Wages of Sin by Kate Benedict Page A

hungry, you will not mind going without yourself, as penance for your disobedience. Your meat can go to the pigs.’ She whirled on Sister Marie, who cringed back like a rabbit in the glare of a stoat. ‘And as for you...’
    Jane stepped forward. ‘The fault was mine and mine alone, Reverend Mother,’ she protested. ‘Sister Marie did her best to dissuade me. I would not listen.’
    â€˜Headstrong as well as disobedient,’ purred Ursula. ‘Is there no end to your sinfulness, girl?’ A smile touched her lips. ‘And since you are so well versed in the words of the Good Book, you may remember another quotation from it. “Spare the rod and spoil the child”. You may think on that as well, while you are in your cell.’ She turned to Sister Michael and Jane’s insides shrivelled. ‘Take her there - and lock the door.’
    Jane spun on her heel before the woman could put her foul hands on her and stalked down the grey corridor with her head held high. Sister Michael strode behind her, the skirts of her habit rustling, and it took all Jane’s courage not to begin running to get away from her. It seemed an age until she reached the sanctuary of her cell. Once inside, she backed against the wall and waited for whatever was coming next.
    To her relief Sister Michael did not follow her inside. For a moment she stood on the threshold and leered at the panting girl, then the door swung slowly closed, shutting out the light, and Jane heard the key turning in the lock. She breathed a sigh of relief at getting off so lightly and flung herself down on the narrow cot.
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    With nothing to do but think, the minutes seemed to drag like hours. With no window to see the passing of daylight she had no way of telling how long she lay there.
    The walls of the cell seemed to close in upon her in the darkness, the air thickening in her throat. To pass the time she thought of escape. The village was only two miles away. If she could reach it, would someone there hide her?
    She dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. Last year’s poor harvest had brought the villagers close to ruin. She remembered the number of supplicants at the gate that morning. They were unable to feed themselves, let alone a runaway. Besides, she thought bitterly, the convent provided their only source of help in a hard and unforgiving world. If they aided her, Mother Ursula would have no compunction in punishing them too, and without the food and medicines the nuns dispensed, no matter how grudgingly, how would the very young and the very old survive? She shook her head. There was no help to be found there.
    Her stomach rumbled and hunger pangs gnawed at her insides. She’d had no time to break her fast this morning and now even the thought of the scraps she’d doled out made her salivate. She rolled over and curled up beneath the thin blanket. If only she could sleep she could forget her hunger.
    A sound made her freeze, her eyes staring into the darkness, searching for its source.
    She forced herself to relax. Perhaps it was just a rat. She smiled ruefully. If it was, then it was on a fool’s errand; there was nothing to eat here.
    Her smile vanished as she heard it again. That was no rat - or if it was, it was the human kind. A thin line of light flickered beneath the ill-fitting door and she cringed back as she heard the key turn surreptitiously in the lock. Holding the blanket to her breasts, she watched as the door quietly creaked open.
    For a moment, so used to the darkness, she could see nothing. Then, as her eyes adjusted, she drew in a shuddering breath. The scene before her was one from her worst nightmares. Six shadowy figures stood there, each with a candle in its hand, the flickering light distorting their faces into masks of evil. She cowered back against the wall.
    â€˜Ah, not quite so defiant now.’ It was Mother Ursula. Her voice whispered back from the stone walls