Peccatum in Carne: Sins of the Flesh (The Three Sins of Mallory Moore Book 1)

by Coco Mingolelli

  An older couple in their early fifties looked from Mallory to Dawn and back again like they had seen a ghost. The woman was short and thick, but classically beautiful with an elegant air. Beside her, the gentleman's arrogant, puffed up stance practically exuded old money – his curled mustache and tweed cap notwithstanding.

  They knew these people.

  "Irene! Harold! What are you doing here?" Dawn sputtered, recognizing her father's cousins.

  "You remember them, Dawn?" Mallory asked, and squeezed at Dawn's hand.

  "Of course she remembers us, Lilith," Irene tittered, ignoring the wringing of her husband's hands and his gruff, ill-placed cough. "Has it been so long since I saw you at your mother's tea time that you forgot me?"

  Dawn's brows furrowed in confusion at the familiar way Irene spoke to Mallory. "Uh, what?"

  Mallory's shoulders stiffened as she smoothly lifted a cigarette to her lips, and lit it with a flourish. Exhaling the smoke directly into Irene's face, she then turned to Dawn in explanation. "Irene was a friend of my mother's, amare."

  It was a very short explanation, but one she could appear to own. Memories of scraped knees hidden beneath fluffy pinafores and girlish giggles began to break the surface, but Mallory pushed them away.

  Irene's face scrunched up in disgust before she waved her hand to move the cloud of smoke from her direction. "Yes, we were debutantes together. Such a shame Mia's daughter never got the experience of learning to be a lady. Tsk! Her future was so promising, and now look. Just look, Harold."

  Dawn stepped between her cousin and Mallory. She glared at both of them before demanding an answer to her first question. "Oh my God, Irene! Why are you even here?"

  Fed up with being caught in the crossfire of a henpecking, Harold finally spoke up. "The DCFS had us bring Isla here, Dawn. She is to stay with them until your father's affairs are sorted."

  There were so many things Mallory wanted to say to that. She had suspected that Irene and Harold would be the ones that Steven stashed Isla with in Scotland, but also had no proof. Now, they were here in Middlesbrough. That meant that the Defense probably had intended to use the little girl as a character witness for her father.

  The queasy feeling of her world growing smaller without warning was overwhelming, as was the the feeling that she was in way over her head. Every unsaid revelation made her feel more and more ill. Irene had been a friend to her mother, and yet she had the nerve to dress Mallory down like she was a piece of garbage, a cast off. Isla had been in this terrible woman's care?

  Dawn pulled on her hand, and looked unable to say anything except a torrent of very disrespectful insults. "I want to go inside now, Mallory," she pleaded, not sparing her father's cousins another look.

  Mallory agreed. Farewells would have been too polite, and they didn't deserve the niceties. She crushed the remnants of her cigarette beneath a boot before walking as smoothly as possible next to Dawn. Holding her held high as they made their way inside, she carried her cane rather than using it. Small pants of exertion at her stubbornness puffed from between her ruby lips.

  The insular world of the rich and their abominable nature had always been too foul for her taste, and now it was closing in on Mallory, whether she wanted it to or not. Her mother had always said that she could never understand it, until she was older.

  Her mother had been right.

  "Good day, Lilith! Do take care, Dawn," Irene called out from behind them.

  _____________________________________

  The next few hours were spent hashing out that which required immediate attention. It ranged from what to do with Steven's remains, to Dawn's inheritance, and whether Mallory would like continued police presence outside her home for the next few weeks.

  Barristers from the trading firm and the Crown both agreed that Steven's last will and testament ought to be honored with regards to his funeral: a private cremation with no memorial. Both wanted him quickly forgotten from the public eye; the firm for their reputation, and the Crown for their inability to keep him alive to see sentencing.

  It was just as well, Mallory supposed. As the day wore on, she was becoming more worried about Dawn's state of mind. The only thing that seemed to keep her amare focused on the tasks at hand was to run her fingertips soothingly over Dawn's jumpy legs, beneath the conference room table.

  A public memorial would be torturous for Dawn to attend, not that Mallory would have forced the issue. She doubted anyone would want to attend Steven's funeral.

  Even in death, he was true to his despicable nature. Mere weeks before he was implicated as a suspect, and suspiciously close to the day Oliver broke into the cottage, Steven had altered his will to erase Dawn from it.

  But surprisingly, he had also stopped Isla from inheriting anything of worth. All shares were to be reabsorbed into the trading firm, probably distributed to those who had given the most support for his uncouth deeds over the years.

  "I didn't want it anyway," Dawn cried.

  Mallory had plenty of money, time, and lawyers to challenge such a ridiculous affront, but she didn't insist.

  Dawn stood up abruptly and scrubbed at her tired face. "Can I see Isla now? Oh please, I just want to see my baby sister and go home."

  The defeat in her voice was so different than the anger that had resided there during the drive here, but Mallory could empathize. It had been a terrible day from the start, and Dawn was seeking the one bright light in all of the darkness.

  Pleasantries aside, they were led out of the conference room, and down a long hallway.

