Wages of Sin (7 page)

He spent himself, shuddering and moaning and his heavy weight rolled off her. She lay there, used and beaten, waiting for what might come next.

Whatever they chose to do, she could not stop them. Hopeless tears leaked from her eyes.

Then the sudden noise of hooves, clattering in the inn yard, broke the spell and she heard Fletcher and Cooper swear beneath their breath. There was the brief sound of feet as they melted back into the night and then she was alone.

Stiffly she sat up, freed herself from her tangled skirts and pulled them down to hide her aching, welted body. Holding on to the side of Alexander's stall, she pulled herself to her feet and stood there swaying as the door to the stables was pushed open and the innkeeper came in, leading the horse of some traveller who had been delayed on his journey by the foul weather.

He took one look at her and dropped the reins. ‘My lady,' he gasped. ‘Are you all right? What happened?'

She stared at him dully. What was the point of telling him the truth? What could he do? Fletcher and Cooper would never have dared to treat her as they had, had they not been sanctioned by her stepfather. Sir Thomas had bested her again.

‘I stumbled and fell,' she lied. ‘I must have hit my head against the stall, but I am fine now.' She forced a smile. ‘A glass of your excellent wine and I shall be fully recovered.'

‘Here, take my arm, my lady,' he insisted. ‘Lest you stumble again.'

She allowed him to help her back to the inn, grateful for his assistance, her thighs still weak from the savagery of the treatment she had received. At least tomorrow she would reach the safety of the convent and she need never see Fletcher or Cooper again.

Hatred washed through her. Her stepfather had called her a whore, and that was exactly how she'd been treated. She smiled bitterly. No, that was not quite true, was it? They had treated her worse than any whore. At least a whore got paid!

 

 

 

‘Wake up, my pet,' said Alice, shaking Jane's shoulder. ‘This is no time to lie abed. We must break our fast and be off. We have another day's ride ahead of us.' Certain that her charge was now awake, she bustled off to see to the ordering of food and drink.

Jane sat up, groggily wiping the sleep from her eyes. It had been a bad night. As Alice snored beside her she had lain awake, her body aching with unfulfilled desire, staring into the darkness, starting at every sound, terrified that Fletcher and Cooper would return to drag her from her bed and repeat their foul attack upon her.

When she had slept it was only to dream about what they had done. Dreadful nightmares in which she gloried in their base attentions, urging them on to further excesses, shamelessly revelling in the sinful pleasures of the flesh. She flushed as she remembered the explosion of heat that suffused her loins in her dreams, bringing both humiliation and satisfaction before, sated, she had finally fallen into dreamless oblivion. She shuddered. Perhaps her stepfather had been correct in his assessment of her, for surely only a slut could have such perverse feelings?

‘Still not up?' demanded Alice, bustling back again. ‘Come now, slugabed! Rise and dress yourself before the day is any further gone.'

Reluctantly, Jane rose, pulling her night rail about her to hide the dark marks on her breasts, where the soft flesh had been bruised by demanding fingers. There was an ache between her thighs that tormented her as she moved; a strange mixture of pain and pleasure. She bit her lip and moaned inwardly. It was true. She was a whore!

Sharp-eyed Alice caught the slight wince of pain. ‘What ails you, girl?' she demanded. ‘You walk as stiff as some old gammer with the bone-sickness.'

Jane forced a smile. ‘And so should you, old woman,' she said lightly, ‘sleeping on such an ill mattress. I think I preferred the fleas to this poxy damp.' She turned her back and began to dress quickly.

‘There now,' she said, once fully clothed. ‘Satisfied? Now, let us go and eat. My aches and pains will vanish once we begin to ride again.'

‘And mine will return,' grumbled Alice. ‘Damned donkey! All bones and bad temper.'

‘Just like you,' teased Jane. ‘But I love you anyway.' Mollified, Alice grinned and led the way downstairs.

