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

by Coco Mingolelli

  Elisabeth spied the smile that infused Mallory's lips as she wrapped Dawn into a tight embrace. Soft murmurs came from those lips into the young woman's blonde waves.

  She also realized that Serena's comical bewilderment was caused by what their former student perceived to be a precarious situation, like sneaking in past curfew or some such nonsense. "Miss Windsor," Elisabeth whispered conspiratorially, and took the girl's arm with her own. "She's fine now. Miss Moore will take good care of her, I promise. Please tell me you left your car downtown, and cabbed it here?"

  Staring unabashedly at the way Mallory almost cradled her friend, and rubbed their noses together like they were the only women in the room, Serena blushed. "Sure, Miss Sørensen."

  Shrugging her coat on before sharing a knowing smile with her own friend, Elisabeth motioned for the door. The book-keeping party was ending early, and she was happy for the escape. "Good. Allow me to see you home, then. Goodnight, Mallie... Dawn," she nodded politely.

  The Windsor girl made her goodbyes and stumbled out the door towards her SUV, and Elisabeth couldn't help but snort at her skittishness.

  As the door closed behind them, Dawn's cheery peep echoed the foyer, followed by her tinkling laughter. "G'nite to one and all, and to one and all a g'nite!"

  _____________________________________

  "You're not really going to take me to church, are you?" Dawn pleaded, and pressed her face against the cold glass of the passenger's side window. It was Sunday, and though she really doubted their destination, anything was possible.

  The window felt so nice against her burning cheek, which still hadn't cooled down since last night. She'd had the brilliant idea to mix beer and liquor. The sedan was traveling at a fast clip with Mallory at the wheel, and the sharp curves of the empty country highway made Dawn's stomach turn.

  Mallory was in all her glory. The pillbox hat was tilted and pinned just so against the edge of her coiffed chignon, and she'd paired the frilly thing with a taupe-pink linen dress that fit her curves like the fine ecru crochet driving gloves that graced her delicate hands.

  The hat had been a joke, so when her Dawn's girlfriend acted like it was the best gift she'd ever received and spent the better part of the morning pairing it with the outfit, her confusion had quickly turned to suspicion, and then adoration. While she found Mallory's darker edginess captivating and sexy, this version made her feel giddy, and warm.

  "You're so dishy, like a real Londoner," Dawn mediated her thoughts aloud, but almost swore when her cheeks rushed with a hot blush. It made her dizzy, and she wished that she'd taken Mallory's advice on eating the dry toast before they left.

  "As opposed to a fake Londoner?" Mallory laughed, and changed her accent to cheer Dawn up. “Cor blimey, you'd be thinkin' I spent a wonga on this dress.”

  Dawn found herself awestruck at the sight, and the sound. She wanted to memorize this moment for all time – even with the stupid hat, and Mallory's Kentish cockney. Her girlfriend had never let it slip before.

  "Don't change the subject, please?" she implored, and then sat upright to better see Mallory's face for tells and visual cues. "Where are we really going?"

  Tsking mildly, Mallory turned her face away as she made a right hand turn. "Let it be known that you changed the subject first, with your flirting. As I said before, it's a surprise. If you keep asking me, I will take us to church."

  Grumbling internally, Dawn crossed her arms to wait it out. She used to like surprises, but with so many stressful things happening within such a short span of time in her life, the prospect of the unknown began to frighten her more than excite her.

  Her eyes were still tired from dancing half the night and drinking too much, and they slid closed. She kept telling herself that it was just for a kip, and only to rest them from the bright glare of the morning sun.

  Before Dawn knew it, the car slowed and parked. The sleek touch of a gloved finger brushed across her cheek, and her eyes fluttered open. It was hard to focus right away. "Huh?"

  Mallory opened her door, and slid gracefully out of the car. Peering over her shoulder once she stood, she gave Dawn a fond, affectionate look before slipping on her sunglasses. "We're here, amare. Follow me, and do as I say."

  Pausing only until Dawn exited the car, Mallory strolled over the green grass of a playground area beside the Middlesbrough Home for Young Girls.

  Dawn remembered what happened the last time she didn't heed Mallory's requests. Even so, her eyes tore across the yard to a group of girls playing on or near the swings and see-saws, seeking desperately for a glimpse of the one child she knew to be here.

  With a purposeful nod to the matron on duty, Mallory made her way towards the gaggle of children. Most of them scattered at her approach, but two taller girls stayed. They tugged at a smaller one, and it was plain that the younger girl was crying. Isla.

  "Now, what's this?" Mallory questioned the group, and put a hand to her hip. "I sent cookies from the bakery down the street yesterday, and I find you're still unhappy and taking it out on this poor mite?"

  'What are you playing at, Mallory Moore?' Dawn pondered, and stood beside the matron. Itching to be involved in whatever the plan was, she still refused to make the same mistake twice, and hung back in order to let it play out.

  Isla turned to face Mallory, and sniffled. Before knowing exactly who she was addressing, she tugged on her fine dress, and pointed at the troublemakers. "They always make fun of me, ma'am. They ate all the cookies, too!"