  Mallory recognized the plain and stodgy attire of an older social worker a mile away, and tried to look at pleasant as possible. She knew from experience that there was nothing worse than getting on the bad side of a child advocate. All of her minders had positively hated her.

  This one didn't appear to be any different, unfortunately. Once the gray haired woman looked up at Mallory's approach, she scowled mightily and laid a protective hand onto the shoulder of the petite slip of a girl behind her.

  Sitting on a bench past the advocate, a miniature replica of Dawn daydreamed. Isla swung her knobby kneed legs to and fro, and hummed a happy, lilting tune. The social worker's touch caught her attention, and she looked up.

  Dawn rushed forward to swing the eight year old up into her arms, bawling all the while. "Oh, God! Oh, thank God!" she yelped, and spun around with more joy in her step than Mallory had seen in... well, ever.

  Isla made no such joyful noise, but kept her eyes trained on Mallory. It was hard to do so while being circled about in Dawn's arms, but the frizzy haired moppet managed.

  The formidable focus set into such a young face sent a shiver down Mallory's spine. The closer she got, she was surprised to see not blue eyes staring back, but a vivid, mossy green.

  "Who is she?" Isla wondered aloud, tugging at her sister's hair before pointing.

  "Oh!" Dawn chuckled, and set Isla down to take her hand. She crouched down to come face to face with her, and made the biggest, silliest smile possible through her tears. "Miss Isla Rose –" she began the introduction.

  "Dawn, wait," Mallory interrupted, holding up a hand. "She might be frightened. We don't know what your family has told her."

  She may not have stepped foot inside a classroom in months, but Mallory was a well trained educator. She could sense the fear and anxiety of babies and younger children upon meeting her for the first time; their wide eyed stares, fidgeting, and outright tantrums. Blaring like little homing beacons, they knew that Mallory wore a disguise to cover her wounds, and that they probably weren't safe. They were so very innocent and unblemished from the world, and saw straight through to her heart.

  It was the real reason she preferred not to be in their company or head a classroom full of tiny ones, though she often told those who questioned her preference for teaching teenagers that she didn't like small children.

  Children hated pain. It was rare that they wouldn't shy away from an adult wh
ose heart was laden with it.

  Mallory wished that she'd worn something less severe, or at least brought candy. None of her usual tactics were going to save this moment though, and she cringed in anticipation. Isla was already showing the signs of viewing her as a danger. What would the child do once she realized who Mallory was?

  "Oh, don't be silly!" Dawn insisted. “You always think the worst.”

  Come hell or high water, she wanted her sister, and she wanted her now. Dawn was having none of what she probably perceived to be Mallory's recalcitrance to taking Isla in.

  "Fine," she sighed, rubbing at her forehead where a tension headache was already making itself known. "Go ahead, if you must."

  Humphing smugly, Dawn turned back to Isla, and wrapped an arm around her. "As I was saying, Isla. Meet my um... friend. This is Miss Mallory Moore."

  Mallory didn't know what was worse; Isla's terror filled screeching, or the heartbroken look on Dawn's face as the social worker snatched the squalling girl from her arms.

  Chapter 25: Imperium (Taking Control)

  Dawn supposed that staying in bed for three days was a bit theatrical, but there wasn't much else that she wanted to do. It reminded her of when Mallory had done the same, allowing her hair to knot into sweaty tendrils, and spreading her woodsy natural scent all over their pillows. There was barely a hint of that scent now, overpowered by Dawn's tart sweat and salty tears.

  She smelled herself without even having to move, and though that ought to have launched her out of bed and into the shower, Dawn did not move. It was a wonder how her love still curled up next to her each night, skin to skin, without a single complaint. Mallory had even insisted on kissing her goodnight every evening, and good morning with each sunrise – even though Dawn was certain her breath could knock a grown man off his feet.

  Rolling over, she buried her face in between their two fluffy pillows, and huffed a breath in experiment.

  It was marvelous, and rank. She gave a cracked up laugh before composing herself again.

  The door to their bedroom creaked open, and a fully dressed Mallory crept through. Balancing a tea tray full of biscuits, scones, and Dawn's coffee was difficult while her chin pressed a mobile phone to her ear, but the woman managed somehow.

  "Yes, yes," she sputtered into the iPhone, nostrils flaring in irritation for whatever was being said back. "I most certainly do not agree. This is preposterous!"

  Dawn had peeked her eyes over the edge of a pillow when the door opened, and she watched as Mallory deposited the tray onto a bedside table before walking away – still intent on arguing with whomever was on the phone.

  "No, I don't want to bloody hold!"

  Just as she reached the doorway, Mallory paused to look back at the bed, while the other party rattled off into her ear. She raised a hand towards Dawn, pointing from the coffee towards her, and back again with a stern look of reproach.

  Apparently, three days of Dawn's tantrum was Mallory's limit. The prospect of a fourth day was declared out of the question with the simple wag of a finger.

  That made Dawn scowl, and she burrowed even further beneath the cream cotton sheets. It was hot under there, her breath heavy and putrid, but she stubbornly closed her eyes against the onslaught of sunlight that suddenly invaded the bedroom. Wait, what?

