Wages of Sin by Kate Benedict

sweat from her forehead as she supervised several hefty lay sisters who sat, heavy thighs splayed wide, scraping the vegetables.
    Jane’s eyes searched the steamy room and finally lit on two covered buckets standing beside the long table. She darted across, lifted the lids and smiled as she saw the contents. They were piled high with broken crusts, scraps of meat and squashed vegetables. Admittedly they were still leavings, but compared to the thin slops she’d just been doling out this was a banquet fit for King Henry. Grasping a handle in each hand, she staggered towards the door.
    â€˜And just where do you think you’re going with those?’ demanded the fat nun, stepping in front of her, clutching a broom.
    â€˜To feed the poor,’ said Jane, edging sideways. ‘Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?’
    â€˜Not with that you’re not,’ replied the cook smugly. ‘That’s for the pigs. Mother Ursula wants them fattened up in time for Father Peter’s visit.’
    For a moment Jane was stunned. Hungry people were waiting at the gate and Mother Ursula was letting them starve while she fattened up pigs? Her mouth set in a grim line. Well, not today she wasn’t.
    One of the heavy buckets collided with the cook’s shin and she suddenly lost all interest in preventing Jane’s passage. ‘Sorry,’ Jane apologised as she pushed past the wincing woman, the buckets still swinging dangerously. She was aware of every person in the kitchen watching her in astonishment, mouths open, and was suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to giggle. As she passed the tray of bread she paused, put down one of the buckets and helped herself to a couple of loaves, tucking them under her arms before retrieving the bucket again.
    She shrugged as best she could under the circumstances. ‘Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,’ she announced cheerfully to her stunned audience before fleeing the kitchens as fast as her burdens would permit.
    Sister Marie’s eyes widened as she saw Jane’s booty. ‘Where did you get that?’ she whispered.
    â€˜Don’t ask,’ muttered Jane. ‘The less you know, the better. Right, who’s next?’ she called, brandishing her ladle. The little crowd surged forward with renewed hope and for the next ten minutes there was no time to think as she dished out the life-giving food. Finally the last scraps had been devoured in a mutter of grateful blessings and, with full bellies for once, the supplicants dispersed.
    Jane smiled grimly as she watched them go. No doubt she would pay for her temerity in defying Mother Ursula, but whatever happened to her it would be worth it if she’d managed to make the harsh lives of these poor unfortunates just a tiny bit easier.
    She smiled ruefully at Sister Marie. ‘Well,’ she said, lifting the empty buckets, ‘time to face the music.’
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    Mother Ursula was waiting, almost incandescent with anger. Her thin lips were nothing more than a tight line in her gaunt face and her eyes glowed with suppressed rage. ‘So,’ she hissed, ‘you dare to defy me yet again.’
    â€˜Why no, Reverend Mother,’ said Jane, bowing meekly. ‘I was merely acting from Christian charity. Didn’t our Lord teach us to feed the poor and hungry?’
    In two quick strides Mother Ursula was standing in front of her. A hand lashed out so fast that Jane didn’t even see it. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as her head rocked on her shoulders and a white handprint appeared on the side of her face where the other woman had struck her. As the blood flowed back the print turned from white to scarlet, as if the mark of Cain had been branded on her cheek.
    â€˜Go to your cell and pray for humility,’ ordered Mother Ursula, her voice shaking. She controlled herself and smiled coldly. ‘And since you have shown such concern for the poor and