  Bringing a hand to her chest in a melodramatic way, Mallory looked grieved. "Is that so?"

  The eldest of the two other girls piped up in defense. "Nah, miss! She just cries so bloody much for her mum. We're teachin' her to be tough, eh Isla? Matron knows we do."

  Sticking her tongue out at them, Isla clung even more to Mallory's dress.

  It was amazing to Dawn; the girl that had been so afraid of a name now sought safety in the same woman's presence. It suddenly made sense why Mallory had been so very pleased with the hat. Her entire outfit was meant to look pretty, feminine, and motherly – a well schemed disguise.

  Isla ate it up, and tugged on Mallory's hand. "Why are you here? Have you come to play with us?"

  Leaning down to wrap an arm around Isla's shoulders, Mallory slid her sunglasses off with her other hand, pointing them back at Dawn. "I've brought your sister, of course."

  Realization slowly dawned on Isla's face as she finally spotted her, and Dawn could see the progression of emotions on her sister's face; fear, embarrassment, and finally acceptance. She stared back and forth between Mallory, and the two playground bullies. If she threw a fit now, the older girls would never let her hear the end of it.

  Isla closed her eyes. She held her arms up towards Mallory in a silent request – though it looked more like she was begging to be slaughtered now, rather than later.

  Dawn flinched. Father had instructed their nannies not to indulge the then seven-year-old in picking her up for hugs, or hugging her at all really, even after their mother had died.

  Without hesitation, Mallory reached down and picked up Isla, unusual as it was for a girl her age to be carried.

  Once safely settled into Mallory's arms, Isla threw hers wide again. She waved towards Dawn as she was carried, and howled in delight.

  "Dawn, look! She's a pink monster today!”

  Chapter 26: Torquem Laqueo (The Necklace is a Noose)

  The endless whirlwind of activity in the past two weeks had both invigorated Dawn, and challenged many of her preconceived notions about Mallory. Every other day, they had made the half-hour trip to visit Isla for the better part of an afternoon or evening, and each time found a new treatise made between her girlfriend and her sister.

  The simplest interactions between Mallory and Isla meant so much, and it reminded Dawn of when she'd first come to the cottage, and felt that each word spilled from the woman's lips had a thousand meanings.

  Each measured turn of phrase and ca
lculated move were meant to ease Isla into the idea that Mallory was not the evil monster she had been depicted as, but the true turning point had taken all three of them by surprise. It was this memory from earlier today that kept her awake, even as the her iPhone on the bedside table glowed 2:16AM – Tuesday, September 30th.

  The Girls' Home was stuffy and warm, the air dry as the emotions shown by the caretakers and staff. On the uncomfortable, state issued furniture they sat, Dawn shoulder to shoulder with her sister. Isla was seeking bodily contact more and more as the days passed, and thankfully finding comfort in it.

  Their visit was almost denied by Isla's minders as an “interruption to the day's schedule.” Mallory had seethed quietly at the haughty, white-haired headmistress until the woman stood aside, and led her into an office. Dawn had no idea what words were exchanged then, but it was most certainly not quiet. The infuriated rumblings had been loud enough to carry down the long hallway, and into the group visitation area. It sounded vicious.

  “They're like wolves,” Isla whispered in awe, and slipped closer against Dawn's side.

  “Yeah,” Dawn whispered back. The brutal history between the two women was far more intense than she'd ever care to explain to her little sister. Platitudes like 'that's just how grown ups are,' bounced around her mind, but fell numb on her tongue.

  After all, she was an adult, and while she had argued with Mallory until the woman's hackles raised enough to elicit such snarling in the past, she hated to do it. Too much time was wasted in being angry, and Dawn learned quickly that it only led to even more hurt feelings.

  Mallory looked and acted so deflated after such outbursts, whether it was with her, or another person. Though she was fiercely beautiful in those moments – opalescent eyes blazing, and lustrous hair swishing with each stiff jerk of her neck to locate the prey in question with that fiery gaze – anger ate away at her melodious voice until it was honed down to the sharp edge of a blade. Anger puffed her up, inflating her ego to the point where she seemed inches taller, and frighteningly powerful.

  And what was left when the anger was gone? Mallory's voice would crack with sadness. Tears would fall from her reddened eyes, and a body robbed of energy from wasting it on the useless emotion folded in upon itself in shame.

  Dawn's gaze was drawn to that body, which was currently curled up next to her. Despite her mood, she smiled at Mallory's open mouthed snoring. If she overlooked the dusky shadows beneath the woman's eyes and the ever-present furrow between her eyebrows, Dawn might have been able to convince herself that Mallory was just tired. She knew better.

  Between the dusty ledgers brought down from the spare room, calling strange London area numbers, and spoiling Isla with unexpected gifts and more fresh baked cookies than any child could ever eat, Mallory was running herself ragged.

  The scent of roses accompanied Mallory's arrival to the sitting room. Water droplets clung to the fine hairs on her arms. She'd only just washed her hands, and neglected to towel past her wrists. Rubbing her hands together briskly, she sat down in a chair across from the couch with a flourish.

  She bit at her bottom lip in consternation, withholding a deluge of things she wanted to say, but didn't.

