JOSEPHINE

A Novel

by: Miss Anthropy
© 2000    All rights reserved.

 

CHAPTER SIX - THE RELEASE

The afternoon was warm for the time of year and, as Mary’s team charged out of the changing rooms, the gusty wind from the south filled Josephine with a sense of hope. She had been dreading this particular afternoon as Miss Harper had announced two weeks previously that today would be Assault Course day. All the weakest members of the teams feared and hated the assault course as the teams taking part were always placed according to how long it took their slowest member to complete it. The idea was that the stronger, fitter girls would help their weaker sisters over the obstacles. In practice, it exposed the weaker girls’ frailties in a way calculated to bring merciless retribution from the others.

Josephine watched the other teams preparing for the competition. Some were doing warm up exercises and the chirpy voices of women shouting at one another filled her ears. Mary called her group together, and the thinly clad women formed a huddle with their arms across one another’s shoulders.

"Right, girls," she growled. "We have got to do it today. The Baby’s done her sums and says we’re Second overall after the win on Friday. If we win today, we’re back on top. Understand?"

Eight weeks had passed since the fight in the showers between Josephine and the Team Captain. In that time, Josephine had thrown herself headlong into a programme designed to make herself the best team Baby in Level Two. With the possible exception of Mary, who found Josephine’s efforts amusing, the rest of the team was unsympathetic at first, particularly when, after Josephine had spent an hour obsessively cleaning and tidying her quarters, the wardress took ten seconds to fail her on the next inspection.

On the next day Josephine took an hour and a half, and failed again. The day after that she took two hours and collapsed on her bunk with exhaustion after, having looked over her and her belongings for ten good minutes, the beady eyed wardress muttered "Pass" and strutted out of the room. Josephine made sure that Mary’s team never failed an inspection again.

The attitude began to change when Josephine discovered an activity at which she excelled. These were the Current Affairs tests the wardresses occasionally organised. The girls would be allowed to watch an hour or so of news broadcasts and other programmes, all heavily edited of course, and then be examined on what they had seen. This was childishly simple for Josephine and, remembering always that the official, Community Party line was always beyond approach or criticism, she got almost all of the answers correct.

Moral Issues was another, less interesting version of Current Affairs in which the idea was to memorise and regurgitate chunks of Party literature, suitably simplified for the audience. A particularly dull afternoon learning the Governess’ own tedious contribution to this canon called "The Value of Uniforms in Enforcing Discipline within a Hierarchical Organisation" was well rewarded when Mary’s team came first in the test on the following morning.

A recent session of Current Affairs had been particularly interesting for Josephine as it suggested, surprisingly, that all was not well for the Community Party leadership. The news report told of a cowardly terrorist attack on the Ministry of Law and Order’s London headquarters in which someone had murdered two senior members of the MLO hierarchy, and several other women, by planting a bomb in the building’s entrance lobby.

Josephine recognised Henrietta Raven, visibly shaken by the news but, ‘thankfully’ for the Party and the country as a whole, away from the building at the time the bomb exploded. Raven was swearing to avenge her fallen comrades against the terrorists, their friends and sympathisers and anyone who doubted that the severest measures were now needed to combat the enemies of the State. In her role as Acting Minister for Law and Order she had already declared a state of emergency and indicated that further measures would be announced as soon as possible.

"Terrorists?" commented one of the girls. "That’s scum like you, isn’t it, Baby?" Josephine felt deeply ashamed. Joseph Smythe himself had never been a terrorist or supported their actions, but she now agreed with the Party that, without articulate critics of the Government, there would be no violence against the State.

"Leave her alone, Kathy," put in Mary. "She knows she did something wrong and she’s paying for it now, just like the rest of us."

Josephine had also been doing her best to keep up with the others on the playing field as well. Through sheer effort, she had eventually become, in Mary’s opinion, "fair enough, I suppose", an approbation she would never have received during her first weeks in Level Two. The team had begun to perform better, but Josephine knew that the dreaded Assault Course lay ahead.

"Go for it!" Mary clapped the girls on either side of her on the shoulder as the team broke its huddle and lined up with the others at the start of the Assault Course. Josephine’s optimism evaporated as the obstacles reared up before her. She did not believe that she would even be capable of finishing it at all, let alone beating anybody else to the finish line. Miss Harper blew her whistle and, with a tribal roar over a hundred girls, all wearing badges in their team colours, charged forwards towards the first obstacle.

The Assault Course was every bit as terrifying an experience as Josephine imagined it would be. All the girls went over the course at once and it was perfectly acceptable to obstruct, harass and even physically attack members of other teams in order to prevent them from getting over the obstacles at first. Of course there was an almighty rugby scrum at the foot of the first obstruction, a huge sloping ladder, as the girls jostled for position. Josephine found herself in the centre of a mass of heaving women’s bodies, shoving their way forwards to the base of the ladder.

Mary was determined to get her team up the ladder first, and forced her way forwards with her followers. Josephine would have got lost in the melee, but one of her team-mates grabbed her wrist and pulled her forwards onto the ladder which, finding some reserve of strength she managed to scurry up. A couple of the other teams were already dashing down the slope on the other side when they reached the top but Mary’s team quickly followed them down into the quagmire on the other side.

Negotiating the quagmire was difficult and unpleasant because it was covered in barbed wire netting some ten inches above the muddy ground. Josephine was soon left behind her crawling team-mates when she caught her blouse on the netting. Desperately trying to pull herself free, she noticed that three tough looking women from one of the other teams were heading directly for her, panting and wheezing as they did so. Josephine screamed. She had heard that a popular tactic on the Assault Course was to disable a team by targeting it’s weakest member early on in the race. One of the tough looking girls seized hold of her ankle and was about to snare it in the barbed wire when Mary and two other girls appeared from nowhere, bellowing furiously. After a brief scuffle they drove them away, before dragging Josephine loose from the netting.

The team had lost ground, but Josephine was determined to help them make it up and a few minutes later they were close to the front. Unlike most of the teams, which generally abandoned their weaker members to whatever fate the other teams or the course itself had in store for them, Mary’s team held together well.

The worst moment for Josephine came right at the end of the course when the teams, having scaled a strength sapping climbing wall had to swing across a twenty foot drop on ropes. She had never done this before and her apprehension was reinforced when she saw that the only team in front of them were stuck. Their Baby, an immensely fat girl whose only crime was that her father had been an opposition MP, was refusing point blank to go across. The other girls in her team were shouting at her furiously.

Mary saw that Josephine was teetering on the brink of the drop, terrified of swinging over the gap. She also saw that a third team was catching up on them fast.

"Do it, Josephine!" she shouted and, driven by some involuntary impulse, Josephine seized hold of the rope and made a leap of faith out across the chasm. Before she knew what had happened, the platform on the other side was beneath her feet and she let go of the rope with her team-mates all around her.

"Go!" shouted Mary and the whole team charged for the finish line. It was only once they reached it that Josephine realised that she was exhausted, and had suffered several scrapes and cuts. Moments later, another team dragged their Baby over the line, but that, like Josephine’s pain and exhaustion, did not matter. What mattered was that they had finished in first place.

Once more she was lying flat on her back in the mud, but this time the rest of the team was with her. Mary, sitting next to her, lifted her into a sitting position and placed her arm around her waist.

"Well done, Josephine," she said. "I’m glad they put you on our team."

 

That night, Mary invited Josephine to share a bed with her. An invitation from a team Captain to sleep with her normally took the form of an order, particularly for a Baby, but this invitation came as a polite request in the showers. Josephine accepted, and that evening the two women squeezed into Mary’s bunk bed together.

Although there was not much room in the bed, it was nice to have another warm body to snuggle up to, particularly as the dormitories were not well heated during the night. Mary was, of course, delighted about the performance of the team on the Assault Course, and was optimistic that they would continue to do well.

"I think they’ll be interviewing for the Probationer posts in a few weeks," she whispered. She had placed her right arm around Josephine and was slowly drawing circles on her back with her fingertips as they lay together in the bed.

"Do you think you’ll get it?" asked Josephine, squeezing herself closer into Mary so that their bosoms pressed together. It was a warm and comforting feeling.

"I don’t know, but I’d love to get that black uniform on," she replied. Josephine giggled. "I think you’d look great in it," she said.

"I want to guard politicals," said Mary. "I’d make life hell for the antisocial little bitches. Make them lick my boots."

"You wouldn’t do that to me would you?"

Mary chuckled. "Only if you wanted me to," she said. "No, you’re OK now. I wouldn’t be sleeping with you if I didn’t think you were on the level. Is it true that Miss Stapleton fucked you once?"

"Oh no, that’s not true!" replied Josephine, blushing. "She never sleeps with prisoners. She told me that."

"I heard that too. She’s got her own rules, Miss Stapleton does. Harper did me once, when I was in Level One."

"Miss Harper?"

"Oh yes. She does that with girls that act tough, to put them in their places. That wasn’t much fun, I can tell you. I was sore for weeks."

"I must admit, I’m still a virgin," said Josephine.

"What, after four months here?" replied Mary. "That must be a record!"

"Miss Jones had a go at me once, but no-one else has been interested."

"Jonesy doesn’t count. She’s a cretin. Do you know she once got bawled at by Stapleton for leaving her truncheon in the rack covered in some bird’s vagina juice."

"Ugh!"

"That’s what Stapleton thought. The stupid bitch will be back in one of our uniforms before long, I reckon. I’ll have some fun with her if they make me a wardress and her an inmate."

"I’ll bet!" laughed Josephine. She was beginning to enjoy Mary’s company and felt that life at North Castle Penitentiary might become quite bearable for her. She noticed that Mary’s hands had begun to explore more of her body and that both of them were more than a little aroused.

"I do hope they make you a wardress," cooed Josephine as she ran her fingers across the big girl’s shoulders. Mary’s breasts, large, firm and white, yawned invitingly in front of her and she playfully buried her face in the cleavage.

"Better get into practice then, hadn’t I!" replied Mary, suddenly hugging Josephine more tightly into her body so that their sexual parts were squeezed together. Josephine gasped in pure, ecstatic pleasure.

 

Prisoners sentenced to indefinite detention at North Castle normally spent at least two years in the prison. It therefore came as quite a shock next morning when, about an hour before lunch, Miss Jones burst into the gymnasium where Mary was putting her team through their paces to announce that 828 B Alpha Smythe Josephine would be released immediately into the custody of an employer.

"Are you sure that’s right, Miss?" asked Mary with alarming boldness when Miss Jones delivered the news. Josephine, who had just been about to make her fifth attempt at a running vault, was stunned into silence.

"What do you mean, ‘right’?" bellowed the wardress.

"I mean, she’s only been here….."

"I’m sorry to deprive you of your favourite whipping girl," replied Miss Jones sarcastically, "but something’s come in from high up. Very high up."

A rush of confusion flooded through Josephine’s mind. Why on earth was she being released?

"I really wouldn’t be pleased with yourself, bitch," leered Miss Jones. "You’re going to work for an old acquaintance of yours. Lady Justice Henrietta Raven, no less."

"Raven?" For some reason, the stunned reply came out in Joseph Smythe’s old voice, indignant and disgusted.

"Mistress Raven to you, maid!" cackled Miss Jones in delight.

Half an hour earlier, a heated debate had taken place in the Governess’ office between the Governess and two Special Constables who were also officers in the Enforcement Branch of the Community Party. The Constables, two women in their twenties, were already in a bad mood. Their assumption that a Community Party uniform granted its wearer automatic access to any government building she felt like entering had been challenged at the gates of the Penitentiary by a very officious old wardress who refused to let them in until she had peered very closely at their papers.

This was nothing compared to the intransigence of the Governess on being told that they had come to take the former Joseph Smythe to Lady Raven’s country residence and expected her to be delivered to them immediately. The Governess was, of course, fully committed to the policies of the current administration but was also horrified at the prospect of releasing a prisoner without going through the correct procedures.

"You don’t have any of the paperwork," she protested, standing belligerently over Josephine’s file which she had placed on her desk in the hope that it would somehow protect her. "And there has to be an assessment before…."

"Listen, Miss Peters," replied one of the Enforcement girls, impatiently. "We’ve got a letter from the Head of the Ministry of Law and Order instructing you to release this girl into our custody."

"Yes, I can see that, but I…."

"What more do you want, then?" The Enforcement woman leant over the Governess’ desk menacingly and Miss Stapleton, who was also present, stepped forward defensively. Reading the signs, the visitor stepped back with her arms in the air.