Fortified by bread and cheese, washed down with a tankard of small beer, Jane braced herself to face her tormentors, and was relieved to find that, the false bravado of drink having worn off, it was they who avoided her eyes as they busied themselves about the tasks of saddling the horses and packing the bundles. Fear of the consequences of their actions had instilled caution.

There was much respectful nodding as they handed her into the saddle - and if there was the occasional lecherous sideways smirk between them, then she didn't see it. Gazing straight ahead, she ignored their clumsy attempts to ingratiate themselves and the small company set off.

Thankfully the rain had stopped and the countryside was green and fresh in the early morning sunshine. Alice ceased her interminable complaints and jogged along in companionable silence, enjoying the warmth, and even the donkey seemed less fractious.

As they passed, workers planting in the fields stopped what they were doing to watch and touch their bonnets in respect. There was even the occasional feeble cheer.

Jane smiled and nodded back, thinking that this must be how King Henry himself must feel when he went on procession. For a few hours she could forget their destination and the fact that she was to be incarcerated for God knew how long in some bleak convent and simply give herself up to the enjoyment of the moment, the countryside spread in front of her like a tapestry. Yet all too soon the sunny hours passed. As evening began to fall, the sky darkened and the drizzle began again.

That was how she saw the convent first: a dark shape against a rain-swept horizon, its grey stones as cold and ominous as the cloudy sky behind it. A shiver of premonition ran through her. It might have been a house of God, but her first impression was one of unholy evil. A miasma of darkness seemed to cling to it, chilling her to the very soul.

Alice, however, was oblivious. She sighed in relief. ‘At last. I swear my stomach thinks my throat's been cut. At least we shall be fed.' She chuckled. ‘You never see a scrawny priest, do you? No doubt the nuns will eat well, too.'

‘God's blood, old woman,' said Jane in disgust. ‘Do you never think of anything but your guts? You'd think you were glad to be here and see the back of me.'

‘Oh, no,' protested Alice. ‘Never that, my sweet. But you won't be here forever. A few months and it'll all be by.' She shook her head. ‘If I thought not eating would make it pass the sooner, a bite would never pass my lips till you were safely home. But since it won't, we might as well eat and keep our strength up.'

Jane sighed and smiled ruefully. Perhaps she had a point, but her own appetite had deserted her. The closer they got, the worse she felt. It was as if the wings of some great bird of prey had swept over her. The watery sun was setting, and the shadows cast by the convent seemed to stretch towards her like dark, grasping fingers. She shivered again.

As they clattered into the small courtyard and halted, silence enfolded them. The huge wooden door remained shut and there was none of the usual hustle and bustle of a normal household - just a hushed, expectant quiet. They looked at one another nervously.

‘Should we knock?' said Alice, so quietly that Jane could barely make out what she was saying. ‘Or do you think the nuns are at prayer?'

‘What are you whispering for?' Jane demanded. ‘My stepfather's clerk wrote to say we were coming. We should be expected.'

She stopped as the door creaked open, pushed by two nuns. They scuttled back inside and a tall woman, dressed in an immaculate habit, stepped onto the threshold. ‘I bid you welcome,' she said, smiling humbly - but her eyes belied her words. They were as cold and grey as the stones of the convent and the smile on her lips did not reach them. High cheekbones in a face as white and cool as marble, and the arrogance barely concealed behind the humility, reminded Jane again of some monstrous bird of prey. A hawk, perhaps. Or a peregrine falcon, its threat hooded for the moment, but there beneath the surface.

‘Thank you,' she muttered through stiff lips. ‘We are weary after our long journey.'

‘Then you must eat and refresh yourselves,' the woman said. ‘Your men may sleep in the stables and feed at the kitchen door.' She nodded her head graciously. ‘I am Ursula, Mother Superior here. You may call me Mother Ursula.' She turned away and they followed her reluctantly inside.

Despite the cold exterior the inside was not as frightening as Jane had imagined. Once they had availed themselves of the privy they were led into the refectory and found themselves seated at a long polished table.

