Devil's Fire

by Melissa MacNeal

  The woman turned on her heel, giving the impression she wasn’t accustomed to taking orders. When she’d passed beyond earshot, the monk flashed me an apologetic smile. ‘Mrs Goodin serves as the abbey’s housekeeper, as well as tending the laundry for everyone here at Heaven’s Gate,’ he explained quietly. ‘We all wonder if her exposure to lye soap and starch hasn’t affected her disposition.’

  I stifled a chuckle. ‘Poor Mister Goodin. How does he stand it?’

  Brother Christy’s laugh resounded against the stone facade of the abbey, but he then sobered. ‘None of us knows what happened to the man and we don’t dare ask, for fear we meet the same fate. You’d be well advised to stay on her better side, Mary Grace. Mrs Goodin’s temper is legendary, and she has an excellent memory of all our shortcomings.’

  I nodded, realising that already.

  ‘Well! Shall we fetch our lady’s luggage and quilting materials from the back?’ Hyde said as he walked to the rear of the carriage. ‘The rest of the load is flour and cocoa and such, which Sybil ordered for the kitchen.’

  ‘Fine. We’ll have one of her helpers unload it while you two refresh yourselves. I’ll tell Father Luc we’ll meet him in an hour.’ The beneficent monk then bowed slightly, smiling at me. ‘Make yourself at home, Mary Grace. Everyone here will be so pleased to have you.’

  Those last words, and the way Brother Christy’s gaze lingered within mine, sent a warning tremor along my spine. I dismissed it, however, as a sign that I was tired from our treacherous journey up the mountainside. After all, Hyde trusted the little man completely, and he’d been gracious enough to provide food and warm water instead of making an issue of my disarray. He took the large box of sewing supplies Hyde handed him, and I then followed him through the abbey doors, hugging two of my illustrated quilts.

  Our footsteps echoed in the vaulted entrance. The high stone walls glimmered in fragile pastels where light came through the stained-glass windows, and a hint of ancient incense inspired the hushed reverence of a grand cathedral. Although I knew better than to intrude upon monastic rituals, or to overstep my place as a guest, I couldn’t wait to wander around this abbey and drink in its magnificence. I was wondering why being the caretaker of such hallowed halls hadn’t softened Mrs Goodin’s hard edges, when she shot like a bullet from a narrow hallway, aimed straight at me.

  ‘Drop those at once! Father Luc insists upon meeting with you immediately!’

  My arms tightened around my unwieldy bundles. ‘But Brother Christy said —’

  ‘The first thing you’ll learn here, young lady, is that no one’s instructions come before the abbot’s,’ she barked. ‘And your next lessons will be in humility and decency. I’ll see to it myself.’

  With that, she gripped my arm to steer me down the passageway. Since Brother Christy had gone on ahead, and Hyde hadn’t yet returned from the kitchen, neither man could come to my defence. I trotted along like an errant schoolgirl being hauled to the front of the classroom, struggling to keep hold of the quilt in each arm. The starched laundress propelled me through a doorway and slammed the door behind us.

  ‘Here she is, Your Excellence. The latest of Mr Fortune’s indigents.’

  The small chamber rang with silence while I closed my eyes against my quilts. Then a low, sinuous voice said, ‘This is the one you found kneeling before him in the carriage? Licking his jism from her lips?’

  ‘Yes, Your Excellence.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Goodin. You may go now, confident that your watchfulness and concern for this young woman’s soul will be rewarded.’

  I felt the weight of her mocking smile as she walked away. My knees were knocking and my cheeks burned with rage. I’d hoped to impress Father Luc and Brother Christy with my quilting skills, and instead I’d been dumped like a slut to await the abbot’s judgment. It was too much to hope that Hyde would find me. No doubt the housekeeper was now detaining him in some insidious way.

  ‘You may lower your bundles and present yourself, Miss Michaels.’

  Slowly, I let the ribbon-tied quilts slide to the floor. Summoning my earlier confidence, I reminded myself that no one could make me feel dirty or worthless unless I allowed it, but I was unprepared for this audience. My hair tumbled around my shoulders and my dress was smudged with flour, rumpled from lovemaking. The heat of this moment was reviving the scent of our sex, and in a room this small the abbot was sure to smell it.