"Okay, that’s fine," she said. "My colleague and I will drive all the way back to Lady Raven’s mansion and tell her that you are deliberately ignoring a written instruction from her. Unless you’d rather pick up the telephone and talk to her yourself. Either way, I’d say your job was on the line, wouldn’t you?"

"Just let me think about this," replied the Governess, more than a little upset. "You’ve got it in writing from the Minister, you say?"

"That’s right, dear. We’ll give you a receipt for her as well. You can do all the paperwork you like when we’re gone."

"It’s rather irregular."

"Things have changed, Peters. Nobody likes your way of doing things any more. People like you are irregular now. The world is being run our way now."

The Governess stood upright, reminded herself of the virtue of humility and reached a decision.

"Very well," she said. "Miss Stapleton, you and Miss Jones see to the prisoner. We’ll treat this as an exceptional Class Two release on parole until I can think of a better way of dealing with it. Ladies, you will have Smythe in shortly under an hour from now; I trust that is satisfactory."

"Hope you never have a fire in here," muttered the other Enforcement girl. "You’d all be dead if it takes you an hour to get someone out of the door."

"Hilarious," muttered the Governess, dismissing Miss Stapleton from the room.

The administration of North Castle left no time at all for heartfelt partings when prisoners were separated and Josephine barely had time to wave to Mary and the others as Miss Jones seized her hand and whisked her away from them. She wondered if she would ever see them, or indeed the prison again as the wardress pulled her along the forbidding corridors towards Miss Stapleton’s office. Josephine was glad she was going there because at least she would get to see the senior wardress again.

Miss Stapleton was waiting for them with a bag of items Josephine recognised as the property the wardresses had taken away from Joseph immediately after the sentence and a number of yellow forms she had hastily completed in her large handwriting, ugly but clearly legible.

"Josephine! Come in quickly and we’ll deal with this as soon as possible. Sign these papers here to show that you’ve read and understood them. Don’t worry, you’ll get a copy of them all when we’re done."

"Right," said Miss Jones as Josephine began to sign the various forms as directed by Miss Stapleton. "You’re being released into the care of Henrietta Raven as your employer. You will remain at liberty only so long as we receive satisfactory reports on your conduct from her. Do you understand."

"Yes, Miss."

"Parole lasts for two years, unless extended. We can do that at any time. After then you’re a free woman."

Josephine could not help smiling at herself when she heard the ‘unless extended’ from Miss Jones. Rumour had it that Miss Stapleton had, for various reasons, just extended her parole for another year. Unconsciously, Miss Jones placed her hand over the silver badge on her uniform.

"That’s the forms done, dear," said Miss Stapleton. "Now these are your belongings. The clothes in there are unsuitable of course, but we won’t kick you out of here with nothing on! I found you some bits and pieces the girls were throwing out."

She tossed over a dusty old frock, mostly red with small white flowers dotted around it, a yellowing pair of knickers, a bra that had also seen better days and a battered pair of high heeled shoes.

"You can get changed here," she said. "Miss Jones will take care of the prison clothes."

"Thank you, Miss," replied Josephine, hastily unbuttoning her blue and white dress.

"You’re welcome. I’m sorry you’re leaving us so soon, but there’s nothing we can do about it at the moment. I thought you were getting on very well, and that isn’t just my opinion. Miss Harper said something about you yesterday."

"You’re very kind, Miss." replied Josephine. The clothes she was putting on smelled as though they had been left in a slightly damp cupboard for a very long time, but at least they were warm.

"Good luck," said Miss Jones, with veiled sarcasm as she scooped up the dress Josephine had discarded. "Wish I could have… known you better."

I don’t, thought Josephine as the fat wardress departed. She was having difficulty getting her feet into the high heeled shoes and once they were on they were quite painful to walk in, particularly as Josephine had nothing between them and her feet. Other than Joseph Smythe’s useless clothes, the bag contained his tattered wallet which still contained three ten pound notes, a five pound note, and an old library card. Joseph’s digital watch was there too, still running and surprisingly only half an hour slow.

Although she had been in the prison for less than five months, these artefacts seemed to her as though they had been undisturbed for years, belonging to another era. She wondered just how much the world had changed around her. There were no pockets in the dress, so Josephine slipped the watch and the money inside her oversized bra. There seemed to be no better place to put them. She indicated that the rest of the contents of the bag no longer interested her.

"All done, then?" asked Miss Stapleton. Her smile dissolved into a look of concern as she saw the apprehension on Josephine’s face. "Don’t worry, you’ll be alright. You just have to do what Lady Raven tells you and learn to enjoy working in her house. I’m sure you’ll find that many of the lessons you’ve learnt here will come in useful to you. And if everything goes wrong, we can always bring you back here."

"Thank you, Miss Stapleton," whispered Josephine.

"And one other thing. I’m still responsible for your welfare. If you do need help, and I mean really need help, Josephine, you can get in touch with me." Miss Stapleton scribbled a telephone number on a slip of paper and handed it to Josephine. "Right then, off you go!"

The wardress gave Josephine a quick hug before leading her away.

Josephine watched the bleak moor outside come into view as the iron gates of North Castle Women’s Penitentiary creaked open. The warm winds has brought a great mass of storm clouds with them that hung menacingly overhead. She was sitting on the back seat of an old but powerful car; an official vehicle with Party symbols on the doors which growled aggressively as it waited to lurch forwards. The driver drummed impatiently on the steering wheel while her colleague hummed to herself.

"Say goodbye to the easy life," sneered the driver as, finally they were given the all clear to drive through the gateway and out along the narrow road that wound across the moor. "That’s my taxes you’ve been living off, you and those cows that think they run the place. Bit of a holiday camp, isn’t it?"

Josephine declined to answer. The oversized underwear, no doubt distended by being stretched around huge women’s bodies was proving quite uncomfortable and the money inside her bra scratched against her breasts. She resisted the temptation to adjust her bra in case the Party women decided to search her there.

"Lady Raven’s going to make you pay for all that now," continued the driver, the older of the two escorts. "I really wouldn’t want to be in your position."

"Why does she want me…." began Josephine, but her voice trailed away.

The woman in the passenger seat leant back with a sickly grin.

"She needs a new girlfriend," she leered. "She broke her last one."

Henrietta Raven was not religious herself, but was strongly of the opinion that society would be a better place if the general population, ‘the cattle’ as she liked to call them, believed sincerely in a wrathful deity and an afterlife in which any criminal thought or deed would be met with savage, inescapable punishment. She had always licked her lips at the thought of the powers of ancient priests who could convincingly sentence an enemy of society to a thousand years of torment, imagining the sheer terror and animal obedience such people could command.

In particular, Henrietta wished that the afterlife of popular belief contained an especially unpleasant place for those guilty of eluding society’s punishments by taking their own lives. It seemed desperately unfair to her that anyone, however weak and stupid, who would lay their hands on a blade a rope or a gun was given this choice to resign from existence altogether rather than accept the fate they deserved.

On the other hand, there was something rather satisfying for her about the knowledge that her actions had led directly to an enemy, a weaker person, despairing to the point of suicide. There was a refreshing taste of blood in that, Henrietta thought, remembering her mixed feelings when the very first person on whom she had passed a life sentence, an arsonist as it happened who was probably insane, hanged himself in his cell a few weeks later.

Such thoughts came immediately to her mind when she received the police report on Alison’s suicide and busied herself for a moment deciding what the Press would be allowed to say about it. A little careful editing would easily remove the mystery surrounding the death and turn it into something people would expect to read about.

Henrietta sighed as she put down her black fountain pen. She liked to work at home whenever possible, at a large desk she had set up in one corner of her giant hall. She was proud of how effectively she had become the modern re-incarnation of the Cromwellian lady who had used the house as the centre of a secret power network although she, unlike her seventeenth century ancestor did not have to bear the indignity of living with a man who was, in theory, her master. Modern women had thrown away the parasitic male like an athlete temporarily disabled by a broken leg, throws away her crutch when she no longer needs it.

Henrietta considered the spheres in which she operated one at a time. The Ministry of Law and Order, Factor Three, the Party, and of course the women only clubs in London where she frequently met her own kind. The convenient, and in her view fairly inexpensive explosion in the MLO headquarters had left her more or less supreme in the Ministry. Factor Three was under control, or at least at bay, for the time being. Furthermore, she was a darling of the Party, particularly the youth wing who saw her as celebrity thanks to Sophia’s wonderful magazine. Now was a time to relax and consolidate, thought Henrietta. She needed time to consider her next move.

It was then that North Castle Penitentiary crossed her mind. From an official point of view there was nothing wrong with the place at all. It had received a glowing report from a recent inspection and it’s fearsome regime continued to prove most effective in reforming its inmates. Unofficially, it had become a minor thorn in her side.

Factor Three was working hard to tighten its grip on public administration, the Ministry of Law and Order in particular, but North Castle was proving resistant to its control, much to Henrietta’s embarrassment. Peters, the Governess there, had made her distaste for Factor Three abundantly clear on several occasions and had enforced a rigorous policy to exclude her staff from membership. Henrietta liked North Castle a great deal, but the insularity of the place and Peters’ obsession with doing everything ‘by the book’ were unhelpful to her. Her plans for the future demanded absolute control of the prisons, especially the centres with gender reversal facilities.

Henrietta decided to sleep on the problem for the time being and turned her thoughts to lighter matters. North Castle had connected itself in her mind to something else, a little triumph of hers about six months ago. What had happened to that wretched little man she had sent there? Did she care? Not particularly, but she was curious. She had been impressed by the output North Castle had generated in the past, but had never seen the results of its work up close. Could they really turn something repulsive like Smythe into an obedient and attractive female servant in only six months? They had recently sent her some papers on the case, which made interesting reading, though difficult to believe.

"I’ll find out," she thought aloud. "I need something to amuse me, and it might satisfy a little more than just my curiosity." On impulse she reached for her telephone.

The journey from North Castle to Henrietta Raven’s estate took about two and a half hours during which time little was said between the Party women and their unwilling passenger. Most of the time they were on motorways though they sometimes went along smaller roads which passed through towns and villages.

The first few times they halted at a junction, Josephine toyed with the idea of making a run for it. Her hands were free and, to the best of her knowledge there were no special locks on the doors. She realised that any such attempt would be futile as she was in no condition to escape and, in any case, thirty five pounds would not get her very far. Joseph Smythe’s old underground contacts were probably long gone and, even if she could find one of them it was unlikely that they would help her. In any case, a part of her did not want to disappoint the prison authorities who had helped her so far by trying to escape. There was nothing for it, she reflected grimly, but to accept her fate.

Instead she peered out of the windows at the world around her looking for signs that things had changed. Most things were the same of course, but as the Party car drifted through the countryside she noticed the small differences. There were more police around than there had been before, and of course the Party colours were everywhere. On the outskirts of a city the road passed by an enormous military base. Josephine could make out squads of young women in khaki shirts and shorts jogging round the hastily constructed corrugated iron huts.

"National service," commented the driver. "Bloody good thing as well. Nothing like the Army to show a girl what’s what!"

"I’m glad I joined the Party police instead, though," said her companion. "Much more fun if you ask me. Did you hear about the arrests last week?"

"I heard something. Is that this new Preventive Custody thing I’ve heard about?"

"Something like that. I’m not sure what they call it. Anyway, it’s much easier now to pick up politicals than it used to be. The Ministry can lock up anyone it likes these days, unless you’re Party of course."

"Why doesn’t everyone just join the Party, then?" asked the driver.

"Well, that’s the way its going, isn’t it? But if you’re in the Party, you got Internal Discipline to worry about. I’d rather deal with the police than those girls any day."

"Who are they?" asked Josephine, curiously.

"Something to avoid," replied the Party woman.

Eventually they arrived at the wrought iron gates that marked the entrance to Henrietta Raven’s extensive country estate. It was early in the afternoon and the thunderclouds had shed their load, leaving puddles on the poorly drained country roads. The sky was now quite clear overhead and the sunlight heightened the colour of the blossom on the elderly trees on either side of the gatehouse.

There were two guards manning the gates, which had recently been reinforced and Josephine noticed that, masked from the main road by the trees, a high barbed wire fence, possibly electric, had also been erected. Clearly, Henrietta Raven had found reasons to fortify her personal dominion. The guards called for the Party car to halt and the driver wound down her window. She was clearly recognised because the gatekeepers, girls from the Party Youth judging from their uniforms, quickly snapped to attention and pulled the gates open.

