‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. ‘A convenient desire, Mademoiselle Charvill. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. Michelle had charitably taken to sitting with Lucy during Lunch Period, where she assumed a station at the outer edges of the Cafeteria, the crowd diffusing in concentric orbits, the middle tables reserved for only the most prestigious castes.
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