Wages of Sin (14 page)

‘Someone will pay for this,' Sir Edmund snarled. Spinning on his heel he stalked out again. ‘Oswald!' he bellowed. ‘Oswald! Get your lazy carcass over here. Now!'

When Oswald appeared Sir Edmund began issuing his orders.

‘Take five men and scour the village for what's been stolen,' he snapped. ‘And round up every able-bodied villager you can find. I want this place scrubbed from top to bottom. They can pay for their thievery with hard labour. You!' he snarled, pointing to another of his men. ‘Ride back to the convent and get the nuns.' He glared at Ursula. ‘Those idle women of yours can earn their keep as well.'

Sir Edmund strode round, tapping his lips thoughtfully with one finger. ‘We're going to need food. Didn't I hear pigs squealing in the convent yard?' Ursula nodded reluctantly. ‘Good. That should keep us going until my baggage carts arrive.' He turned back to his man. ‘And burn down the sty. A little fire is always a salutary lesson in obedience. Even the most unimaginative peasant can envision his own house being next.'

Jane flushed guiltily as she watched them ride away. What if Sir Edmund's men found the treasures she had buried there? He would punish them all. She closed her eyes and offered up a quick prayer to Saint Jude, the patron of lost causes.

Pushing the unpleasant thought away, she rolled up her sleeves, found a broken broom and prepared to join Sir Edmund's remaining men in tackling the accumulated filth.

 

The hard work did not serve to dismiss Jane's niggling fear and her heart sank when she saw the plume of dark smoke rising on the horizon and smelt the faint tang of burning on the air. Even the arrival of the villagers and the brief flurry of organising them and ordering them about their tasks failed to distract her completely.

When the men returned, herding the reluctant nuns before them like a flock of frightened geese, she scanned their faces carefully, then sighed with relief. There was no sign of the excitement that surely would have followed the discovery of such bounty, and the only thing bundled on their saddles were the gutted carcasses of the pigs and what appeared to be the entire contents of the chicken coop, dangling from the pommel by their twisted necks. Her secret was safe.

Her mind at rest, she set to with a will, dispatching the nuns to aid the villagers. The castle soon seethed with activity as dust billowed from every door and window. Satisfied that her orders were being obeyed, she set out to deal with the more pressing problem of food.

‘Thass a fine old mess,' complained Sister Martha, hands on hips as she surveying the kitchens. ‘You there,' she ordered, pointing at one of the men who still sported the bruises from her earlier attentions, ‘clear that hearth and start a fire if you want to be fed.' With an apprehensive glance over his shoulder he hastened to obey.

‘I need water, too,' she snapped, once the fire was safely established. ‘And bring me them chickens. There's not a pick of flour or a morsel of cheese. It'll have to be broth.'

The poor man staggered back in again, his neck festooned with dead chickens and carrying two overflowing buckets of water. Dumping them at her feet he attempted to make good his escape, but Sister Martha was clearly not satisfied.

‘Thass not enough!' she exclaimed, forsaking Christian charity and giving him a swift box on the ears. ‘I can't work miracles! Who do you think I am? Jesus Christ?' She crossed herself piously and followed the first box with another. ‘You keeps bringing it till I tells you to stop. And fetch me down that cauldron while you're at it, you great stupid oaf. You can't expect a poor weak woman like me to lift a heavy lump of a thing like that!'

When Jane slipped out of the kitchen, ignoring the pleading looks cast at her by the unfortunate man, the ‘poor weak woman' was standing over him, hefting her ladle menacingly while he plucked and gutted the chickens, his ears still scarlet from her tender ministrations. It was clear that Sister Martha was in her element.

She had already thrown aside her wimple and, going by the coy smiles Jane had caught her exchanging with one of the archers, her vow of chastity would not be long in following.

Having almost been trapped herself, Jane had nothing but sympathy for the woman. In her position she would have done exactly the same.