"That’s a bit more like it," muttered the driver. "No messing around."

The Raven estate, or the parts of it Josephine could see from the gravel driveway consisted mostly of traditional English oak woods, deliberately allowed to grow wild but thinned out a little so it would be possible to ride amongst the trees on horseback. It would have been a beautiful place for a country walk and Josephine felt sorry that this little world had been sealed off from the public. As it was, there was something quite forbidding about the dark forest, as though it were another barrier to keep Josephine from escaping from her new mistress.

The drive opened out in front of the red brick façade of the manor house itself. Like the rest of the estate it seemed like a pleasant place that had fallen on evil times under its owner and had become sinister. There was no question of them entering through the front door so they went through a little gate at the side of the building, past a herb garden and into a stone yard. Josephine had difficulty walking on the coarse gravel as her heels kept slipping down between the stones.

"Right," said the driver. "Lets hope Miss Blacklock is in. I don’t want to meet Lady Raven again if I can help it."

"Who’s Miss Blacklock," asked Josephine.

"Raven’s housekeeper. Your new boss."

The driver located the tradesman’s entrance, a narrow door with peeling green paint, and rapped twice on the knocker. She waited for a moment, then impatiently rapped again.

"Come on, I want to get home," she murmured. "This place gives me the creeps." Suddenly footsteps were heard behind the door which swung open to reveal a middle aged woman in a charcoal grey dress. She was not particularly tall but managed to be quite intimidating nevertheless. Her dark hair was tightly tied back and her face seemed locked into a permanent scowl which merely intensified on occasions, such as this one, when she was irritated.

"I heard you the first time," she bellowed, glaring accusingly at the three arrivals. "You don’t need to wear the thing out!" She waited for the visitors to introduce themselves, making no attempt to conceal her distaste for all three of them and for Josephine in particular. "Well?" she asked a moment later.

"This is Lady Raven’s new maidservant," replied one of the Party women. "Can we leave her with you?"

"New maid?" replied the woman in grey. "I wasn’t informed of this."

"You weren’t informed?"

"The Mistress would have informed me if she was taking on another girl in the house. I am housekeeper here after all."

"Well, how do you explain this then?" The Party woman handed a letter over to the housekeeper who snatched it off her and read it close to her face as though inspecting a suspect banknote. A look of dismay and mild disgust deepened her frown as she handed it back before slowly looking up and down Josephine’s body.

"A convict, eh?" she said. "Leave her to me. I’ll take her in to see the Mistress. You can go." The Party women departed.

"In," she said to Josephine, and closed the door once they were both inside the house. "Follow."

The housekeeper walked briskly through the scullery and kitchens of the great old house with Josephine struggling to keep up behind her. They paused by a heavy oaken door.

"Stay here. Don’t touch a thing," ordered Miss Blacklock before opening the door which led into the baronial hall at the heart of Henrietta’s home. She slipped quietly through the door before closing it on Josephine. Muffled voices could be heard through the door which was too thick to allow her to make out the conversation.

A few minutes later, the door was opened once again.

"Come in," said the housekeeper. "The Mistress is waiting."

 

 

CHAPTER SEVEN: IN THE HOUSEHOLD

 

Henrietta Raven had almost forgotten the telephone call she had made to the Head of Penal Services, a mole-like woman with an owlish stare that, it was said, could bore holes in one of her own prison walls. This irritating person, who would shortly be heading for an unpleasant form of ‘early retirement’, had insisted on her putting the order in writing. Henrietta sent two Party girls to North Castle with a letter she had hastily scribbled out and put the matter out of her mind.

Her latest promotion had given her plenty of other things to think about, many of which she considered too mundane for her own attention. Total control of a large organisation, and influence in several others, generated a large amount of work which was tedious but, given her dislike and suspicion of people like the Head of Penal Services, difficult to delegate. Everything in life had its disadvantages, even political power.

Today, however, would be a day of leisure. She decided this in her bed, first thing in the morning and telephoned her secretary to curtly inform her that she would be unavailable for the day. Unavailable for anyone other than the Prime Minister, she had added, hastily remembering her place in the natural order.

"Every woman has a mistress", she muttered stoically to herself.

Raven got up early as always, but instead of a business suit she pulled on her jodhpurs and a cream silk blouse to go riding in the woods around her house. The fresh air exhilarated her and helped clear the cobwebs from her mind, and she stayed outdoors for some time, her horse’s hooves beating the bounds of her estate. The thunderclouds were rolling in, so she returned to the great hall to demand a large cooked breakfast. Savouring her food, she promised herself she would spend more days like this, at home with nature, away from her cares and the dusty corridors of the Ministry of Law and Order.

She raised an eyebrow at her housekeeper’s interruption, thought for a moment and remembered Josephine Smythe. Recalling Joseph at his trial, and the papers from the prison, which rested on a coffee table beneath her riding whip, she prepared herself for what she hoped would be an entertaining experience.

Closely followed by the watchful housekeeper, Josephine shuffled into the room. Joseph Smythe had never seen Henrietta Raven as a human being. To him she was a symbol, an cipher wrapped in ermine who served only as a focal point for the wrath of the system he defied. She might as well have been a robot, programmed to deliver a sentence that had been decided by impersonal forces, sociological calculus and the will of the faceless. Josephine remembered her with a religious terror, a figurehead again, but one who represented the moral authority of the unimpeachable State she had mortally offended and from which she now humbly sought mercy.

Both illusions dissolved before her eyes when she saw Henrietta’s handsome figure in the centre of her private empire. Liberated from the heavy trappings of justice, her body shone forth in health and beauty which belied her years. Her hair was long and golden, just starting to turn grey, and the exercise she took ensured that no frailty could take hold of her. But it was her piercing glance and understanding smile that made the greatest impression. The Judge, now Minister for Law and Order and ultimate author of everything that had happened to Josephine was revealed as a person. She was a thinking, feeling being who had deliberately chosen Joseph’s fate.

Henrietta looked down on the creature who had crawled unwillingly into her domain. She recognised enough of the features of the prisoner in the dock to know it was Smythe but could see that, on the outside at least, North Castle had done its work. The surgery was only part of the story. Far more important was the way the captive walked and stood. Joseph Smythe’s conceited, arrogant swagger had gone and in its place she held herself meekly, as though afraid of anything she might encounter. Joseph Smythe had either been reformed, or had become a good actor. Has she crushed him completely, or did he live on, hidden in this creature.

"Smythe," she said at last.

"Mistress?" replied Josephine, hesitantly,

"Mistress." Henrietta confirmed with satisfaction. She could see that Josephine looked relieved, yet at the same time pained by this exchange. There was another awkward pause.

"Miss Blacklock!" called Henrietta. "I cannot stand the sight, or indeed the stench of this maid any longer. Bring her back to me washed and in uniform. Use the cane on her if she causes any trouble."

"Thank you, ma’am," replied the housekeeper, her permanent scowl creasing into an uncharacteristic smile as she propelled Josephine out of the room.

Josephine was used to rough treatment from the wardresses at North Castle but even this did not prepare her for Miss Blacklock’s enthusiastic approach to preparing a new maid for her Mistress’s service.

Their first destination after her introduction to the Mistress was a wooden shed in the back yard which contained a couple of large enamel sinks, three old fashioned toilets with square wooden seats, and a large tin basin full of water. Miss Blacklock had no intention of wasting time boiling water for the bath and ordered Josephine to strip and climb into the basin straight away. As she stepped into the stale water, reminded uncomfortably of the Bath in the Lower Basement, the housekeeper armed herself with what looked like a lavatory brush and a large bar of off-yellow soap.

"Hold still, you filthy little slut," ordered Miss Blacklock before launching herself into a furious assault on Josephine. The fiercely alkaline soap scoured her skin as the housekeeper scrubbed her all over, lifting her arms to reach into her armpits and her tender breasts. Despite the fact that the water was almost freezing cold, Josephine felt cleaner than she had ever done before in her life when she had finished.

Worse was to come. As Josephine shivered in the heavy froth the soap left in the bath water, Miss Blacklock produced a pair of scissors from her dress and seized hold of as much of her hair as she could.

"What are you doing?" squealed Josephine.

"Did I speak to you, maid?" screamed the housekeeper, twisting Josephine’s hair and jamming her head against the rim of the bath. Her tone softened. "You’ll wear a bonnet when you’re serving; nobody will see your hair. If the Mistress lets you leave the house, I might let you grow it back."

With that she cut cleanly through the tangled mass with her scissors, leaving Josephine’s hair a tangled mess of strands varying from one to four inches in length. It was an effective way of making it more difficult for her to escape, Josephine thought grimly as Miss Blacklock disposed of the severed locks of hair.

"Pick up your clothes and follow me," Miss Blacklock barked. "Rinse the suds off first. Move it!"

Josephine had been careful to conceal the money stuffed into her bra as she stripped before bathing and gathered it up with the bundle of clothes on the floor. The housekeeper gave her no time to dry herself off, even if a towel had been available, and she was still dripping wet as they crossed the stone courtyard and went back into the house.

Miss Blacklock led the naked girl back through the kitchens towards the back stairs where they encountered another maid, a pretty young woman in a baggy grey and white uniform, busy washing the floor on her hands and knees. Looking up in surprise, the maid could not conceal a gasp of delight when she saw what Miss Blacklock had done to Josephine.

"This is going in with you, Penelope," muttered Miss Blacklock. "I want you to show her the ropes."

"Yes, Miss," Penelope was inspecting Josephine with interest, but despite this Josephine warmed to her immediately. Penelope’s fascination was in no way sadistic, quite the opposite in fact. Josephine could see that Penelope seemed to envy her position.

"She’s seeing the Mistress in half an hour," continued the housekeeper. "Then I’ll give her to you. Get back to work."

They climbed three flights of stairs up into the attic of the house into a narrow corridor. Miss Blacklock led her to a wooden door, which was only about five feet high. She tried to push it open but, finding it jammed shut, had to force it with her shoulder. Through the door was a small bedroom with a low sloping roof. The room was very plainly furnished, containing only a single bed and a wardrobe, but immaculately clean.

"Maids’ room," grunted the housekeeper. "Penelope and You."

She ambled over to the wardrobe and pulled it open.

"Uniform," she said, "Black and white for serving, grey for kitchen work. Get dressed."

Ten minutes later, Josephine was standing in a starched maid’s outfit complete with a crisp white bonnet and apron. Though she was already used to old fashioned women’s underwear, Josephine had particular difficulty with the corset and suspender belt she had to wear under the sombre black dress. Miss Blacklock watched her efforts to dress properly with mild amusement, occasionally stepping in to assist her where necessary.

When she had finished dressing, the housekeeper ordered her to stand up straight and carefully inspected her, smoothing out any creases she could find in her apron and ensuring that all of her hair was tucked under the bonnet. Finally, she slipped a black ribbon beneath the collar of Josephine’s dress and tied it in a neat bow around her neck.

"Right," she said when she had finished. "I want you washed and looking exactly like this for inspection in my pantry at half past six each morning, seven o clock on Sundays. Uniform infractions are dealt with particularly severely, so take care. Leave your own clothes in the wardrobe and follow me."

Walking awkwardly in the high heeled shoes that formed part of her uniform, Josephine followed the housekeeper back down the stairs and through the kitchen. Miss Blacklock noted with displeasure that Penelope had disappeared and wondered aloud where she had gone.

 

Henrietta reclined in her armchair, casually leafing through some official papers. She had remembered a particularly enjoyable task awaited her and, despite her resolution not to do any work on that day, decided to apply herself to it.

A newly formed commando team of Party Enforcers had proven its worth by breaking up a group of anti-feminists. They had caught a group of reactionaries with a cache of small arms in London who, under suitable persuasion, had provided the Enforcement women with the names of several suspected agitators. These had all been arrested and, under the new Emergency Powers legislation, the fates of the terrorists were placed directly in Henrietta’s delicate hands.

It was mainly on the basis of the photographs the Ministry has provided that Henrietta was sorting the reactionaries into two piles; the ones who would be shot out of hand and the ones who would go to prisons or reformatories. Women automatically went into the second pile along with younger, less repulsive men who might redeem themselves by compulsory admission to the superior sex.

