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form of capitulation I was definitely not prepared to make.
    My last sight of Mother Ancilla was of a figure like a little black bird skimming down the corridor. The corridor itself was plain except for a series of alcoves containing incongruously garish statues of assorted saints.
    'Miss Shore,' said a gentle voice more or less at my elbow. I realised that a little nun, hardly more than a novice from her face, had been waiting for some minutes to speak to me. With her twitching mouth and neat nose, she looked rather like an unhappy rabbit.
    'I'm Sister Edward. I must talk to you.' Sister Edward: the name rang a bell. Yes, the nun who had so unfortunately not revealed Sister Miriam's crazy plan of self-purgation. And only sounded the alarm about the locked tower when it was too late. I also realised from her voice that Sister Edward had been that intruder in the headmistress's study whose appearance had been so unwelcome.
    'Talk away,' I replied with false cheerfulness, my voice unnecessarily loud.
'Not here.'
    At that moment the bell sounded again, three strokes then four. Sister Edward literally blanched.
    'My bell. I must go.' All the same she continued to stand twisting her hands. 'They're after me. They don't want me to talk to you—'
'Sister Edward, I really think—'
    By way of reply, Sister Edward dragged me into the narrow alcove beside me.
    'She killed her,' she said, panting, and poking her little face into mine. 'She wanted her dead. So she killed her.'
    'Who? I might have said 'What' with equal force. I had no idea what Sister Edward was saying.
    'Why Mother Ancilla of course.' The rabbit's face was turned up in innocent surprise. 'Mother Ancilla killed poor Sister Miriam.' The next moment Sister Edward was in her turn skimming down the corridor towards the nuns' part of the building. Another black bird. I knew that it was Sister Edward. But of course from the back it might just as well have been Mother Ancilla or any other nun. They really did look exactly alike.
    I was left alone except for a statue of St Antony holding the Infant Jesus in his arms.
    4
    A balanced programme
    Lunch in the refectory did not last long. Actually the refectory had been turned into a cafeteria since my day, complete with counter and plastic cases for food. All the nuns behind the counter had beaming rather flushed faces. We used to divide nuns into Snow Whites and Rose Reds, as the religious life (or the wimple) seemed to have the effect of sending their complexions to one or other extreme. These were all Rose Reds.
    The food was delicious. I said as much to the girls sitting with me at table. They all affected considerable surprise.
    'Would you like a second helping, Miss Shore?' enquired a girl at the end of the table politely. It was the first remark she had made throughout the meal. She had a long, interesting face, with a straight nose, like a crusader modelled on a tomb. As she brought back the plate, she bent over my chair and said quite low: 'This was Sister Miriam's favourite pudding as well, you know.'
Afterwards I asked Mother Ancilla who she was.
    'Why, that's Margaret Plantaganet!' cried Mother Ancilla. She sounded delighted at my cleverness in picking out such an eligible candidate for my attention. 'Lady Margaret Plantaganet,' she added in passing – no-one could throw away a title like Mother Ancilla. 'The Bosworths' daughter.'
    'It's not a very Catholic name,' I muttered. In my irritation at having given Mother Ancilla such an opening, I quite forgot to ask how a mere schoolgirl could have known of my friendship with Rosa.
    'It's true that her mother was—' and Mother Ancilla mentioned some incredibly grand-sounding Italian name which I had genuinely never heard before, although I should have tried to look blank in any case. 'Lord Bosworth is a convert. But Margaret herself looks pure Plantaganet, don't you think?'
    It was clear that Mother Ancilla regarded the presence of Margaret Plantaganet at the Convent of