 

The week that followed was so busy Jane hardly had time to think of the bargain she had made. For the first two nights the entire company slept round the fire in the great hall, wrapped in whatever they could find. The fresh rushes, hastily brought and laid, barely cushioned the hard floor, but Jane was so exhausted she hardly felt the discomfort. Curled up in a spare cloak, she was asleep within minutes.

After that the baggage carts began to arrive, the horses, sweating from their heavy burdens, plodding wearily up the hill towards the castle. The courtyard was filled with shouting carters as beds and bedding, tables and chairs, wall-hangings, furniture, clothing and provisions were unloaded and carried to their appointed places. Bit by bit the place began to seem less like a bare stone prison and more like a habitation.

Finally the last plate and spoon were laid away, the last candlestick put in place and all was done. Jane stood in the middle of the room she had been allotted - thankfully to herself - and smiled with pleasure. With only a bed, a chest, one rickety chair and a small tapestry that barely covered the stone wall beneath, it might not be as comfortable and well-appointed as her room at home, but a fire flickered in the hearth and, compared to her bleak cell in the convent, it was paradise.

A tap on the door made her start. ‘Enter,' she called nervously, then laughed in relief as one of the servants staggered in bearing something long and rectangular, swathed in coarse linen. He propped it against the wall and tugged his forelock.

‘Sir Edmund sent you this, my lady,' he muttered. Jane flew across the room and eagerly began to peel off the wrapping.

‘A mirror!' she gasped. She stared in pleasure as the ornate frame was revealed. What luxury!

But her pleasure quickly turned to horror at the reflection that stared back. Despite the hasty sluice she'd taken every day beneath the yard pump, she was absolutely filthy. She was still wearing her convent shift and it was torn, stained and smeared with dust. One hand flew to the tangled bird's nest of her hair, trying to tug it into some semblance of neatness. The movement released a wave of stale sweat and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. She looked - and smelt - like some beggar woman from the stews.

A flicker in the depths of the mirror made her whirl round. Mother Ursula was standing at the door, her lips curled in a sneer. Despite all she had undergone, she still managed to look untouched and Jane felt even worse in comparison.

Mother Ursula clicked her fingers and another two servants staggered in under the weight of another enormous chest. ‘Put it there,' she ordered, glaring at them. ‘Then get out, all of you!' One look at her expression and the hapless servants scurried to obey.

‘What do you want?' demanded Jane, striving to conceal the quaver in her voice.

‘Why, only to serve you, mistress,' said Mother Ursula, through gritted teeth. The word ‘mistress' fell from her lips like a curse. ‘Am I not to be your lady's maid?'

Jane straightened her back. Of course. She had the upper hand now. The woman who had so frightened and humiliated her could no longer touch her. She smiled. ‘In that case you may begin your duties by opening that chest,' she ordered. ‘I would see what Sir Edmund has sent me.'

Taking her own sweet time, Mother Ursula sauntered across the room and threw open the chest. For the second time that morning Jane gasped. Heaps of velvets, satins and lace in jewel colours glowed from within the chest like treasure. Excitedly, she lifted out the dresses and laid them on the bed.

‘Where did they come from?' she asked in puzzlement. ‘Surely Sir Edmund doesn't carry woman's clothing about with him?'

Mother Ursula shrugged indifferently. ‘One of his men found the chest in the garderobe. It must have been left behind when the family fled.'

At the bottom was a dusty black dress. Jane held it up and pulled a face. It was plain and unflattering. A flicker of maliciousness ran through her and she flung it at Ursula. ‘You may wear this,' she said.

For the first time Mother Ursula looked disconcerted, but she recovered quickly. ‘I am perfectly happy as I am,' she demurred.

‘You will do as you are told,' snapped Jane. ‘As you pointed out, you are my maid now - and this is perfectly suitable for a maidservant.' Mother Ursula picked it up with her fingertips, as though afraid it was flea-ridden.

‘You may change elsewhere,' Jane went on. ‘And when you are suitably attired, you may attend upon me. I wish to take a bath. See to it. At once.'

Fuming, Mother Ursula left, the despised dress over her arm, and Jane smiled with satisfaction. After what the woman had put her through, it was a pleasure to see her brought low.