  “It's so damned dry in here,” Mallory muttered instead, and peered at Isla's hands. She wasn't pleased at the gnawed fingernails, or the dirt that was smudged here and there.

  Digging around in her purse, she pulled out a bottle of hand lotion, and placed it delicately atop the coffee table. That explained the strong scent – she must have only recently applied some after visiting the bathroom.“Are your hands dry too, cara?”

  Cara – the dearest one, the baby. She never called Isla anything but the Latin pet name, and Isla had avoided responding with Mallory's name in kind. It was always Ma'am, her, or the Lady. That is, until today.

  Isla wriggled off the couch to snatch at the lotion. Bringing it to her nose, she inhaled deeply, and showed it to Dawn like it was treasure.

  “It smells like Mum,” her little voice trembled with joy. “Remember?”

  Making quite the scene of measuring out just a tiny bit into her hands, Isla then rubbed them together before placing the bottle back onto the table. She couldn't stop looking at it. “T-Thank you, Mallory,” she stuttered, her voice nearly inaudible.

  For her part, Mallory tried to look calm about the exchange, but her eyes darted back and forth from Dawn, to Isla, and then to the bottle while her throat worked to conceal a gulp. Her hands wiped against the brushed wool of her skirt, but a cautious smile lit up her face.

  “You're very welcome, cara Isla,” she rhymed the words effortlessly on her lilting tongue. “You may keep it, if you would like.”

  Isla's explosion of happiness startled Mallory, but Dawn found the reaction to her sister taking the nearly full bottle of product up to her room and out of sight much more telling. She wasn't a fool, and knew the price of the designer boutique brand.

  It didn't make sense that her girlfriend would gladly give something so very dear away – not without a reason. Personal possessions being touched or taken was not an easy thing for her to bear.

  Dawn knew that Mallory had often chased the younger girls at St. Augusta's down when they would sneak things from her desk. She was even visibly irritated when Dr. Sheehan had puttered around the cottage in search of clues before the trial. But today, she merely sunk into her chair and blew out a sigh.

  Today, Mallory was happy to have let that particular possession go.

  The muffled sounds of snoring were cut off abruptly, and turned into choking. Dawn was shaken awake, worried at what she was hearing.

  No longer relaxed, Mallory's mouth was caught in a clench jawed grimace. Tendons stuck out on either side of her throat with the tension, and her hands flew up to claw at it.

  “Oh!” Dawn yelped, and wrapped her hands around them. She was afraid that Mallory might draw blood if allowed to carry on any longer. “Wake up! It's alright...”

  With a painful squeeze of her hands, Mallory did wake. Panting and gasping, she flung herself back against the headboard.

  Squeezing back, Dawn took deep breaths herself. “Breathe, breathe,” she coaxed, running her thumbs over the top of the hands she held.

  Mallory held in a whimper.

  Stillness eventually descended between them, and the silence of night. The first noise to break it around ten minutes later was the rustling of sheets as Mallory slid back beneath them, and then her whisper.

  “Dawn?”

  “Yeah?” she yawned.

  Mallory tugged to unclasp their hands, and Dawn watched carefully for the next reaction.

  A summary examination was performed as Mallory turned her hands over once, and then again before reaching up to rub at her neck. Reaching forward, she laid a clammy palm against Dawn's throat, and then touched her own once more. She grimaced again. “Did I hurt you?”

  Her lips mashing together against the argument she felt brewing already, Dawn sought a way to avoid it at all costs. “Of course you didn't hurt me. Don't be like that.”

  Mallory's troubled eyes peered at Dawn for any signs of dishonesty.

  “I'm fine, I swear,” Dawn insisted, and wiggled closer to hide from the scrutiny. “You didn't touch me except to hold my hand.”

  She was amazed to hear not a single protest. Also unexpected, though not unwelcome, were the hands that strayed upwards from between them to cup at her cheeks like she was a beloved discovery.

  Her love leaned in to touch their foreheads together, but Mallory did not stop caressing Dawn's cheeks. She also didn't close her eyes out of instinct, but stared earnestly into Dawn's as if trying to find the meaning of life within them.

  “I could drown in your eyes. I didn't realize...”

  “Very poetic,” Dawn joked, but she was tired. She left it at that, wanting to go back to sleep.

  Unused to being teased for her romantic gesturing, Mallory looked away. Even in the pale moonlight, her embarrass
ment was clear. She drew her hands away from Dawn.

  In an attempt to salvage the moment, Dawn pulled the retreating hands back onto her cheeks.“No, no, no,” she whispered. “Don't stop. I like it when you do that. It helps me rest.”

  Hope, and a tiny bit of smugness lit up Mallory's face, and she wrapped an arm around her. “As you wish. May I kiss you now?”

  Dawn rolled her bleary eyes, unable to control her finer points of tactfulness at such an hour. So much posturing! She tempered her mild annoyance, especially as it was evident that tonight's course of making the pain go away was to replace it with making love.

  She would never brag about it, but Dawn found great satisfaction in the ability to wash away the hurt with her heart and her hands. She had done ever since Mallory begged her to, the first time they actually made love instead of merely feeding off of each others mutual desires.