  ‘Has anyone ever told you your hair glows like hellfire?’

  I looked up into the most arresting face I’d ever seen. Father Luc, his thronelike chair raised on a small dais, frowned like a disapproving patriarch of the Bible. His hair swept back like raven’s wings from a deep widow’s peak; a close-clipped beard accentuated his lean features and matched the brows now raised in a haughty sneer. It was a Valentine-shaped face, yet the narrow black moustache framing those sinister lips suggested a heart of darkness, completely the opposite of Brother Christy’s. His eyes locked into mine. He cleared his throat, waiting.

  ‘I — I beg your pardon, sir?’

  His expression remained inscrutable, suggesting I should take some sort of cue from it. ‘If you can’t hear me, you must step closer,’ he finally muttered.

  It was the sort of manipulation my father had used. I bit my lip against a retort, deciding to shorten this ordeal by going along with him. ‘No, sir. You’re the first to tell me I resemble anything from hell.’

  For a moment he seemed amused, but then he stiffened. ‘There’s no pride in that, you know. From here on, you’ll wear your hair discreetly fastened back, rather than flaunting it like some hussy. And that dress — why is it crumpled?’

  He knew, of course, how Mrs Goodin had found us, so there was little point in lying. ‘I was leaning against stacked flour sacks, in the back of Mr Fortune’s carriage.’

  ‘And Hyde was humping you from behind, like a crazed dog?’

  ‘I wouldn’t describe it like —’

  ‘Remove the dress. It defiles you.’

  My jaw dropped. This was an abbot, a man of God, commanding me to disrobe. I was about to protest, but the narrowing of those feral eyes warned me not to. Reaching awkwardly behind me, I fumbled with the buttons down my back, aware of how this thrust my breasts forward for Father Luc’s scrutiny. He allowed me to struggle this way for several minutes, until I’d undone all but the buttons between my shoulder blades.

  ‘Just rip it off. You won’t be wearing it again, anyway.’

  Wondering desperately where Hyde and Brother Christy were, I wrenched open the dress. The colour rose up my neck and into my face as I stepped out of the green-and-ivory striped gown. This left me standing before my arrogant host wearing only my lace corset and bloomers, with cotton stockings and pumps.

  ‘And why are your drawers sticking to your thighs? Did you wet yourself, girl?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Then whose sex do you reek of? Hyde’s?’

  ‘No! I —’

  ‘Ah, yes, I remember now. Mrs Goodin and the others witnessed that little act first-hand, didn’t they?’ Father Luc leaned forward, his gaze burning over my body before honing in on my face. ‘What exactly happened to Hyde’s semen?’

  At that moment it was roiling in my stomach, threatening to spew up my throat. A sheen of sweat sprang over my body and the room suddenly felt airless.

  ‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Mary Grace.’

  I raised my face, opening my clenched eyes. The abbot wore a mocking smile as he enjoyed every moment of my humiliation.

  ‘Now what happened in that carriage? Where did Hyde climax?’

  ‘In my mouth,’ I murmured.

  ‘And what did you do with his juice, Miss Michaels?’

  My face burned a shade redder. ‘Swallowed.’

  Father Luc stroked his black moustache again and again, contemplating my punishment, no doubt. His piercing gaze roved over me and then fixed upon the fabric clinging to my thighs. ‘Is
that a hole in your seam?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And how did that happen, Mary Grace? I refuse to believe your bloomers were so worn they split of their own accord.’

  Damn him! I’d thought of trying that line, since I came to Heaven’s Gate destitute, but this cruel man in the black cassock seemed to read my mind — and seemed extremely interested in the most intimate and degrading details. So I decided to humour him.

  ‘No, sir, Hyde gave them to me new this morning — after I spent the night in his bed,’ I added in a coiled voice. ‘And on the trip up the mountain, he couldn’t get enough of me. Threw up my skirts and began to lick and suck and gnaw at my cunt through the fabric. Ran his teeth along the seam until I was crying out his name, and then ripped open a hole so he could stick his tongue up me. I shot my juice all over him, and it hasn’t had a chance to dry.’

  Father Luc’s eyes had caught fire and his olive complexion darkened. ‘Show me the slit,’ he breathed.

