Devil's Fire (13 page)

‘Well forget your guilt! Think of how pleased he’ll be that you’ve learned so much about your body’s responses,’ she insisted. ‘And how grateful he’ll be that instead of a simpering little thing too afraid — or ignorant — to ask for what she wants, he’ll be taking up with a lover anyone would delight in. Think of it as a gift only you can give him.’

Sybil eased herself from between my legs. The scent of my sex teased me as she stood beside the sofa, smiling. ‘You’ve had a remarkable day, dear Mary. Get your rest now. Tomorrow promises to be another adventure.’

I
sat sewing, embroidering the final details of a gloriously golden butterfly, while the abbot and Mrs Goodin reviewed their accounts. With the sun beaming through my little window, I was content to spend the day on this quilt, because I loved working with the fabrics and colours — and because with both of my wardens close by, the opportunity for getting away seemed unlikely.

I had plenty to think about, anyway: three intimate encounters with people I’d known less than a day made me wonder if I’d left my conscience behind with Hyde, or even forfeited it when I gave myself to him. I wasn’t so far from that low road Sybil had mentioned, and this change in my behaviour concerned me.

Startled by a pounding on the door, I pricked my finger. Before Father Luc could grant permission for our visitor to enter, Sybil carried in a cake topped with prettily arranged apple slices and cherries, so redolent with brandy we could’ve gotten tipsy on the aroma alone. She winked slyly at me.

‘Father Luc! Mrs Goodin!’ she exclaimed. ‘We’ve concocted a recipe for upside-down cake, and want your opinion on whether it should become a new product. And since our main project today will be dipping cherries, I’m hoping Mary Grace can assist us. Best to work quickly, with several hands, so the chocolate doesn’t clot, you know.’

Something told me my room-mate had concocted more than cake: her story reeked of that adventure she’d spoken of last night, if her secretive grins were any clue. Mrs Goodin’s raised eyebrow told me she smelled something behind Sybil’s visit as well, but the man beside her accepted the gift as though his favourite kitchen wench were offering herself on a platter.

‘What a thoughtful gesture. And if you devised this recipe, Sybil, I can count on its success without even tasting it.’

High praise, from a man who had only rules and criticism for me. But then, Sybil had known how to flatter and appeal to this man’s desires from the start. I watched their exchange of glances, sucking the blood from my fingertip. Her catlike green eyes danced with his darker ones; her hips shifted as she talked, and her hair — swept back from her forehead into a ribbon, tumbling down her back in a cascade of smoky auburn waves — swung seductively as she suggested names for the new recipe.

When they’d finished flirting, Father Luc glanced my way. ‘Well? Are you going to sit there with your finger in your mouth, or will you dip cherries with Sybil?’

‘Sorry, sir. Fingered my prick — er, pricked my finger.’

Colour rose in the abbot’s cheeks, and I saw the hint of a bulge in his cassock. Sybil, meanwhile, was braying with laughter, which Mrs Goodin found inappropriate.

‘I think we all have work to do,’ she said stiffly. ‘And if these accounts are accurate, we’ve seen an increase in kitchen expenditures these past few months, which our sales don’t justify. Look well to your budget, Sister Sybil. We support several people here, and if you waste our food, we’ll have to cut back to two meals a day. That won’t be a popular decision.’

‘So don’t make it,’ the redhead retorted. ‘Mr Fortune will bring our Christmas profits with him this Friday. Your ledger — among other things — will look more flush once he arrives.’

Damn her, for looking at me when she said that! I rose from my chair before Warden Hortense or the abbot could change their minds about my going.

‘You’re obnoxious!’ I hissed as Sybil and I strode through the front doors of the abbey.

‘Got you out of there, didn’t I? And this is my thanks for making up that cake, and the story to go with it?’ She snickered as we approached the back side of the building. ‘Between the liquor in that cake and the hot talk, Father Luc will be steamed all morning.’

‘What about Goodin? What if she comes to watch us dip our cherries?’

‘She’s probably fingering her own right now,’ my companion said with a smirk. ‘Old Hor-tense puts up a frigid front, but underneath that uniform she’s got a twat just like the rest of us. Did you see her eyeing that bulge in the abbot’s cassock? They couldn’t wait for us to leave.’

I had trouble picturing the abbot allowing his housekeeper to pleasure him — especially since it was Sybil who got him aroused. But stranger things had happened at Heaven’s Gate, and I was a poor predictor of what might transpire between any of those who lived here.

