Free Wages of Sin by Kate Benedict

jolted through her skull. Mother Ursula’s face, distorted with rage, was scant inches from her own.
    â€˜I think not, mistress,’ she hissed, and Jane could feel the woman’s hot breath against her cheeks. ‘You are no longer some spoilt miss, giving orders to your servants. I am in charge here and you will do as I say.’ The hand holding the fistful of hair jerked again and Jane whimpered with pain, then staggered back as she was released. Mother Ursula looked at her and dusted her hands with distaste. ‘And if you will not go of your own accord, then you must be aided.’ She nodded to the two nuns. ‘Take her.’
    Sister Michael stepped forward, smiling. She was well named. Tall and gaunt, she looked more like a man than a woman, her loose habit barely disguising the flat chest and scrawny body beneath. Her bony fingers dug into the soft skin of Jane’s upper arm. Her companion, Sister Marie, fluttered round her ineffectually, her round face pink with distress.
    â€˜Don’t struggle, it will only make things worse,’ she whispered, her lips barely moving. Her frightened eyes darted sideways towards Mother Ursula. ‘She likes it when you struggle.’
    Jane caught the triumphant expression in Mother Ursula’s eyes and made herself relax. Her lips tightened. She wouldn’t give the vile woman the satisfaction. As the watching nuns dispersed about their tasks she allowed herself to be half-marched, half-carried towards the novices’ wing, Sister Michael holding her firmly while Sister Marie pattered along at her side. Mother Ursula glided along behind.
    When they reached the novices’ dorter, Jane’s resolution deserted her. The windowless cell was more like a prison. It was tiny and completely featureless apart from a crucifix on one wall. A narrow cot, with a thin rolled-up straw mattress and threadbare blanket, took up more than half the space. Crumpled at the foot of the cot lay a stained grey shift that looked as if it was made out of old sacking. A pair of down-at-heel shoes, patched, worn and at least two sizes too big for Jane’s dainty feet, sat beneath.
    â€˜Your novice’s habit,’ said Mother Ursula, indicating the grimy cast-offs. ‘You will remove your worldly garments and put it on.’
    â€˜Oh no, I won’t!’ spat Jane. She picked up the coarse shift and held it between two fingers. ‘It isn’t even clean.’ She flung it down and glared at Mother Ursula. ‘You cannot make me put it on.’
    The woman’s lips curled in a cruel smile. ‘Oh, I think I can, my dear,’ she purred. ‘Sister Michael?’
    Bony fingers seized the neck of Jane’s velvet gown and pulled viciously. There was a rending sound as the seam gave way and the dress fell to the floor, dragged down by its own weight. Jane gasped and crossed her arms protectively across her chest. Sister Marie gasped, her hands held to her face in dismay. Mother Ursula gave the plump nun one scathing glance and dismissed her contemptuously, then turned back to enjoy the spectacle before her.
    Grinning, Sister Michael grabbed Jane’s wrists and twisted her arms behind her back, trapping them in one enormous hand. With the other she gripped Jane’s flimsy shift and tore that away as well, then pushed her on to the narrow cot and deftly peeled off her shoes and stockings, leaving her naked and defenceless.
    To Jane’s horror the woman’s hands seemed to linger for a moment on the soft flesh of her thighs before she stepped back and stood waiting for Mother Ursula’s next order. She shook herself. She had imagined the caress. Of course she had. No matter how unfeminine, Sister Michael was still a woman, after all. She glared up at her tormentors and a defiant smile touched her lips. ‘I’d rather stay naked as God made me than put on that foul garment,’ she said defiantly.
    Mother Ursula