There were now five penal establishments offering this service along with several private institutions catering for the growing number of male volunteers for gender reversal, mostly to find employment or a college place. The recently passed Positive Discrimination Act made it virtually impossible for men to enter the Services or any of the professions and the Prime Minister’s latest intonation against the evils of ‘male domination’ made it clear that worse was to come. Henrietta had recently sent a card to congratulate a junior clerk in one of her offices whose successful operation had just made the Ministry of Law and Order officially male free. Something to add to the letterheads.

But change, however welcome to the many, is always resisted by the selfish few and these enemies of society kept Henrietta busy. It would not be nearly as much fun without some resistance, she thought, flipping through the ‘shooting’ pile and wondering when and where the executions might be carried out most effectively.

Just then, her housekeeper’s familiar knock came on the door. She remembered Josephine and smiled as the two women walked into the room. The new maid was clearly uncomfortable, probably from the scrubbing Miss Blacklock would have given her, and unused to walking in the high heeled shoes that were part of her uniform. The maid’s outfit suited Josephine perfectly, as though the girl had been born to serve her social betters. Henrietta was filled with a deep satisfaction when she saw her stumbling across the room.

The Mistress placed her papers on the table as Josephine meekly stood to attention, trying her best to keep her balance on the uneven floor. She would have fun watching her try to serve tea but made a mental note not to let her carry the expensive china.

"You may leave us, Miss Blacklock," she said, after a suitable pause. The housekeeper shot a threatening glance at the maid before departing.

"Why do you think I brought you here?" asked Henrietta.

"I don’t know, Mistress," replied Josephine. Henrietta feigned shocked astonishment at Josephine, as though deeply offended. She reached out across the table and Josephine’s eyes followed her hand towards the riding whip.

"Perhaps I should acquaint you with some of the rules of my household," she said, quite sternly. "Number One. I do not expect to hear a maidservant referring to herself in the first person in my presence at any time. You should have responded ‘The maid does not know, Mistress.’ Secondly, you will not attempt to leave the house at any time. You have seen the perimeter fence, I trust, and the dogs would find you very quickly."

"Thirdly, and perhaps most obviously, you will obey me, Miss Blacklock and any other person I place over you immediately, in all things and without question. The housekeeper is authorised to deal with minor breaches of discipline. More serious matters are of course referred to me." She paused for a moment. "Misbehaving here will not result in you being sent back to the penitentiary, but if you try my patience, you will wish that it did. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good. Now, to return to my original question, I brought you here mostly out of curiosity. I’ve been reading some reports about you from the prison. Here’s a recent one: ‘Smythe seems to be unaware of any emotions other than fear, pain and the desire to please those able to protect her. Under careful guidance, this is developing into pro social behaviour and a healthy respect for authority. She has the makings of a model citizen but will never be suitable for any role requiring autonomy or individual initiative. Recommended for light domestic and/or secretarial duties’"

Josephine smiled momentary in gratitude to the wardresses but she quickly lowered her eyes as the Mistress looked up from the papers. Henrietta stared hard at her new servant, her eyes like searchlights scanning across her soul.

"Some time ago," she said, "I sentenced a vile little creature called Joseph Smythe to full gender reversal and corrective training in a women’s penitentiary in the hope that something serviceable to the State might be recovered from the prisoner. It would appear my hopes were justified and that Joseph Smythe has become a better person. Wouldn’t you agree?"

"I…The maid hopes so, Mistress."

"I’m sure she does." Henrietta was interrupted by a thud from the wall which made her start for a moment, then settle back into her stride.

"The house makes noises," she remarked nonchalantly. "But to return to my question, I have no interest in what the maid thinks, hopes or cares about." Henrietta’s tone changed suddenly. "I was talking to you, Joseph Smythe!"

"Joseph isn’t here!" Josephine protested, in a panic.

"Liar!" hissed Henrietta. In a moment she was on her feet with her whip raised in her hand. Josephine stepped back in terror, stumbled on her high heels and ended up in a heap on the floor. In truth, Henrietta did not know whether Josephine was lying or not but had already made up her mind to make her new maid suffer. If Joseph was still there, putting on an act which had fooled the wardresses, she would punish him for it. If not, Josephine was an inferior being whose suffering was of no moral consequence.

"I know that you are in there, Smythe," she shouted, brandishing her weapon. "Peters and her minions were fools enough for you to deceive, but I am not an idiot like them."

Henrietta paused. She could see that Josephine was now in tears and had pulled herself into a tight bundle with her arms around her legs.

"Are you crying, little girl?" teased Henrietta. "Do you think I’m going to hurt you? I won’t hurt you, Josephine. Why would I want to do that?"

At the sound of her name, Josephine allowed herself to uncurl a little and peered up at her Mistress through her knees. Henrietta seemed to have calmed down and had lowered her riding whip. She no longer appeared immediately dangerous. Henrietta took on a sympathetic expression and extended her free hand towards her.

"Come," she said. "Let me help you to your feet."

Josephine lowered her knees and, surrounded by her crumpled uniform, trustingly took the Mistress’s hand and began to step up from the floor. She did not even see Henrietta’s hand move as, suddenly, the Mistress wrenched her hand out of her grasp and brought down her whip across Josephine’s face, sending her sprawling to the ground.

The maid screamed in agony as the shock of the blow resolved itself into a searing line of pain that ran from her right cheek down across her chin and her left breast. Instinctively, she coiled herself into a foetal position with her back to her assailant. Henrietta looked down on her, flushed with delight at what she had done. She had wanted to take a whip to Joseph Smythe ever since she had set eyes on him in the courtroom.

"That is the price of your insolence, Smythe. That, and more, until I break you."

"Joseph isn’t here," squealed Josephine in a panic. "Please don’t hurt me, Mistress!"

"Speak when I tell you to, bitch!" shouted Henrietta, grasping for her riding whip. "How would you know if he was? He’s a lot more intelligent than you are, and devious too. Besides, it doesn’t matter what happens to you. You are an animal, Josephine. One of the million. And it’s time you learnt respect for your superiors. Roll up your petticoat, and get your underwear down. This is a matter between me and Joseph Smythe. Tell him that this will continue until he speaks to me."

Josephine hesitated.

"Did you hear me, maid?" screamed Henrietta. Quickly, Josephine pulled up her skirts and hurriedly dropped her underwear around her ankles, exposing her behind to the Mistress.

"Now, Joseph Smythe," cooed Henrietta. "Perhaps you can tell me what it’s like to be a woman. What is it like to suffer as so many of our sisters suffered, and still suffer today in other countries at the hands of vicious men like you, and to suffer at the hands of a woman?"

To underline her point, she cracked her whip across Josephine’s naked buttocks, making her squeal in pain.

"Well?" she demanded. Once again, the determination that had helped Josephine survive in the prison, took control of her. She rubbed the tears from her eyes with her sleeve, and turned to face the Mistress, who was waiting for her to speak.

"I am a woman," said Josephine, slowly. "And I’m glad I’m a woman because men are evil and they cause all the pain and injustice in the world."

Henrietta looked down at Josephine’s earnest face with mild amusement, but some surprise.

"Carry on, my dear," she said, indulgently, lowering her arm.

"I’m sorry I used to be a man," continued Josephine. "And that I did bad things when I was a man. I know that I have to be punished for that. I don’t know if that man still lives inside me or not, but I cannot hear him now."

"You’re a stronger girl than I thought, Josephine," said Raven, thoughtfully. "And I know that you want to be free from him. But I can tell you now that whatever you do, and whatever you become, you will never be rid of that taint. We will make you suffer for it as long as you live. You are one of us now, but will always be inferior because of what you were. You can never be complete."

"I hate him, Mistress." said Josephine.

"I know you do. And when I have finished with you, you will hate him more than you imagine possible. Get on your feet and bend over that chair."

Josephine squirmed awkwardly on the floor, desperately trying to get back on her feet. The pain in her backside was subsiding, but her face and left bosom were both sore from the earlier blow. Her maid’s cap fell onto the ground allowing her tangled, uneven mass of hair to flop down around her tearful eyes and around her shoulders. Henrietta was standing over her, a picture of terrible beauty tapping her whip impatiently against her thigh.

"I don’t have all day," she snapped as Josephine finally clambered to her feet with her panties around her ankles before draping herself over a chair as ordered by the Mistress with her white buttocks, now sporting an ugly red weal, in the air.

"I’m going to hurt you now," said Henrietta, raising her weapon with a flourish. "I’m going to hurt you a great deal because I can and I enjoy doing so. Plead for mercy if you like. It won’t make any difference to you but it will make the experience more pleasant for me." Josephine closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable flogging to commence.

Hidden in a narrow gap between the oak panelling and the wall dividing the great hall from the kitchens, Penelope viewed the scene through a crack in the panels with growing excitement. She knew that the Mistress would not fail to take an opportunity to humiliate a woman in her power, which was why she had come to watch. She closed her eyes in warm contentment as she listened to Josephine’s pitiful screams interspersed with blows of ever increasing ferocity. Imagining herself in the new maid’s place, enjoying the undivided attention of the Mistress, she shuddered with delight.

The Chief Officer of North Castle Penitentiary traditionally lived in a suite of rooms directly over the main gates, which afforded its resident a good view of the courtyard but were noisy due to the clashing of the gates and the drone of engines below. Such details were unimportant to Miss Harper, who had dreamt of occupying this room ever since she entered the prison as an eighteen year old junior wardress.

She was one of only three members of staff who remembered the prison as it used to be, before the Government suspended its operations. Delighted to return when it reopened, she found that her ideas on the correction of wayward young women were once again in fashion. The wretched liberals had been given their chance and had failed. It was time for a return to discipline. Nothing, however, compared to her joy when, in the total absence of any other suitably experienced candidates interested in the job, the Powers That Be, as she always called them, reluctantly handed her the baton that made her Chief Officer and, next to the Governess herself, mistress of the Penitentiary.

Her baton, finished in black velvet with a silver pommel at each end, lay across her knees as she relaxed in the chair countless Chief Officers before her had occupied. She was listening to a victory march on her old record player. The recording was tinny and full of crackles but for some reason she preferred it that way.

She also preferred to keep her rooms as old fashioned as possible, not bare and austere like Miss Stapleton’s quarters, but full of old clutter like the backroom of an antique store. Most of her possessions were old military things, her father’s medals, a couple of gas masks and a musty smelling banner captured from a German submarine in the First World War. There were also a few items she kept locked away in cupboards for private entertainment and for her own unofficial disciplinary procedures.

One of North Castle’s traditions was that, while the other wardresses would get an inmate to polish the boots that came with their best uniforms the Chief Officer could demand this service from a junior wardress. Miss Harper always had this done while they were on her feet, partly because she enjoyed the soothing massage her bunions received through the shiny leather, but also because it was her only opportunity to talk intimately with her favourite troops without going through the normal chain of command.

Today it was Miss Jones’s turn, which was good because the young wardress approached the task with an enthusiasm which Miss Harper approved of. It was this vigour that had led her to select Jones as a trainee wardress from the inmates despite her less than perfect disciplinary record. There was something about her approach, straightforward and uncompromising, that Miss Harper liked. Today, however, Miss Jones seemed preoccupied with something, and not entirely happy, and Miss Harper remembered one or two things Miss Stapleton had said about her.

"Is everything alright for you, Jones?" she enquired.

"Yes, thank you, Miss." came the surly reply. Jones was concentrating on the boots and could not bring herself to look up at the Chief Officer.

"Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?"

"No, Miss." Jones kept staring at the floor.

Miss Harper quickly leant forwards, placed her baton under Miss Jones’ chin and jerked it upwards so the young wardress was forced to look straight into her eyes.

"Answer me!" she ordered in an icy tone.

"I can’t say Miss, it’s….."

"Stapleton?" Miss Harper lifted her baton a little further, well aware of the discomfort this would cause. Miss Jones flushed with embarrassment, but knew there was no point in hiding her feelings from Miss Harper.

"Yes, Miss," she said. Miss Harper relaxed her grip.

"You can always say what you think in here," she said. "And I expect nothing less. Stapleton’s the problem, then?"

"I think she picks on me, Miss, because I’m an ex-con, I…."

"That’s nonsense, Jones. There are several girls here who started out as inmates. Stapleton has no problem with them. She doesn’t like you because you don’t fit in with her ideas. I don’t like her because she doesn’t fit with mine. That’s how it works. Get used to it."

