Marrying the Royal Marine by Carla Kelly Page A

she said, seeing nothing but kindness in the nun’s eyes, belying the fearsome scar.
    ‘I did, but you are the guest here in our convent,’ she replied graciously. ‘Very well, then. It is not a small thing. Would you be willing to help me at night, when the little mothers cry in their nightmares?’
    Polly could not help the shudder that ran through her body. ‘What could I possibly do?’ she asked, when she could speak.
    ‘Hold their hands. Sit with them until the terror passes. I cannot be everywhere.’
    It was simply said, as if she had asked Polly to water the flowers in the courtyard. ‘I will help you,’ Polly said, thinking how Colonel Junot had helped her without a complaint in her worst moments; surely she could do no less. ‘Of course I will help. When do I start?’
    ‘Tonight.’ Sister Madelena rose quickly. ‘Now I have much to do.’ She nodded at Polly and starting walking briskly to the low door, where she ducked and paused. ‘What was it you came to see me about, senhorita ?’
    It seemed so unimportant. ‘I wanted your help in teaching the little mothers English.’ Polly stood up.
    ‘Of course I will help,’ Sister Maria Madelena said. ‘When you have their hearts, my dear, by watching over them at night, you will easily engage their minds.’
    It sounded so true that Polly could only nod. ‘Your English is excellent, Sister,’ she said. ‘Where did you learn it?’
    Sister Madelena looked at her, as if wondering how much truth to tell. ‘I haven’t always been a nun, and I am well named, Senhorita Brandon. I used to be mistress to an Englishman who managed Sandeman’s vineyards. He thought if he talked English loud and slow enough, I would learn.’
    ‘How is your hearing?’ Polly asked, laughing.
    ‘My English is better. I will come for you tonight after Compline.’

    Polly changed her mind several times before Compline, but when there was a soft tap on her door, she rose at once.
    ‘Follow me,’ Sister Maria Madelena said, returning with her to the older part of the convent, the section far away from the satellite hospital. ‘At first, Surgeon Brittle thought the little mothers would prefer to be together, so we housed them in the old refectory,’ the nun said. ‘They kept waking each other with tears and shrieks, so we decided on the old cells.’
    Polly rubbed her arms, feeling the hairs rise on them. It was the middle of summer, but she shivered. ‘Their children?’
    ‘They sleep with their little ones, those who have children.’
    Even though every fibre in her body screamed out to stop, Polly let herself be led down the corridor to its intersection, where a padded chair had been placed, looking out of place amid the austerity of a much earlier age.
    ‘Make yourself comfortable here,’ Sister Maria Madelena said, as she fluffed up a pillow. ‘I will be at the other end of the corridor. If you hear someone cry out, just go to the chamber.’
    ‘And do what?’ Polly asked, utterly unprepared.
    ‘What your heart tells you to do.’ She left Polly alone.
    Polly sat, deeply aware of her utter inadequacy. She leaned back carefully, afraid to make the smallest sound and waken anyone from already uneasy slumber. You could have stayed with Nana , she reminded herself. It sounded so cowardly to even think such a thing that she felt ashamed. She thought of Colonel Junot then, and the kindness in his brown eyes when he had told her not to sell herself short. She yearned to see him again so she could tell him she was trying, even as she hoped this would be the night when no one cried out.
    She did not get her wish. The smell of incense was cloying but comforting, and there was just the hint of orange blossoms and gardenia from a courtyard they had passed. She drew her legs up under her and rested her cheek on her hand.
    Polly sat up, straining her ears. The lowest keening seemed to come up from the very stones on the floor, causing her to clutch at her arms in fear. The