Broth was put in front of them and mulled wine and, once they had finished that, a pasty stuffed with meat was brought in. Alice fell to with a will, but Jane barely picked at hers.

The nuns ate in silence, casting curious sideways glances at them when they thought Mother Ursula's attention was elsewhere.

It was a relief to escape finally to the guest dormitory.

A warm fire burned in the hearth and the mattress was soft and well packed with straw. Alice bounced on it cheerfully.

‘See,' she said in a consoling tone of voice, ‘it's not as bad as you expected. You'll be comfortable enough, for all the time you'll be stopping here.'

Despite all these assurances Jane was awake long after Alice was snoring, a feeling of dread gnawing at her stomach.

 

It was worse the following morning, when she had to bid goodbye to Alice. For all her fine words her old nurse dissolved in tears at the thought of parting with her ward.

Jane was forced to put on a brave front, but she felt so heartsick that even Cooper and Fletcher seemed the lesser of the two evils. ‘There, there,' she said, patting Alice's heaving shoulders. ‘Dry your tears. I shall be back soon.'

She stopped as Fletcher led Alexander past and tied him to the back of his own horse. ‘Where are you taking Alex?' she demanded. ‘I shall need him here.'

‘I think not,' said Mother Ursula coolly. ‘The convent has stabling only for its guests. We do not have the resources to keep such a great beast, eating us out of house and home.' She clapped her hands and Jane watched in dismay as Fletcher tested the fastening, to make sure it was secure.

After one last tearful hug, Alice mounted her hated donkey and the small procession began to move out of the courtyard. Jane waved goodbye, tears blinding her eyes as she strained to watch them growing slowly smaller in the distance.

‘Right,' said Mother Ursula briskly. ‘Now that your escort has left, you will take your cell in the block with the other novices.'

Jane stared at her in shock. ‘Novices?' she gasped. ‘I am no novice. I am merely here to make a retreat. I have no vocation for the religious life.'

‘That is not what your father said,' smiled Mother Ursula. ‘Once you have passed your noviciate, you will take your vows and join our order.' She clapped her hands again and four nuns scurried to obey her.

As the heavy courtyard gates swung shut, cutting off her last contact with the outside world, a horrifying realisation dawned on Jane. She was effectively a prisoner.

 

 

 

For a moment she stood there, rooted to the spot, then she took to her heels and ran towards the gates, her hair billowing out behind her like a copper banner. Shrieking, she banged her fists against the unyielding wood until she realised the hopelessness of her task. Like an animal at bay, she turned and faced her captors.

Mother Ursula had made no move to follow her. She stood watching the tearful girl with a cool smile on her lips. Some of the nuns regarded Jane with frightened, sympathetic eyes, while others tittered behind their hands, exulting over her misery. Either way there was no help forthcoming. Jane's shoulders sagged.

‘Have you quite finished your tantrum?' enquired Mother Ursula sarcastically. Jane nodded dully and the woman's lips twisted in a cruel smile. ‘Good,' she said. ‘Then perhaps you will do as you are told without any more of this foolishness.' She clicked her fingers. ‘Sister Marie, Sister Michael. Take our young novice to the dorter,' her eyes ran disparagingly over the rich fabric of Jane's dress, ‘and see that she is more suitably clothed.'

The spirit of generations of ancestors who had fought on every English battlefield since William first came from Normandy came to her rescue. Suppressing her panic, Jane straightened her shoulders and stared coldly back at Mother Ursula.

‘I will not go,' she said, forcing herself to speak with a calm she did not feel. ‘I have told you already. There has been some mistake. I will return to the guesthouse and remain there until it has been rectified.' Ignoring them all, she turned and, head held high, began to walk towards the grey stone building.

She had barely gone four steps before a hand seized her hair and she was jerked to a halt. She twisted round, screaming as flares of pain jolted through her skull. Mother Ursula's face, distorted with rage, was scant inches from her own.