"Yes, Miss."

Miss Harper smiled. "There are, of course, ways around this problem." she said, slyly.

"I don’t know what you mean, Miss."

"Your future isn’t just up to her, you know," replied the Chief Officer. "I, for example, have overall control of what happens in this prison. Other than the Governess, of course," she added as an afterthought.

She then released Miss Jones altogether and gave her a moment to consider what she had just heard.

"Do you think you could…"

"Of course not!" snapped Miss Harper. "Stapleton can do what she likes with her own people. I would only intervene in…. exceptional cases."

"What might be exceptional, Miss?" asked Miss Jones, realising that Miss Harper was looking at her quizzically.

"Difficult to say. Did you know that the Governess has no memory for figures?"

"Pardon, Miss?"

"Just an interesting fact. They say she has to keep the combination for the safe in her office written down in a drawer in her desk. Rather foolish, don’t you think?"

"I…I don’t know, Miss."

"Particularly given that one of the files in there, a blue one on the top shelf, quite distinct from the others, might contain some information that would be of interest to someone in London. Just to borrow for an hour or so, you understand. Someone who sells newspapers in a precise location I can provide you with, as it happens."

"Do you want me to….."

"I want you to do what’s best for yourself and also to serve your country, Jones. Needless to say, this conversation has not taken place and, should you ever chance upon this file, its contents will remain a secret to you. On pain of something most unpleasant, I might add."

Miss Jones’s eyes widened. She was terrified of Miss Harper, but trusted her as well in an odd sort of way.

"I can see two futures for you, my dear," continued Miss Harper. "I think a Senior Officer’s uniform might suit you better than it suits Miss Stapleton, but I can also see you screaming for mercy downstairs. There is one device in particular I believe you would prefer to avoid."

Miss Jones shuddered.

"I’ll do it, Miss." she said with a sudden resolve.

"I haven’t asked you to do a thing, my dear. Its important you understand that"

"No, Miss."

"Good girl. Very good. I think you are learning something about the world at long last."

"Ooh, you are a silly girl," remarked the cook in a sympathetic tone of voice. "Whatever did you do to make the Mistress so cross with you, my little one?"

"I don’t know, Miss," replied Josephine, sheepishly. The cook, a plump woman in her mid forties, had caught Josephine limping around the kitchens shortly after her interview with Henrietta. The jolly lady realised very quickly what had happened and slipped quickly into her second role as the household’s unofficial nurse. Calling for Penelope, she insisted on Josephine lying flat on her belly on the kitchen table, and before the maid could object, lifted her skirts to see what Henrietta had done.

The pain in Josephine’s buttocks was numbing, and she barely felt it as the cook unfastened her white petticoat and slipped it away from her.

"This will have to go in the wash, I’m afraid," said the cook, looking at the streaks of blood on the crumpled white cotton.

"I’m sorry, Miss," said Josephine.

"Don’t you worry you pretty little head about that," replied the cook with a friendly wink. "We’re used to getting all sorts of nasty stains out of things in this house. And my name’s Beatrice."

"Yes, Miss…….. Beatrice."

The cook laughed. "And I suppose you’re Josephine. The new girl. Penelope told me all about you. Aha. Talk of the devil!"

Penelope skipped into the room looking very pleased with herself. On seeing Josephine’s bare behind covered in red stripes she feigned a murmur of surprise and sympathy.

"What happened?" she asked, innocently.

"Our Josephine caught the Mistress in a temper," replied the cook. "Got herself chopped up good and proper. In fact, I think she’s going to need the iodine. Would you be a dear and fetch it please?"

Penelope nodded and quickly ducked out of the room. The cook began to wash her large pink hands.

"Don’t worry about the Mistress," she said. "She doesn’t always need a reason to beat her servants, particularly new girls. It’s just her way of saying ‘hello’. If you behave yourself she’ll get to like you. She only occasionally beats the girls she likes and we’ll just have to look after you in the meantime. It doesn’t happen to me very much because she never gets to see me. I’m just the cook. You have to watch old Miseryguts though."

"Miss Blacklock?"

"That’s her," chortled Beatrice. "Don’t even bother trying to get on her right side. She doesn’t have one."

Josephine managed to laugh as well. She liked Beatrice. Penelope returned carrying a heavy blue bottle.

"I’m afraid this is going to sting quite a lot," observed Beatrice. "It’s for your own good, though. You don’t want it going septic, and I’m afraid the Mistress won’t let us use modern medicines. Says they spoil the character of the kitchens. Be a brave girl and hold still for me if you can."

The cook went to work on Josephine’s behind and her experienced hands were both skilful and gentle. Penelope waited around to watch Josephine wincing as the iodine splashed onto her injuries but was also helpful in fetching anything that Beatrice needed to complete the job. When she has finished, Josephine’s backside was covered in dressings and already felt much better.

"There you go," beamed the cook. "Good as new. Well, almost. And do try to keep out of the Mistress’s way if you can. I don’t want to have to keep on mending you!"

"Thank you, you’re very kind," replied Josephine.

"That’s alright, dear. We girls all look after one another here after all. You just have a rest for a bit, and then I’ll give you something easy to do to keep you busy. That way, when Miseryguts is on the prowl she won’t see you idle and dump something nasty on you. We’re all on the same side, after all!"

The sun had almost set by the time Henrietta finished dealing with the dissidents, but it was a fine evening so she decided to wander out to take her fill of the freshness of twilight. The air was warm and pleasant, and as she stepped outside she noticed that the world was awakening with spring. The flower buds were opening and a gentle fragrance rose from the slender annuals that grew by her great front door.

She decapitated one of them with a well-practised swing from her riding whip, which was still sticky and unpleasantly salty from its use that afternoon. Bored and irritated, she had hoped that thrashing a new maid would cheer her up but somehow it made her even more frustrated. She had hoped to goad the maid into some form of real defiance; something she could delight in overcoming, crushing and humiliating but somehow she had not yet quite got the measure of Josephine.

Henrietta looked down at the flower head, still beautiful but now doomed to shrivel by the morning and then up at the stem that bled in silent protest. There were other matters on her mind. Factor Three. In a few months time, the Admiral’s term of office as Mother Superior would expire and she would face re-election by the Executive Committee. Dare she stand against her? Money and power were the only issues in these elections, and Henrietta was not sure she had quite enough of either.

Her thoughts were disturbed by a baying and howling from the low wooden huts to one side of her house. It was feeding time in the kennels, and Henrietta’s lips curled into a smile as she remembered that she had not paid a visit to her dogs for quite some time. It was time to remedy this oversight, and perhaps to give them a little treat. She hurried over to the assistant gamekeeper who was about to unbolt the larger of the outbuildings.

"Girl!" called Henrietta sharply.

"Yes, Ma’am," replied the gamekeeper, a sturdy girl in her twenties, shocked at the Mistress’s sudden arrival.

"Dogs fed yet?" The growling and barking grew louder.

"No, Ma’am. I was about to….."

"Fetch a piglet from the sty. Go!"

"Yes, Ma’am". The assistant gamekeeper scampered over to the smaller hut.

Henrietta approached the main hut and, without a thought for the fearsome sounds beyond the door, clasped the bolt handle and shot it back. The slavering mass of hungry animals inside growled menacingly at the opening door but, on catching Henrietta’s scent immediately fell silent. Great hounds and savage terriers who had been straining at their chains collapsed and shivered, staring up at her silhouette.

She had known all her dogs since they were puppies, and made sure that they knew her as well. She stepped into the centre of the hut, well within the reach of the dogs’ long chains, and watched them shrink away. She knew that if they all dived for her at once they would kill her, but the sheer terror in their glistening eyes told her that she was perfectly safe from them. Safe unless she showed them she was weak.

"Here!" She pointed at the floor in front of her and the largest of the dogs padded forwards. The pack had a strict hierarchy based on size and strength which Henrietta reinforced by having them fed in strict rotation. The hound that had come forwards always got the first and largest portion while the weakest dogs lived on scraps.

Henrietta let the tongue of her whip dangle in front of the dog’s face and, understanding it’s Mistress’s intention, the hound began to sniffle at and lick the sweat and traces of blood along the length of the whip.

"Let me introduce you to my new serving maid," she commented. "If she tries to run away, I’m sure you will deal with her appropriately."

A grunting and squealing from the doorway told Henrietta and the dogs that the gamekeeper had returned with a fattened piglet under her arm. The terrified little animal was struggling with all its might but the gamekeeper had bound its trotters together with thick twine. Henrietta ignored the avid interest of her dogs in the new arrival and looked at the piglet with an air of extreme distaste.

This stupid, useless little creature she had never seen before had gorged itself every day of its short life at her expense. It reminded her of one or two contributors to Party funds who had never done a day’s work in their lives. There was almost something moral in the fate of the piglet, which, judging from it’s abject terror, it clearly understood. Now it would be made to pay for its parasitic existence.

The beginnings of an idea for funding her accession to the Mother Superior’s chair in Factor Three was forming in her mind. Once again, she would call upon Sophia’s help. She smiled as the gamekeeper laid the living offering on its side in the centre of the room. The dogs remained motionless as the piglet gave up struggling in the final hope that feigning death would spare it.

Henrietta went back towards the door, turning her head once she and the gamekeeper’s assistant were safely clear.

"Kill," she uttered casually, before walking away. The hounds needed no further bidding.

 

Penelope and Josephine both went to bed quite early that night as it was the other maids’ turn to see to the Mistress’s needs in the evening. Josephine was exhausted after everything that had happened to her that day and was therefore delighted to get some rest. She knew, however, that she would find it quite difficult to sleep after the thrashing Henrietta had given her.

The single bed proved just about big enough for the two women to fit into, provided they huddled closely together, and Penelope helped to make Josephine as comfortable as possible. She had been pleasant company earlier on in the day and had done her best to teach Josephine the Raven household’s various rules and regulations, and to explain to her what her duties as a maid would be.

Josephine was curious about the girl and, now that they were alone together and out of anyone else’s earshot, she felt brave enough to try to find out more.

"How long have you been here?" she asked, in a whisper.

"Two years," came the reply.

"Do you like it here?"

"I think I do, most of the time," whispered Penelope. "I like you."

Josephine gave her a friendly squeeze. "I like you as well," she breathed.

"I felt really sorry for you today," said Penelope. "I remember when the Mistress had to use her whip on me. It really hurts, doesn’t it?"

"Yes, it stings like anything," replied Josephine. "Why do you stay here if she beats you?"

"I’m not allowed to leave. Miss Blacklock says the Mistress will come looking for me with her dogs and when she catches me she’ll sell me to a brothel."

"She owns you?" said Josephine in horrified surprise.

"I don’t know, but I think so. I don’t understand that sort of thing very well. My last Mistress gave me to her as a birthday present. The Mistress owns a lot of people. I think she owns the prisons now and all the police and lots of really horrid things like that. She can do whatever she likes to anyone. Doesn’t she own you?"

"I suppose she does, in a way," admitted Josephine glumly. Anything, it seemed, was possible in Henrietta’s private world. "What about the others?"

"The Mistress gives some of them privileges. Miss Blacklock is allowed out of the house whenever she wants and Beatrice goes away sometimes at the weekend. Most of the maids have everything we need here and would only get lost if they let us go outside. That’s what Miss Blacklock says."

"Do you like Miss Blacklock?"

"No, she’s horrible," Penelope whispered very quietly as though afraid that the housekeeper might be listening in. "But she knows everything. Everything apart from what the Mistress does," she paused and lowered her voice as if excited. "The Mistress has secrets."

"Secrets?" asked Josephine.

"Things she does in her study. She talks to people and makes plans."

"How do you know?" asked Josephine. Penelope was silent and seemed very worried for a moment as though she had made some mistake. Josephine gave her a reassuring cuddle.

"I’m sorry," said Josephine. "You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to." Josephine liked the feel of Penelope’s soft, delicate body and, despite the dreadful things that had happened to her that day felt at ease with herself in a way she had not felt in a long time. She was terrified of the Mistress and afraid of Miss Blacklock, but she had also found friends in the house who seemed to care for one another. She had entered a new world but she felt confident that, one way or another, she would survive.