The kitchen smelled like a chocolate shop, with an undertone of brandy. Sybil smiled, pleased with the industriousness of her helpers while she’d been away. ‘I’ve brought our newest resident, Mary Grace, to see how we make our sweets,’ she announced. ‘She’s eager to help, so I bet she’ll be as good at dipping her cherry as the rest of us, by the time we finish this morning!’

The three women and two men greeted me with warm smiles, and I was introduced around the room. They were dressed in cloister brown tunics, too, so I relaxed: no one here appeared driven to enlighten me, or to overwhelm me with pithy remarks. They acknowledged Sybil as their leader, and because she kept a hand on my shoulder they accepted me as someone who deserved to be here.

The first two women were arranging sheets of parchment on rectangular trays. ‘Mary Grace, I’d like you to meet Violet and her sister Zerelda, whom we call Vee and Zee. They’re preparing trays where the chocolate-covered cherries will dry.’

They bade me a cheery hello, each of them offering a hand. ‘How nice of you to help us,’ Vee said. She stood taller than her sibling, and a spattering of freckles made her appear girlish, although I suspected she was near thirty. ‘I understand you sew the most beautiful quilts.’

‘I can’t wait to see them!’ Zee chimed in. ‘When Mr Fortune brought us here, we had no particular skills or talents, so I envy your ability to earn your keep from the start.’

‘And if either of you ladies were working at something else, how would we ever make our tins full of temptation?’ Sybil asked kindly. Then she smiled at me. ‘These two lost the rest of their family in a tragic fire several years ago, and have made their home here.’

‘Sybil was a saint for taking us under her wing,’ Vee explained.

‘And we’d have been stuck at the Home for the Friendless, had Hyde not taken pity on us,’ her sister added with a wide-eyed grin. ‘You’re so lucky he found you, too, Mary Grace. There’s no sweeter, dearer man to be found on the face of this earth.’

Had these sisters been in the crowd that caught me with him when that carriage door flew open? As Sybil guided me on, I smiled at them, wondering just how sweet and dear Hyde had been. We paused so that two robust men carrying a large cauldron between them could set their chocolate-filled burden on wooden slats in the centre of the floor.

‘And these fine fellows are Brother Paul,’ Sybil said, nodding towards the muscular blond, ‘and Brother Quentin — the only two men capable of pleasing me in the kitchen.’

‘The only two who could put up with her day after day,’ Quentin teased. Built like a lumberjack, tall and broad, with his sorrel hair pulled back at his nape, he was the last man I’d imagine as a kitchen assistant.

Brother Paul adjusted the steaming cauldron on the slats, and then focused his full attention on me. ‘We’re glad to have you,’ he said with a playful grin. ‘You’ll find our cooking methods a bit unorthodox, but we make the best chocolate you’ll ever put in your mouth —’

‘Or anywhere else,’ Brother Quentin added slyly.

‘— and thanks to Sybil, the work here is more like play. Yet we produce the cakes and candies that support the entire monastery. The finest desserts to be found anywhere.’

‘And we do it with such modesty, too.’ Brother Quentin clapped his companion on the shoulder, letting his hand drift down to the other man’s backside. ‘If we make a tasty show of it, perhaps Mary Grace will join us often.’

Something about the two of them struck me as different from the other men I’d met there, yet I liked them immensely. And when I was presented to the last of Sybil’s aides, I was even more aware that her crew consisted of individuals who probably wouldn’t work with Ahmad or Mrs Goodin — or anyone else — because Sister Sybil alone gave them the same outspoken yet unconditional acceptance she’d shown me.

‘And this is Elvira, a talented kitchen wench unlike anyone else you’ve ever met.’ My room-mate spoke with pride, yet her word choice alerted me to qualities that didn’t show on the surface. ‘Elvira helps me devise new recipes, and also designs the distinctive tins that set Heaven’s Gate products apart from others.’

Elvira sat on a stool, inspecting a shallow pan filled with plump cherries that swam in brandy, and when she stood to greet me I was astounded at her height. Her blue-black hair was caught up in curls that would do a debutante proud, yet she was anything but delicate or simpering. Like Sybil, she edged her eyes in kohl and wore daring earrings; her bosom put everyone else’s to shame. Elvira was thicker and broader than was fashionable, yet her proportions allowed for an undeniably feminine allure to shine through. Her smile radiated warmth, but I knew immediately not to put myself at odds with her.

‘Hello, Elvira,’ I said shyly, and for want of more intelligent conversation, I glanced at her pan of brandied cherries. ‘You seem to have the most intoxicating job of all.’