  I did him one better, as I was tiring of this game. Curling my fingers on either side of the gaping seam, I tore my drawers so hard they split all the way up to the drawstring. No sense in them hanging there, tattered, so I let them drop to the floor. With the toe of my shoe, I swung the limp garment so it landed on the dais, in front of the abbot’s chair. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting to sniff that.’

  His hand darted towards his lap but stopped in midair. Father Luc leaned forward then, glowering. ‘Your depravity does not serve you well, Miss Michaels. Here at Heaven’s Gate we allow no sexual activity — neither fornication nor speaking of it, nor the solitary, secretive pleasures to be found at one’s own fingertips. You will apologise to me for your brazen behaviour, or you’ll be leaving with Mr Fortune.’

  The thought of going back sounded good, until I realised I’d have to explain my change of plans to Hyde — and I sensed Father Luc would be sure he heard every damning detail of how I’d ripped off my bloomers, by making me tell him about it myself. Surely the monastery’s code of celibacy would protect me from further incidents of this nature. So if I caved in to this initial humiliation, I’d be giving up my chance for independence — the chance to decide if I truly loved my handsome benefactor.

  Yet the abbot’s expression spurred me on. ‘Apologise for what, sir? I gave you precisely what you asked for.’

  He stood up, towering above me with a scowl that spelled out my doom. ‘You will fetch the basin and soap in this side room, and you’ll return here to cleanse yourself,’ he muttered. ‘Then you’ll don the tunic of Heaven’s Gate residents, and we will discuss the tasks you’re to perform to earn your keep. I will then absolve you of your wickedness, so you may start a clean and honourable life among us. Do you understand me, Miss Michaels?’

  How was I to answer a man who was openly staring at my crotch? ‘No, I don’t understand how you can condemn my wickedness while indulging your own, at my expense! I’ll wash myself and dress behind that door, thank you!’

  It was the wrong thing to say. Father Luc stepped down and clamped a hand on my bare shoulder. ‘Mrs Goodin,’ he called out, ‘we’ll be needing your assistance now.’

  The door to his chamber opened, and with unabashed glee the uniformed housekeeper entered. Clearly these two had scripted this little drama before I’d come in from the orchard, and she’d been waiting — ear pressed to the wall — for her cue to come onstage. When she returned from the little room with a basin of steaming water, a bar of soap, and a towel, I knew I’d fallen into their trap.

  Was Hyde aware of their connivings? I surmised this pair had cleansed new residents before, and that my benefactor had supplied them with several. I didn’t want to believe he’d played a part in humiliating me…but there was no way to find out until I saw him again. If I ever did. Perhaps his whole story was a lie. Perhaps he wouldn’t come back up the mountain until he had another unsuspecting victim in tow.

  But I couldn’t worry about that now. The housekeeper crouched before me and set the basin on the floor. ‘Straddle this,’ she commanded.

  As though he thought I’d bolt, Father Luc kept his hold on me until I placed my feet on either side of the large basin. ‘Turn around and face me,’ he ordered, and when I hesitated he twisted my shoulders around until my legs were forced to follow along. I nearly tripped, and one foot landed in the water, ruining my shoe.

  ‘You should do as you’re told, Miss Michaels,’ the housekeeper suggested. ‘Now spread your legs. Further.’

  I had never felt more awkward, standing in my corset, stockings and shoes with my ankles against the opposite rims of a basin. Mrs Goodin dipped the soap into the water and lathered it between her hands, her face alight with anticipation. Up the inside of one leg she rubbed, with strokes so vigorous I nearly tumbled forward. I grabbed her shoulder to keep my balance, and she retaliated by sliding the soap up into my pussy.

  The sting of the lye against my intimate parts made tears spring to my eyes. I clenched my jaw, determined not to cry in front of this nefarious pair. Mrs Goodin seemed so intent on getting my privates clean, I wondered if she would use the entire cake of soap: white, frothy lather clung to my bush and then slithered down my thighs, or dripped into the water below me.

  ‘Stand behind her, Mrs Goodin. I can’t see if you’re cleansing her thoroughly.’

  With a smirk, the housekeeper dropped the soap so she could unfasten my corset. ‘You’re not helpless,’ she hissed near my ear. ‘You’re to keep washing yourself until Father Luc declares you clean.’