 

 

CHAPTER EIGHT: CAPTURED PAWNS

 

The skies were clear, the music bright and the watching crowds delighted as the Minister for Law and Order and her aides-de-camp stepped out onto the balcony to prepare for the spectacle to follow. Henrietta had made it clear in her instructions to her minions that today should be a joyful occasion and bright colours were the order of the day all around. The MLO women had been encouraged to bring their friends with them (no men allowed of course) and, amongst their sharp business suits, the summer dresses of their girlfriends could be seen, out of the wardrobe for the first time since the winter.

Henrietta smiled at the television cameras that were playing across the exuberant onlookers before coming to rest on her and her more senior advisers. There was also a representative of the military present and a female Archbishop whose presence would add the endorsement of the conservative establishment to what was about to happen. Hidden from the cameras by two large Party women who ‘accidentally’ obstructed the view, the Head of Penal Services had chosen to attend in sombre grey. Her opinion did not matter any more.

The cameras were converging on the clock tower above the assorted dignitaries, which meant that the entertainment was scheduled to begin very shortly. Henrietta scanned through her notes and caught the eye of one or two key women who mumbled instructions into their radios.

The military band reached the end of the march they were pumping out and waited for the clock to strike before starting up again, this time playing something much more stirring. The crowd applauded as a phalanx of elite Enforcement women pounded out into the square, bayonets fixed onto their stocky automatic rifles which they held against their shoulders. Henrietta was particularly pleased with the way they were turned out as the Army did not like Party organisations to parade in public with their weapons. Acting in an official capacity as guards for the MLO, the Party girls had the perfect excuse to put on a military display.

The Minister chuckled to herself as the applause of the crowd turned into hoots of laughter and derision as the anti-feminist prisoners were propelled into public view by a second squad of Party women who held their weapons lowered. Unknown to the Head of Penal Services and her cronies, she had issued a few special orders a few days before the event was due to take place, which the Enforcement girls had delighted in carrying out.

All the captured terrorists had been dressed in what appeared to be American style cheerleaders’ outfits in Party colours, complete with silver pom-poms strapped to their wrists. They were also roped together by the waist in one long line and the crowd cheered with delight as they realised that, reading along the row of prisoners, the large black letters on their tight white sweaters read "COMMUNITY PARTY FOR ASSERTIVE GOVERNMENT". Most of the terrorists were also in silly looking blond wigs with the hair in pony tails or bunches and nearly all of them were daubed with excessive amounts of make-up, added for comic effect.

Henrietta waited for the hubbub to die away. Today was the realisation of an important philosophical idea she had about the public administration of justice. Too often in the past had the punishment of criminals been shrouded in secrecy and sombre gloom as though it were an unpleasant and embarrassing task. It was a natural and healthy thing, she thought, for society to rid itself of its ugly and destructive elements and there was no reason why this process, which helped society to reaffirm its moral identity, should not be celebrated. The Romans understood that, which was why their executions were part of the entertainment of the public circus. Now that society was emerging from the moral uncertainties of more recent centuries it was time to establish that principle once again.

She stepped forwards as the crowd fell silent.

"Ladies……. and assorted others," she began, to kick off another wave of laughter before starting once again. "We are assembled here to bear witness to the victory of our excellent security forces over terrorists who even now are trying to drag us back into the era of repression."

A few of the captives started to shout out in protest, but their tiny voices could hardly be heard against the catcalls of the crowd who tried to drown them out.

"Listen to them!" boomed Henrietta through her microphone. "There they are! They’re still trying! Do you want to be their housewives?"

"NO!" roared the crowd, predictably enough.

"Do you want to be their slaves?"

"NO!"

"Do you want to be their property?" Henrietta articulated the syllables of the last word individually to hold back the inevitable response of the crowd for a few seconds longer. She liked addressing large groups of people. Crowds were always stupid and obedient, and could be made to say or do just about anything.

"NO!"

"I didn’t think so. They know that as well. That’s why the only arguments they use are these!" Henrietta lifted two unloaded automatic weapons over the balcony and dropped them with a clatter to the ground below. "They want to put you in your place, women!" She paused again for effect. "I’d say we’ve just put them in theirs!"

More applause from the crowd. Henrietta put on an expression of pity and concern.

"You will know that in my role I have always tried to save people where possible. Where I see any good in someone, even in a male, I will try to rescue them, to help them to become a helpful and constructive member of society. I have personally selected from these terrorists any who might deserve a shred of pity and had them taken elsewhere. These are the worst of them, the ones who would be your murderers in order to become your masters."

Henrietta took a deep breath.

"I have been given powers to condemn these men in your name," she said solemnly to the crowd. "But I stand before you as your servant. What is their fate?"

"DEATH!" roared the crowd in unanimity. Henrietta stretched her arms out in an open, giving gesture and on that signal, the Party women unshouldered their weapons and, firing single shots at point blank range began to despatch the terrorists.

Henrietta watched the carnage below with clam equanimity, pleased with the little scene she had created. Some of the MLO women found the shootings rather stomach churning, but Henrietta’s minders made sure that everybody in the front row of the balcony was smiling. The crowd loved every moment of course, and repeated its demand for blood until the criminals had all been slaughtered. Henrietta thought it wise not to let the onlookers’ thoughts linger on the pile of corpses which were quickly covered by an enormous plastic sheet on standby for the purpose.

Waving at the crowd once more she departed from the balcony as the band struck up again. Henrietta was having a good day and, given her plans for the evening, expected it to get better still.

A month has passed since Josephine’s sudden acquisition by her Mistress, and she was beginning to enjoy her new position in society. In many ways, Henrietta’s home was like a miniature version of North Castle with its hierarchy and rules, irksome and rigid at first, but ultimately reassuring in their own peculiar manner. Just as the myriad and nebulous regulations of the Ministry of Law and Order governed everything that happened in the prison, the house was run entirely according to Henrietta’s bizarre design. To understand the mind of the Mistress was to understand the rules of the house, and Josephine knew that she still had much to learn.

Henrietta had lost interest in her for the time being and, besides the occasional slap across the face she had not been beaten again. The maids were generally regarded by her and her guests as part of the furniture, sometimes useful, but more often just an adornment, a pretty thing standing in the corner of the room eagerly awaiting the Mistress’s beck and call.

Josephine recollected her previous life as Joseph Smythe and was able to hate him less by regarding him as a completely different person from herself, just one amongst the many enemies of the State the Mistress would protect her from.

He had few possessions and fewer friends aside from a bleak intellectual companionship with like minded individuals. Nevertheless, he possessed his freedom and control over his own destiny. Josephine could not believe how anyone could value such ugly, alien concepts that Joseph had built his lonely life around. The cold, impersonal nature of Joseph’s world of rights and liberties horrified her. How could anyone survive outside the natural relationships of control and domination, protection and security, love and understanding that women formed with one another?

There was something missing from Joseph’s mind which had been restored in Josephine. Joseph was not a complete human being. She remembered Henrietta’s words about Joseph at the trial and shuddered. How could one person, even somebody as clever and wise as the Mistress, see so deeply into another’s personality?

That day, the Mistress would be holding a dinner party with some of her intimate friends to celebrate something they had done to some rotten terrorists, so all the servants were busy making preparations. Josephine was excited because Henrietta had specifically asked for her to be available to satisfy her requirements, and those of her guests after dinner. Penelope would be serving too, and they enjoyed working together. They had both decided to make an extra special effort to be smart in their uniforms, and, once everything was ready downstairs they spent a long time preening themselves and fussing over one another. This evening would be fun, and a chance to show the Mistress how much Josephine had learnt.

Henrietta toyed with her glass playfully, while feigning interest in the conversation that was taking place around her. The guests were not so much selected for their company as for the plans Henrietta wished to put into action, and the chemistry between two of then was exactly what she had hoped for. They loathed one another with a vengeance.

"My ancestors built the railways," blurted out the heiress who had ‘bought’ Alison for a night, pouring herself yet another glass of port. Her plan to impress her powerful friends with her political analysis while relaxing over a few social drinks appeared to be going well. Opposite her sat the Head of Penal Services, still in her dark suit from the executions earlier in the day and completely sober as she had to drive back to London that very evening, veiling her distaste for the obese woman with a thin smile.

"All by themselves?" put in Sophia who was also present. She regretted having missed the shootings on account of an important business engagement.

"There were other investors, but that’s not the point," slurred the heiress in response. "The point is, we built this country and it’s damn well time we started running it. It belongs to us." She drained her glass and brought it down like a gavel.

Henrietta nodded thoughtfully.

"Let me tell you something," continued the amateur stateswoman. "You see that maid over there?" She pointed her podgy finger at Josephine who was standing in the corner. "She isn’t worth anything. She’s got no wealth, no substance, no value, no….."

"Equity?" put in the Head of Penal Services, icily.

"Equity. Exactly." The heiress liked the sound of that word. It was a word her accountant used quite a lot. "She only exists because you let her. She’s just a serving girl to you. Lose her and you get another. She relies on you for everything, her food, her clothes, a roof over her head. Without you she starves in the gutter." The heiress reached over to fill her glass again and knocked a half empty bottle over onto the tablecloth.

"Josephine!" uttered Henrietta. The maid rushed over to clear up the mess as best she could with a napkin. The heiress ignored her and continued.

"Who’s getting the best deal, eh?" she said, delivering her punchline. "You or the maid? She gets a lot more from you than you get from her". The heiress tried to reach out for another bottle but got tangled up with Josephine.

"Clumsy bitch!" shouted the heiress, raising her hand in anger. Josephine cringed in terror but, having got her out of the way, the heiress ignored her.

"Are you alright?" Sophia asked the heiress.

"I’m fine. See what I mean? You ought to replace that one, Henrietta." Nobody responded. Having filled her glass again, the heiress continued. "And I’m not just talking about servants. Anyone who has to work for someone else has no business in government." She was looking directly at the Head of Penal Services who responded with her own owl like stare.

"There are honourable occupations other than living off the interest from inherited wealth," said the Head of Penal Services, slowly. Her family had been in government service for five generations and had made very little money. "There is such a thing as the merit principle."

The heiress snorted in response. She was feeling dizzy and, though she would never admit it, a little out of her depth. She did not like this upstart one bit.

"But the thing that makes me angry," she continued, now quite upset and bold enough to cast her glare over Henrietta as well. "Is this. We built this nation. It’s ours by right. It was taken from us and now we have to buy it back again." She paused for effect, and then added grandly with her idea of tragic pathos. "And that……. that is injustice!"

Silence all around. The heiress drained her glass. Eyes fell on Henrietta.

"You are not wasting money," replied Henrietta slowly. "You, and your friends, are investing in the future. Just like your ancestors once did."

"And it’s a cast iron investment," put in Sophia. "We’re in power now."

"And here to serve you!" finished Henrietta, with exactly the same open handed gesture she had used for the crowd a few hours earlier.

The heiress snorted once again. The Head of Penal Services looked down into the coffee she was drinking, disgusted at the servility being shown to this revolting woman, but not daring to show her feelings to Henrietta.

"You’re bleeding me dry, that’s what you’re doing!" snarled the heiress before staggering to her feet, knocking over another bottle as she did so. "I’ll be back very shortly to continue this."

Assisted by Josephine, she staggered out towards the door and out of the dining room, almost collapsing onto the floor as she did so. Out in the corridor she met Penelope who did her best to keep the heiress on her feet and managed to discover that she was looking for the toilet. When she took a god look at the attractive young maid, however, the heiress’s thoughts wandered in an entirely different direction, and, pinning Penelope against the wall with her enormous bulk, began to unfasten the bodice of her dress.

Suddenly, Miss Blacklock appeared from nowhere. Surprised by the housekeeper, the heiress momentarily lost her concentration and deposited a mass of port stained vomit onto Penelope’s chest. Penelope shrieked in disgust but Miss Blacklock was, as ever, completely unfazed.

"Her Ladyship might be well advised to retire early," she said, quietly. "Attend to it, Penelope."

"Yes, Miss," replied the maid. The heiress was only semi-conscious. Several hastily consumed glasses of port, seeming oddly much stronger than she was used to, were catching up on her very quickly.

"And remember who she is."

"Yes, Miss."

Back in the dining room, the remaining guests were not surprised when, on Miss Blacklock’s whispered advice, Henrietta told them that the heiress had retired for the night. The heiress had become hopelessly drunk even quicker than she had anticipated, but things were still going reasonably according to plan.

"I am sure she will regret it in the morning," she commented with a knowing grin. "But I am afraid that we must please such people for the time being. They hired us to dispose of the democrats for them, but they will find us harder to dispose of."