When Mother Ursula returned she was wearing the dress and Jane was delighted to see how badly it suited her. It hung loosely from her thin frame, and the colour drained her skin, making her look sallow. The proud Mother Superior had been transformed into a dowdy serving maid.

‘Your bath, madam,' she hissed, as two sturdy men carried in a heavy wooden tub and placed it in the centre of the floor. A steady stream of serving wenches followed, bearing jugs of steaming water, which they tipped into the tub before returning to fetch more. Drying clothes were brought and hung in front of the fire to heat, while from somewhere a washball had been found. Jane sniffed at it, savouring the sweet smell.

Once the servants were gone, apart from Mother Ursula, Jane flung off the filthy shift and eased into the perfumed water, sighing with pleasure as it lapped her breasts. Eyes closed, she luxuriated in the warmth for a few moments, then set about the task of making herself presentable once more. Ducking her head beneath the water she scrubbed until she was satisfied that all the dust and grease was washed away.

‘You may rinse my hair,' she ordered. With an expression which suggested she wished the clear water was lye, her new maid did as she was bidden. Once it was clean of soap Jane wrung as much water from it as she could, and twisted it in a thick knot on top of her head. ‘Now you may scrub my back,' she commanded.

Gritting her teeth, Mother Ursula rolled up her sleeves and set to. Jane gave a small exclamation as sharp fingernails dug into her back. ‘I'm sorry, madam,' Ursula apologised. ‘Did I hurt you? My hand must have slipped.'

Jane glared at her smirking face. Accident? Hah! The woman had done it a-purpose.

‘Fetch me the drying cloth,' she ordered. ‘I am done now.' Face averted, Mother Ursula held it up as Jane stood and stepped from the tub. Well wrapped against the chill from the walls, she seated herself in front of the fire and shook out her hair. ‘Brush it well,' she said. ‘And do it gently, too.'

Ignoring the second part of Jane's order, Mother Ursula dragged the brush roughly through the tangled mass, almost jerking the hair from her head. Jane whirled round. ‘I told you to be gentle,' she spat. ‘Are you so stupid that you cannot understand a simple command?'

It was too much for the former Mother Superior. Goaded beyond endurance she lashed out and slapped Jane's face.

‘You little bitch!' she hissed. ‘Who are you to give me orders as if I were some kitchen slut? Once Sir Edmund has bedded you he will cast you out like the worthless whore you are - and then we shall see who has the last word.'

‘You overstep yourself,' said Jane icily. ‘How dare you raise your hand to your mistress? I shall have you whipped for that.' A cruel smile curved her lips. ‘And I know just the one to administer the beating, too.'

When Oswald entered the chamber he was carrying a small dog-whip. Mother Ursula backed away, fear replacing her supercilious expression. ‘Still not learned your place, eh?' he chuckled. ‘Well, I'm the very man to teach you.'

As Jane watched he advanced on Mother Ursula. When she lashed out at him he caught her wrists and spun her round. Holding her fast with one hand and ignoring her struggles, he fumbled in his pouch for a short length of leather twine. In a trice she was secured helplessly to the bedpost, her hands stretched above her head.

One massive paw reached out and grasped the neck of the ugly black dress. Jane could hear the seams rip as he tore it down about her waist, revealing the woman's skinny white back. Her hand flew to her mouth and she wished she could recall her order, then she tightened her lips. Mother Ursula had had no second thoughts when their positions were reversed, so why should she? Ignoring the tremor in the pit of her stomach, she watched as Oswald lifted the whip and brought it down. A thin red mark appeared on the pale flesh and Mother Ursula screeched. Again and again the hand holding the whip rose and fell, until Ursula's screeches became whimpers and her back was criss-crossed with scarlet lines.

‘Enough! Enough!' said Jane, turning away, sickened. ‘Take her away and salve her to ease the pain.' Oswald undid the bindings, caught Ursula as she crumpled and flung her over his shoulder as if she were no heavier than a pennyweight. He grinned lecherously as his free hand fumbled beneath her skirts.