered in patches of greenish mold. In one corner, a thin, straw-stuffed mattress lay on the ground, offering little comfort against the cold and hardness of the floor. A coarse, threadbare blanket was haphazardly thrown over it, more a symbol of warmth than a source of it.

The door was tightly shut. She rushed to it, banging with her fists which would soon become bruised, battered, and bloody. She knew that well.

“No! Please! Let me out!” she shouted, her voice desperate, filled with the terror of her past which was now merging with her present. “Don’t leave me in here! I promise I’ll be good!”

She suddenly felt two arms around her, holding her tightly.

She blinked heavily, banishing all the remnants of the nightmare which had her in its grip. She realized she was not in St. Catherine’s, but in her own bedchamber, in her own bed, with Jonathan sitting beside her side.

“It’s just a dream, Ciara,” he kept repeating until finally, it reached her.