"She makes me ill," snapped the Head of Penal Services. "I almost felt sorry for your maid."

"Oh, you did, did you?" replied Henrietta, craftily. "Josephine! Come into the light and let this lady take a good look at you."

Josephine stepped forwards and meekly presented herself to the visitor who cast an enquiring eye up and down her.

"Good God!" she exclaimed suddenly. "That’s the bitch you brought out from North Castle! Joseph Smythe!"

"The very same. Except of course it’s Josephine now. She’s a good girl now, aren’t you, Josephine?"

"The maid is very grateful, Mistress," replied Josephine.

The Head of Penal Services grunted. "But why bring her here?" she said.

"Because I like to enjoy the results my work produces, dear. I know the concept is quite alien to you."

"Alien?"

"Enjoying yourself! You were the most miserable person I’ve ever seen at the executions today? Why won’t you join in?"

"I do join in, Lady Raven. As you know, I’ve even joined that club of yours now, the one with all the uniforms and funny rituals. I’ll do what I’m ordered to do, but I don’t see…"

"Oh, you silly girl!" responded Henrietta. "There’s a lot more to it than going through the motions! Get out of that little shell of yours and be one of us."

The Head of Penal Services was silent. Henrietta waited for a moment before speaking slowly.

"Perhaps we can assist you," she said, with a smile. "I think a little gift is in order. One that will enable you to see just how effective our gender reversal treatment is. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you like watching, don’t you?"

"Pardon?" The Head of Penal Services flushed red and shrank back in her seat. "I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lady Raven!"

"Women talk," replied Henrietta. "And the Ministry listens. I know all about the security videos, my dear. I know everything. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I watch myself sometimes, when I’m too tired to participate. Start undressing, Josephine."

"Yes, Mistress."

Sophia made an interested murmur. Although she was attending strictly on business, and had clear instructions on what would happen this evening, she was enjoying herself immensely. She was wearing a short black skirt and a voluptuous satin blouse.

Josephine’s fingers were unfastening her apron before her mind fully appreciated what she was doing. The apron fell to the floor and she removed her cap, ashamed of the uneven locks of hair beneath.

"I don’t think I should…." began the Head of Penal Services.

"Quiet!" hissed Henrietta.

Josephine began to work on her bodice and before long had uncovered the tops of her little white breasts and the tightly bound corset that held them in place. She blushed as she saw the three powerful women watching her peeling off her clothes. The Head of Penal Services was horrified, but now her glare was transfixed on the maid, watching her expose her shoulders, probing with ever increasing fascination. Sophia leant forwards on her elbow, excited and intrigued by Josephine’s figure.

"It’s quite impressive, isn’t it," she commented, almost to herself.

Henrietta seemed less interested than the others and watched lazily, helping herself to the remainder of the port.

"Either of you are welcome to her tonight if you like," she remarked. "She’s pretty docile so you can do whatever you want. Any takers?"

Sophia nodded. The Mistress acknowledged her interest with a smile.

"How about you, then?" Henrietta asked the Head of Penal Services. "Sophia, would you be a dear and help the maid get her underwear off for me? I think she’s having trouble."

"Yes, Mistress." Sophia said, jokingly. Josephine had now removed her uniform completely but was unable to loosen the underwear. The maids always fastened each other’s corsets very tightly and needed one another’s help to get undressed. The magazine editor’s lithe fingers went to work and before long Josephine was completely naked, with Sophia standing next to her, looking over body.

Josephine’s naked form was very pale and covered in red lines and rings her tight clothing had given her. It was still quite cold in the dining room, and she shivered. Feeling vulnerable and exposed, she wanted to cover herself from the women’s gaze but knew she would be punished if she did so she kept her arms down by her side.

"Turn around, my dear," said the Mistress with unusual familiarity. "Just to let my guests know that I haven’t been too soft on you."

Josephine obeyed. The marks on her behind from the thrashing Henrietta had given her had stopped hurting but had not yet fully healed.

"Did you do that yourself?" asked the fascinated Head of Penal Services.

"Absolutely!" beamed Henrietta. "And jolly good fun it was as well. Just like being a prefect back at school. Remember that?"

"I don’t remember any…"

"Ah. State school, weren’t you. Never mind."

"I remember that," replied Sophia. "Except we used a cane. This looks like your riding whip to me."

"Clever girl," replied Henrietta. She turned to the Head of Penal Services, who had become entranced by what she saw. She was beginning to tremble in her seat. "Are you enjoying yourself now, dear?"

"I think…." replied the bureaucrat, with an effort of will. "I think I had better leave. I thank you for your…."

"We’re just getting started!" interrupted Henrietta. "Would you like to take her on the spot, Sophia? I’d quite like to watch your technique if I may, and I’m sure our friend here would appreciate it."

"I’m leaving!" announced the Head of Penal Services, rising to her feet. "I can’t watch this any more. Thank you and goodnight!"

"As you wish," replied Henrietta with a shrug. "Another time, perhaps?"

The Head of Penal Services strode purposefully towards the door past Sophia and Josephine. She turned to look at the naked girl one more time but dragged her stare away. She left the room and moments later came the slam of the front door of the house.

Sophia stepped over to Josephine and placed her hands on her breasts.

"Not now," snapped Henrietta who has become deadly serious the moment the Head of Penal Services left the room. Slightly disappointed, Sophia let go of Josephine’s bosom.

"Josephine, get out of here." ordered Henrietta. "Go to your room. Now."

The women waited for Josephine to pick up her clothes and totter out of the room. Sophia shook her head and also became businesslike in manner.

"Are we going ahead with it?" she asked.

"I think we’ll have to. Are your girls in position?"

"They are. I’ll give them a call now. What about Lady C?"

"If your people get her car back here in one piece, we’ll put her in it, just as planned."

"What if she’s conscious?"

"She dies in the crash as well. Same thing if the car’s a write-off. Otherwise, she wakes up in her car just outside the main gates. Put a half empty bottle in there with her."

"Right," replied Sophia, whipping out her mobile phone.

Josephine reached the kitchen and desperately tried to get her uniform back on. She was terrified that Miss Blacklock might find her in this dreadful state. It was virtually impossible for her to get her corset back on quickly all by herself. Penelope was nowhere to be seen so she decided to sneak up the back stairs to get into her room as soon as possible. Hastily, she made her way towards the staircase, carrying her clothes in a bundle.

She reached the foot of the stairs and, careful to keep her eyes on any doors that might suddenly fly open, began to climb slowly. Suddenly, a creaking sound came from below and Josephine froze in fear. Where was that sound coming from? With a shock, Josephine realised that someone was emerging from a hole which had opened underneath the staircase. Someone who was about to catch sight of her!

Then she realised that the person who had appeared from nowhere was none other than Penelope. The maid had taken off her soiled outer clothes and wore nothing but her underwear as she cautiously stepped out from what appeared to be a secret passage. The faint sound of Henrietta’s voice, still in her dining room, resonated in the confined air of the passageway and was almost audible even to Josephine.

Penelope was just about to turn around and there was no opportunity to hide or escape from her. Fight or flight, thought Josephine, and unconsciously chose the former.

"So, my dear," she commented slyly, watching Penelope start in terror. Josephine was surprised at the menacing tone in her own voice, but there was no turning back now. "Is this where the secrets come from?"

Penelope almost screamed, but stifled herself at the last minute before looking round like a frightened animal to see if anyone else had discovered her. She could not think of anything to say.

"Come on," said Josephine. "We need to get upstairs. Quickly."

The two maids scurried up the staircase together and did not stop until they were both shut up in their bedroom. Sitting on the narrow bed together, they looked at one another silently, each wondering what would happen yet. Josephine could see Penelope trembling with fear, her soft white skin quivering in her corset. Josephine was also terrified but now fear was locked away within the armoured layer that her new found power had given her.

"You won’t tell…?" began Penelope, her voice trailing away as Josephine silently shook her head. Penelope stared down at the floor as though she could not bear to look at Josephine’s face.

"I’m sorry I spied on the Mistress, I can’t…" continued Penelope.

"Does anybody else know?" asked Josephine, quickly reassessing the politics of the household. She remembered how Mary had taught her to think on her feet and take an aggressive approach when she was frightened.

"No."

"You know what the Mistress will do to you if she finds out?"

"Yes….." Tears were welling in Penelope’s eyes.

"But you’re safe with me because we’re friends," said Josephine. Penelope nodded enthusiastically, and looked up at Josephine, a picture of subservience. She was holding out her arms hoping for a cuddle, but Josephine had a little business to attend to first.

"Because we’re friends, I need to know everything," she said, suddenly becoming stern.

"Everything?" asked Penelope.

"Everything about the Mistress. Everything you know and everything I ask you to find out," replied Josephine. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, miss….. Josephine."

Josephine’s countenance broke into an involuntary grin and the two women embraced warmly.

"I’ll help you undress now," said Josephine. "I think we both need some sleep."

"I think we’re going to have to call the police," said Sophia, in a matter of fact manner. "There’s a body out there, after all."

"Agreed," replied Henrietta. "But we need to know what happened first."

The Minister and Sophia were standing in the small refectory of Henrietta Raven’s mansion. Henrietta’s two gate guards were also there in their Party uniforms as was another girl, similarly dressed. They were all gathered round the thoroughly wretched and dishevelled figure of the heiress, still in her dress from the night before, creased crumpled and stained with port and vomit. She was holding a glass of milk in her stumpy, trembling fingers and looked very much as though she wanted to sink through the floor and disappear.

The Head of Penal Services’ promising career had been ended a few hours earlier by her steering wheel uniting with the contents of her skull. Her motor car had left the road at a ferocious speed and smashed into a rocky bank. What concerned the women in the refectory most was that the back of her little car had been damaged as well as the front, and that the heiress’s altogether more powerful vehicle now had matching dents in the radiator.

"Are you sure you can’t remember?" Sophia asked the heiress.

"I remember the meal," replied the heiress.

"You don’t remember leaving?" asked Henrietta. The heiress shook her head wearily.

"You both drove through the main gates at one a.m." reported one of the gate guards. "I asked you if you wanted a taxi, ma’am. You were…"

"I don’t remember a thing."

"I have to say, you were very drunk," said Henrietta. "You were sick at one point. And you were arguing with Clarissa…" her voice became more menacing as it trailed off.

"Do you remember threatening her?" asked Sophia.

"I threatened her? I can’t have meant…." the heiress was aghast as her slow mind began to assemble something truly horrifying. Fighting with the black void in her memory she desperately sought a way out of the trap.

"I was too drunk to drive," she blurted out at length.

"Evidently, assuming it was an accident, of course." replied Henrietta. "If the police had found you sleeping in your car instead of us….."

"Oh, God! Don’t call the police! You’re the Minister for Law and Order. You can help me, can’t you?"

Henrietta looked around at the others. Another one in the bag, she thought with satisfaction.

"Can you ladies leave us alone for a moment," she said. "This matter is to be regarded as confidential unless and until I direct otherwise."

 

 

CHAPTER NINE: PARTY GAMES

 

Two weeks after the unfortunate demise of the Head of Penal Services, Henrietta Raven was sitting at her desk once more, trying desperately to catch up with her paperwork. She glanced with irritation at the clock on the wall. It was two o clock in the afternoon already and she had not yet started on the official business she had to deal with. The Minister was much too busy writing up some notes in a little green book she kept locked in her desk.

The notes were in code of course, but the letters, numbers and nicknames marked down in Henrietta’s cursive hand represented a wealth of information that gave her much of her personal power. Each page of the booklet represented a different individual; a small number were for her friends and confidantes, rather more were for real or potential enemies, but by far the greatest number were for women Henrietta had snared in her ever growing web of intrigue and deceit.

She leafed through the pages, viewing the grotesque collection of human heads on display, inspecting the intimate balance sheets of strengths and capabilities, desires and vulnerabilities. Reaching the page that represented the Head of Penal Services, she printed a small letter ‘R’ in the bottom right hand corner and waited for the glistening ink on the yellow page to dry.

There was rather more detail to add about the heiress, though this was a tiresome task. She noted the significant increase in the amount the heiress was donating to one of Henrietta’s trust funds. Henrietta found blackmailing for money a rather vulgar business but sadly necessary to support her less official political activities. If it could be done alongside more important tasks, so much the better.

