Free Wages of Sin by Kate Benedict Page B

poverty and obedience. Perhaps we shall make a nun of you yet.’ She bent and picked up a length of material that had been hidden beneath the sacking dress. ‘Here,’ she ordered, flinging it at Jane. ‘Cover that blasphemous red hair of yours.’ Her lip curled. ‘When you take your vows it will be shaved off. Until then, we’ll have none of Satan’s temptations here.’
    Dumb with misery, Jane did as she was told, winding the rough material round her head. Mother Ursula seemed to regard the shabby figure before her with pleasure, satisfied there was now nothing left of the wilful young miss who had tried to defy her.
    â€˜You may remain here and think about your many sins, until you find repentance,’ she said. Gliding out of the cell she closed the door firmly behind her, and Jane heard the key turn in the lock. For a moment she stood staring at it, then collapsed on the narrow cot, giving herself up to her misery.
    Â 
    On the other side of the door Ursula listened to the muffled sobbing, a smile of relish on her lips. Not such a cocky young madam now. Her smile widened. Not that this abasement would last, she was certain of that. She could recognise a fighter when she saw one. Give the girl time to recover and she’d try to stand up for herself again.
    The smile became lascivious and Ursula licked her lips as a familiar heat surged through her loins. When that time came she’d be ready and waiting. Miss High-and-mighty might think she had done her worst - but she had only just begun!
    Â 
Chapter Nine
    Â 
    Â 
    â€˜Bless you, mistress,’ muttered the toothless old woman, accepting the ladle of slops that Jane tipped into the wooden bowl she held out in her palsied hands. Jane shivered. Even with nothing but a sacking apron tied over her threadbare shift and the broken shoes that had already raised blisters on her tender feet, she was better dressed than the pathetic bundles of rags who queued patiently outside the gate for whatever poor meats the convent doled out.
    She sighed. The slop bucket was almost empty, yet the pitiful line still stretched out, waiting to be fed. Dull eyes stared at her hopelessly as the ladle scraped the bottom of the bucket and came out empty.
    â€˜Isn’t there anything else?’ demanded Jane. ‘We can’t just leave them hungry.’
    â€˜No,’ whispered Sister Marie. ‘This is all Mother Ursula allows.’
    â€˜There’s got to be something,’ said Jane indignantly. Her lips twisted in scorn. She might be deficient in kindness and Christian charity, but the one thing Mother Ursula did not stint on was food. There had to be more left over. ‘I’m going to look in the kitchens,’ she announced.
    â€˜You mustn’t,’ whimpered Sister Marie. ‘If Mother Ursula finds out...’ Her voice trailed off, then she swallowed and tried again. ‘You don’t know what she’s like.’
    Sister Marie was wrong. Jane knew exactly - and for a moment she paused as she remembered the icy ducking she’d had to endure at the hands of Sister Michael and the way those same hands had crawled over her helpless body. Then she took another look at the scrawny children huddling into their desperate mothers, the old and the weak and the crippled, all waiting with the dumb patience of brute beasts. Her heart smote her. She couldn’t turn them away starving.
    â€˜I don’t care,’ she said defiantly. ‘I won’t be long.’ She spun on her heel and headed towards the convent kitchen as fast as her blistered feet would allow.
    Inside, the warmth of the ovens and fires hit her like a blow after the cool air outside. The kitchen was a hive of industry. A great joint of meat was already dripping its grease on to the flames as the spit-dog wearily turned in its treadmill. Two enormous trays of fresh bread sat cooling from the ovens. The fat nun who was in charge wiped