She offered her hand, perusing my every move with great interest. ‘Not every cherry we start with will be worthy of the Heaven’s Gate label,’ she replied in a husky voice. ‘Only the plumpest and ripest and sweetest will go into tins today, Miss Mary. Those not succulent enough to be chosen shall meet a different end.’

Her tone made me feel sorry for those little fruits that didn’t measure up to her exacting standards. I eased my hand from her larger one, aware of mixed sensations: Elvira was the most stunning woman I’d ever met, yet something in her demeanour whispered of dark, provocative secrets. I sensed my innocent eyes would be opened some day, and I hoped I could take in this new reality without making a fool of myself, or inspiring Elvira’s wrath.

‘Shall we begin?’ Sybil called out. ‘Our chocolate won’t wait forever. And of course, the sooner we finish the morning’s work, the sooner we can play.’

Like cogs in a well-designed clock, the assistants assumed their places. Elvira kept sorting, while Vee held a pan of acceptable cherries for Zee and Brother Paul to dip into the chocolate, which Brother Quentin kept stirring. Sybil handed me one of the trays lined with parchment. ‘If you’ll position this so the dippers can place their cherries on the paper, and then set the full trays over on the tables, it would help us immensely.’

I grinned, glad to be useful while I could observe their precision operation. Sybil acted as go-between, fetching more cherries for Elvira and more parchment-lined trays for me, as well as standing in my place until I returned from the table.

Zee and Brother Paul stood facing each other across the pan of brandied cherries, plucking two in each hand, shaking them once, and then dipping them in the chocolate coating, which magically adhered to the fruit. With practised motions, they rotated the stems so the rich brown liquid stopped dripping and sealed itself, with uniform shape and thickness, before placing the finished sweets on my tray. I was so fascinated I had to remind myself to rotate the tray for them and then carry it off when it was full.

The kitchen hummed with the silent concentration of friends who worked well together, anticipating each other’s moves. When an occasional cherry fell off its stem into the chocolate, Brother Quentin deftly picked it out with his spoon and dropped it into a pan beside him. ‘That one just couldn’t stand the strain of becoming such an exceptional treat!’ he explained with a wink. ‘But she’ll find her place, sooner or later. We only dip cherries a few times a year, so we save some of the fallen fruit for our seasons’ ceremonials.’

‘Or for when we’d like something sweet and juicy to play with,’ Brother Paul added coyly. ‘We have to be careful, though. If those assigned to the vineyards or gardens found out how much we enjoy ourselves, they’d all want to work here, too.’

‘And that would spoil everything,’ Vee said with a grin. Then she turned towards Elvira. ‘How many left, oh Amazon Queen?’

‘Just the one pan,’ came the throaty reply. ‘I’m guessing we’ve done a record number this morning — perhaps fifty dozen — with damn few rejected ones.’

‘We’ll have to use those wisely, then,’ Zee remarked. Her smile looked unusually sultry for a young woman with such an unassuming face.

‘And we’ve very few saved back for this spring’s ritual,’ Sybil informed them, ‘so we should set some aside before we get carried away.’

Their laughter spoke of a secret too delicious to share with those outside this close-knit circle, so I felt honoured to be standing among them. When Elvira rose from her stool, exclaiming, ‘Done!’ the excitement mounted. Brother Paul and Zee moved faster, in a contest to see who would coat the last cherry. Brother Quentin stirred carefully, as the chocolate at the bottom of the pot had thickened. I gripped my tray, trying to guess how the race would end.

‘Mine!’ Paul cried as he snatched the last two stems from the pan.

Quentin wagged his eyebrows at me. ‘This means Brother Paul will decide the fate of our remaining cherries, and who gets them, and in what order.’

‘Sort of a master of ceremonies,’ I ventured.

‘Precisely. And he always makes a fine one. There!’ the bullish man beside me crowed. ‘You may now carry these safely into the dining room, dear Mary, while we prepare for the festivities. Sybil’s chosen one of our favourite days for you to join us, and we hope you’ll come again. And again.’

Something in his words called up an image I couldn’t pinpoint, yet its association sent a tingle through my insides. Even a novice like myself couldn’t miss the insinuation that bawdy, provocative games were about to be played, by people who loved to outdo each other. I sensed these activities would be much more palatable than watching a dozen men pee on a tree.

‘Let us practise wild abandon!’ Brother Paul proclaimed, lifting a ceremonious hand. ‘Our first event will be dipping dildoes, and creating a bust of Miss Sybil. Vee and Zee, if you ladies will do the anointing and assist us with the chocolate, I’ll ask Elvira to hold our Kitchen Queen in position while her likeness is being cast.’