  With lightning speed, she removed my remaining undergarment and then grabbed my hands. ‘Slow learner, are we?’ she sneered, guiding my fingers to my soapy slit. ‘Now rub yourself, Mary Grace. I’m going to wash the rest of you.’

  For a fleeting moment I thought of Yu Ling, the Celestial who’d wanted to wash me as an act of gratification. Had I not been so squeamish, perhaps I wouldn’t have fled to what I believed was a safer haven, only to learn that the world held far more perverse people than a serving girl who truly enjoyed her work.

  Mrs Goodin skimmed the foam from my bush and worked it up my belly in rough spirals, until she was circling my breasts. She palmed my nipples until they beaded out, her breathing becoming shallower with her efforts. Then her rough hands cupped me from the sides, pushing out my bosom as though she were offering it to Father Luc as a gift.

  His eyes were riveted to my fingers, and his hands had slipped into his cassock pockets. The glazing of his face gave the only indication of what was going on beneath his black robe, and gave me something to smile about: Father Luc couldn’t take his own medicine. He’d forbidden me to engage in sexual behaviour, yet he appeared ready to explode with his own.

  ‘Kneel with me. I feel a prayer coming on,’ I said. And before the housekeeper could second-guess me, I went down on my knees, catching myself when I fell forward. I sloshed warm water where the soap was burning the lips of my sex, and then let my weight carry me backwards, so my arse landed in the basin with a splash. Mrs Goodin jumped away, her shoes saturated.

  ‘You conniving little bitch!’ she shrieked, and when I caught her ankle before she could kick me, the housekeeper let out a wail that would’ve done a witch proud. ‘You’ve cooked your goose now, Miss Michaels! I will not be made a fool of in the presence —’

  ‘Hush, they’re coming!’ Father Luc warned in a low voice.

  I heard those footsteps in the hallway, too, so I sprang up and grabbed the towel. My heart pounded with gratitude as I sprinted into the little room at the side of the dais: Mrs Goodin’s hysteria would divert whoever was coming in, allowing me to escape any further embarrassment she’d planned for the abbot’s entertainment. A tunic the colour of walnut meats hung on the back of the door. After I dried myself I dropped it over my head, meanwhile listening to the conversation in the main room.

  ‘Mrs Goodin, are you all right? We’d have been here sooner, but Sybil asked for our help unloading her kitchen supplies.’

&
nbsp; I knew damn well the chore Brother Christy spoke of had been arranged by that howling bitch who baptised me with lye, but he — and Hyde, I assumed — had at least arrived in time to rescue me from a deteriorating situation. While the abbot insinuated my audience with him had sent Mrs Goodin into an outrage, I tied the belt at my waist. Since I had no hairpins, I removed my shoes and cotton stockings, and tied my hair back with the stocking that was driest. Better to appear barefoot and penitent than to arouse any more uproar.

  When I opened the door, I saw Father Luc had somehow whisked my clothing out of sight. His dark glance warned me not to contradict his story, and apparently Mrs Goodin had gone just as Hyde and Brother Christy arrived. To the casual observer, the basin positioned before the abbot’s chair signified a baptism, perhaps, or some other ritual observance. Hyde’s weighty gaze said he suspected discrepancies between what he was hearing and what he saw, but he knew better than to ask questions.

  I smiled demurely. Fortune appeared unaware of Father Luc’s cleansing method or Mrs Goodin’s part in it, so it was to my advantage not to let on. It was enough to know Hyde hadn’t been involved with it and that later, when we were out of earshot, we might discuss it.

  ‘Mary Grace has complied with my instructions concerning her entrance into our monastic life, and I believe she’s ready to discuss those bundles she brought with her,’ Father Luc was saying. His benign smile sickened me, for I knew he was secretly smirking. But I played along, because what chance did I stand, if he revealed how I’d already mocked him and got on Mrs Goodin’s bad side? It was his word against mine.

  Hyde was unrolling the coverlet closest to him. ‘When Mary Grace expressed a need for employment, and I realised she created these magnificent illustrated quilts, I saw this as the new opportunity Brother Christy has been hoping for — a way for the abbey to raise a lot of money at no expense. Miss Michaels proposes to stay here through the spring, sewing her quilts for you, asking for only a percentage of the profits after I take them to auction.’