At noon the next day, Katerina walked slowly and painfully from the hansom cab up through the wrought-iron fence surrounding the churchyard garden, which now lay dormant under the grip of a frigid London winter. Ahead of her, a small, plain building constructed of golden bricks awaited. There, she would finally shake off the risk of her father"s abuse for good.
Wind ruffled her icy blue wedding dress, which she"d borrowed from the bishop"s late wife"s closet. It fit badly, being both too short and too generously cut for her, but there was no help for it. Her party gown had been ruined with blood.
She leaned heavily on Christopher for support as they proceeded up the steps, through an arched wooden door in which a single rosette window of colorless glass admitted a ray of pale winter sunl