  Thump, thump, pause, thump.

  The sheets flew off of her with a firm tug and a flourish. Behind the wadded up linens was an angry Mallory, the phone conversation apparently ended. Before Dawn knew what was happening, the blankets were tossed onto the chair beneath the window, and hands slid beneath her shoulders and knees to tug her into Mallory's arms.

  "Hey! What –" She batted at her girlfriend's arms. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but Dawn wanted Mallory to know that she was not pleased with this turn of events. "What 're you doing?"

  Mallory's nails dug into her flesh, and her green eyes winced visibly at the oncoming blows. It wasn't much of a struggle, but Dawn knew the last thing they both wanted was for her to be dropped from such a height onto the floor.

  No, this was a battle of wills – and she was steadily on the losing end. Three days in bed had left her weak and hungry, and for a moment Dawn considered that Mallory knew precisely what it felt like to be dizzy, and disoriented. She totally had the upper hand.

  Ducking another ineffectual swing of Dawn's open palm, Mallory stumbled and grimaced. "I am doing what needs to be done!”

  The flare of hurt, long withheld, in the wide eyes that stared Dawn down had her shrinking into the strong hold of her lover's arms, and she stilled.

  "And just what needs to be done with me?" Dawn sneered, before gawping at her own turn of phrase. She was amazed that she actually talked that way to Mallory.

  Mallory narrowed her eyes. A frown settled across her lips, the way it always did when posed with a challenge.

  She marched them both through the adjoining bathroom door, not bothering to care how the heavy wood hit on her barely-healed shoulder as she shoved it open. Mallory was stoically silent.

  Dawn had some idea now what Mallory's intent was, and prepared herself to be deposited down in front of the sink with strict orders for this, or that. What happened next, she didn't expect whatsoever.

  She was plunked down into the tub, Mallory's hand pressed onto her shoulder, to keep her down. The woman's other hand flew to the tap, and quickly turned on the cold water and shower.

  "Augh!" Dawn squealed, and slid away from the stream of freezing water. "What the fuck! I didn't toss your arse in the shower!"

  Rolling her eyes grandly, Mallory then turned the tap to warmer temperatures. "No, you fed me until I was set to bursting." She pushed lightly on Dawn's shoulder again. "You've made your point quite clear, amare. You control your life – that is, you want to have it. Stinking up our bed isn't going to bring Isla home any sooner, though.”

  The gentle understanding on Mallory's face, paired with the feeling of having absolutely no control – after all, she was now drenched in water – made Dawn seethe all the more. She had wanted just one thing to herself, just one.

  Who cared if she stank? It seemed that Mallory hadn't. Well, not until now.

  "If you're going to act like a child, I shall treat you like one," Mallory warned in a sing song voice, brandishing a loofah and a bottle of shower gel. She'd leaned inside the tub to grab them, and her silk shirt and hair was now just as sopping wet as Dawn.

  Mallory meant business, and wasn't going to give up.

  Mustering the fiercest pout she could, Dawn snatched the items from her girlfriend, and held them to her chest. Hot tears joined the water dripping from her hair, and her lower lip quivered.

  "Fine. You win," she mumbled, and tried to look anywhere but at the smile that quickly appeared on Mallory's face.

  "No, darling, you win." Mallory cooed, and ran a hand through Dawn's stringy locks. "You'll see."

  Standing back up, she patted her damp head of mahogany hair and sighed. Turning towards the mirror, she twisted it into a chignon and thrust two bobby pins in to secure the hairstyle in effortless fashion. Her shirt was the next thing to be dealt with, and Mallory made short work of wriggling out of it, and hanging it over the drying rack.

  Dawn tried not to stare at the leonine curvature of Mallory's back – the way taut muscles moved beneath her silky skin from spine to rib cage – but considered it pointless to look away after a smirk met her gaze in the bathroom mirror. In response, she doused the loofah in soap and started scrubbing.

  Satisfied with that, Mallory cleared her throat before walking out of the bathroom.

  Dawn heard the standard squeak and groan of the closet door as she surmised Mallory looked for a dry shirt to wear. Just as she began to lather her hair with shampoo, the mattress on the bed thumped a few times. By the time she stood to shave and finally rinse off, the only sounds upstairs were that of the pinging droplets of water from the shower hitting the white tile of the wall and the cast iron tub.

 
Even in her stubbornness, she had to admit that being clean did make her feel better, if only the tiniest bit. It did nothing to fill the emptiness that resided in her heart next to her love for Mallory, and Dawn rubbed at her chest, thinking of Isla. Mallory wanted her to act like an adult, to get through this together. A part of Dawn wanted to push it all away with a snarl.

  Dawn was afraid that no matter how refined, diligent, or responsible she looked, that there was no way her sister would be given over by the Crown to come under Mallory's care. That particular truth stung so much that she only pondered it for a second at most. She refused to choose between Mallory and Isla. How in the world could she care for an eight-year-old with no place to live, and no money?