The topic of blackmail reminded her of an altogether more important and pleasurable task she would shortly need to undertake. A useful minion whose name she had forgotten had recently arranged for a small blue file to come into the hands of one of her agents in London. When copies of the papers the file contained reached Henrietta, the Minister had almost fallen of her chair cackling with amused delight and juicy anticipation at the use to which this information might be put. The North Castle problem would shortly be dealt with very nicely.

Henrietta’s contemplation was disturbed by a gentle knocking at the great oak door leading into her room.

"Yes, what is it?" she snapped, slightly annoyed.

The door opened and there stood Josephine, looking nervous as usual. Henrietta was puzzled.

"Did I ring for the maid?" she asked, wondering if a bout of incandescent fury against a serving girl might lighten the day for her a little.

"Miss Blacklock sent the maid here, Mistress," came the reply. "There are no duties for the maid this afternoon and Miss Blacklock did not want her to idle, Mistress."

"No duties?" Henrietta snorted. She tried for a moment to think of something particularly unpleasant for Josephine to do but quickly gave up trying. She could only think of asking her to polish the brasses again but most of these were in the study and Henrietta could not bear the thought of Josephine clumsily working in the room while she was dealing with reams of dull paperwork….

"You’ve got a brain of sorts, haven’t you?" she asked suddenly.

"The Mistress is very kind."

"Hmmm. Yes. A free brain," mused Henrietta to herself. "One that can’t even leave this house without my permission. That’s quite useful, really. You used to be a political theorist, didn’t you Smythe?"

"The maid was an enemy of….."

Henrietta cut Josephine short with a sharp wave of her hand.

"You will find," she said slowly, "that women are better at the practicalities."

She indicated towards one of the heaps of paper on he desk. "Those are things I have to deal with myself because I don’t trust the bureaucrats. It’s pretty obvious from Joseph Smythe’s seditious writings that you are familiar with the way we like to do things around here. Start by sorting them out according to what they are and I’ll see how you get on. You can work on the floor down there, but stay where I can see you."

"Thank you, Mistress," replied Josephine flatly, carefully hiding her feelings.

Although she had been doing her best to conceal it, Josephine’s heart had been pounding in her throat throughout the conversation. She had lied to the Mistress. It was only a tiny lie, something which had little potential to do anyone any harm, but a lie nevertheless. It had not been Miss Blacklock’s idea for Josephine to offer her assistance at that point. Josephine has calculated her own timing for this intervention and had her own reasons.

Her ‘brain of sorts’ had been working overtime ever since she had caught Penelope emerging from her secret passage which she discovered offered the maid excellent opportunities to snoop on conversations in Henrietta’s hall. Josephine was determined to use every opportunity she could find to make herself valuable to the person who really mattered in the little world in which she was imprisoned.

She did not know exactly where this resolve had come from. Her first instincts, ever since she had become aware of herself had been to hide away, to make herself small so that nobody would notice her. But she had learnt that society took great interest in the weak as it delighted in dragging them from their hiding places, tormenting and abusing them. And beneath her self abasement and gratitude for punishment, the seed of anger had been germinating.

Josephine remembered that anger was a weakness, a horrible, destructive, masculine weakness. Joseph Smythe was angry about power and domination; about things he saw as ‘unjust’. That was why he wrote his pamphlets and criticised the government. Terrified that the heretic was still alive and well inside her as, the Mistress had suggested, she had always tried until recently to drive any thoughts of anger or revenge from her mind.

Lying in the narrow bed in the maids’ room, cradling Penelope in her arms, Josephine had begun to think otherwise. Joseph’s weakness and stupidity was in the way he used his anger. He had gone onto the streets to shout about ‘oppression’ and ‘injustice’ as though he and others like him, could tear down the Party and turn the clock back to the days of democracy. It was pointless to resist the will of society and all Joseph and people like him achieved was harm to the community and of course their own destruction.

Josephine was learning, slowly and painfully, to channel her anger to more constructive ends. She would not fight the system but she would learn to benefit from it. Pain and humiliation would come to her unless she learnt how to avoid it, not by pleading for mercy but by learning who had power and how to manipulate them. That was how women operated, after all. She realised that while she was imprisoned in this house, she had to make herself valuable to the one person who really mattered there.

Penelope had proven to be goldmine of information about Henrietta. She had been collecting it like a magpie by listening from her secret passageways and, though her understanding was simplistic, Josephine was able to fill in the gaps fairly easily. A few whispered conversations with the maid gave her an essential grasp of Lady Raven’s activities, both of the official and the unofficial kind.

Lady Raven’s recently acquired political power was keeping her busy. Much too busy in fact. Her deeply suspicious mindset and the devious nature of her activities made it impossible for her to delegate the power she had recently gathered into her breast. The Ministry, the Party and especially Factor Three were full of potential enemies, any of whom might try to undermine her. Josephine was determined find out more about these things than Penelope could tell her, though she knew she would have to be careful.

The more she found out about Henrietta and the way in which she operated, the more amazed about her she became. Beneath the former judge’s official roles lay an invisible matrix spreading through the power structure around her like a fungus. There was no way, however, that Henrietta could become more terrifying for Josephine than she already was. Josephine knew that her Mistress could hurt, humiliate or kill her on a whim, and Henrietta’s willingness to betray, blackmail and murder others of her own kind made this no worse. It was even quite comforting to know that others had suffered much more from Henrietta than Josephine ever had.

Josephine also got to know her Mistress’s routines and habits. She found out when Henrietta had callers, who frequented the house and why, when she was likely to be busy and when she needed to rest. Josephine knew that understanding these domestic details would be vital. Ever cautious to make sure that nobody noticed she was gleaning information, except for Penelope who was under strict orders to keep silent, Josephine waited for the right moment. And when the right moment came, she struck.

"I think that’s everything," said Henrietta, signing the final document with her thick black fountain pen. It was about six o clock in the evening and, with Josephine’s assistance, she had completed all the work that had to be done that day. The maid had proved to be surprisingly useful in helping her to organise her work, and had even come up with one or two helpful suggestions on less controversial issues. Josephine was much more competent as a secretary of sorts than she was as a maid.

Henrietta had frequently looked up from her work during the afternoon to cast her eye over Josephine, partly to make sure she was working hard, which she always was, but mostly because she was still intrigued about her. Part of her had enjoyed beating Josephine a great deal, but she also felt a strange regret about the incident. She had wanted to hurt Joseph Smythe, or at least something that reminded her of him, but had begun to see Josephine as a different person in her own right. Perhaps she should get to know this girl a little better before flogging her again.

"Will the Mistress require anything else?" asked Josephine.

"Not now," came the curt reply.

"Thank you, Mistress."

Josephine was about to leave when Henrietta’s eye fell on one small bundle of papers she had not allowed the maid to see.

"There is one more thing, now that I think of it," she added, with a smile. "I have a visitor next Wednesday at three o clock in the afternoon. I would like you to make sure you greet her in person at the front door and bring her straight in to me. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good. Now I think we should both take the rest of the day off." Henrietta paused for a moment before adding sarcastically, "I trust you have no prior dinner engagements?"

"No, Mistress."

"Then perhaps you would eat at my table tonight? I have need of company."

"Thank you, Mistress," Josephine beamed.

"Then I’ll see you in here then. Eight o clock sharp."

Two hours later, Josephine stepped nervously back into Lady Raven’s study. Her uniform had been exchanged for the satin folds of one of Henrietta’s older evening dresses which the Mistress had lent her and Penelope had done her best to tidy up her hair. Josephine had spent a long time admiring herself in the mirror watching the shimmering fabric of the evening dress change from purple to blue as it caught the light in different ways. She felt liberated and free to be beautiful for one evening. It was a truly wonderful feeling.

Henrietta looked up lazily from her armchair as Josephine entered the room. She had always loathed that particular dress and it seemed a suitably ignominious fate for the wretched thing to end up wrapped round Josephine’s scrawny little body. It was, of course, a few sizes too big for her and it flopped around except for where it was tightly gathered in. Still, Josephine looked pretty in her own, slightly comical manner when she shuffled into the dining room. Henrietta greeted her visitor with a magnanimous smile.

"Good evening, Josephine," she said. "Please take a seat."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"We can drop the usual formalities this evening, my dear," replied Henrietta with a benevolent grin. "Ma’am or Lady Raven will suffice."

Soon afterwards, the two women were dining on roast beef and potatoes. Josephine was used to leftovers in the servant’s kitchen and found the meal delicious though rather rich. She ate slowly and carefully, anxious not to spill anything on her wonderful dress while Henrietta devoured her own portion with enthusiasm. Before long, the Mistress was greedily licking the gravy from her plate and Josephine found herself unable to eat any more.

Neither of them had spoken much during the meal itself, but afterwards, when they retired back to the armchairs for coffee, the evening’s conversation began in earnest.

"I’m glad you were able to assist me today," Henrietta remarked, sipping at her cup. "And I might have need of you again in the future. You seemed to enjoy that sort of work as well. Am I right?"

Josephine wriggled a little in her seat, unused to the freedom of movement the dress provided. "I found it different from my other work, ma’am," she replied, cautiously.

"And variety is a wonderful thing, is it not?"

"Yes ma’am."

Henrietta laughed. "You’re ambitious, aren’t you?".

"Only to be useful, ma’am," Josephine replied.

"Why would you want to be useful to me?" asked Henrietta, quizzically.

"Because I want to serve my country." Josephine remembered the Moral Issues lessons at the Penitentiary. She used to call it ‘Safe Answers’.

"No, you don’t," snapped Henrietta. "You are afraid of me hurting you if you aren’t useful, aren’t you?"

"I would deserve any punishment that…"

Henrietta snorted. "Always answer any question I put to you directly, and never lie," she said. "There’s no shame in acting entirely from fear of punishment and hope of reward. I like that sort of ambition in my subordinates. It makes them predictable and easy to control."

"Do you think so?" asked Josephine.

"Oh, of course. Provided one has the upper hand of course." Henrietta rested her long fingers on her omnipresent riding whip with a smile that made Josephine shudder.

"Tell me, my dear," she continued, "Have you, and I mean you, not Joseph Smythe, ever acted from another motivation? Does any other motivation exist, even?"

Josephine thought hard. She knew that Henrietta would see through any recital of Community Party dogma straight away. There had been little freedom in her life so far, and on the few occasions where a choice had been forced from her, fear of immediate pain had been the dominant factor.

"What about friendship?" she asked, half talking to herself.

"Banding together with others of your own kind for mutual gain, you mean?" sneered Lady Raven. "Very altruistic. Try again."

Josephine’s mind raced through her experiences, desperately trying to find something intelligent to say to Henrietta. She could sense that this was some horrible trap, something to trick her into saying something that would give the Mistress and excuse to hurt her. Suddenly, a reassuring figure stepped into her mind. Miss Stapleton.

"Love?" she asked in a weak voice. Henrietta’s blue eyes opened wide in amused astonishment before her athletic frame shook with laughter.

"You’re a jester, not a maid," she spluttered, barely able to control her mirth. "You even look the part. Love is fear, Josephine. Learn the equation."

"I don’t understand, Mistress…"

"That is because your education is lacking," Henrietta snapped dismissively. "Perhaps I shall take you in hand when there are no important things to tend to. Then, my dear, you will understand the nature of ‘love’ implicitly."

"Thank you, ma’am."

Henrietta nodded.

"And thank you, my dear, for this evening. I believe you have an early start tomorrow so I will not keep you any longer. If you must love, love your own ambition, Josephine. It’s the only thing that will ever set you above the cattle."

Miss Blacklock had made a careful note of Josephine’s evening of comfort and privilege and was determined to make her pay for it with interest over the next few days. Though careful not to give the housekeeper any excuse to punish her, Josephine had somehow found her way near to the top of the list of people whom the housekeeper hated.

This was largely because Josephine offended her sense of natural justice which dictated that the value of a person was in exact proportion to the number of years they had been working at the Raven family mansion. The interest Henrietta showed in Josephine and the mysterious influence the new maid had over Penelope, by rights her superior, were both in violation of this law and galling for the housekeeper in the extreme.

So she took her revenge in time honoured fashion and by Tuesday evening Josephine was exhausted. The grim determination to endure pain, discomfort and humiliation she had learnt at North Castle had helped her survive through the most unpleasant tasks Miss Blacklock had to give her, but by that evening she felt her strength and will to continue had gone. The harder she worked, the more work she was given and the housekeeper seemed determined to keep turning the ratchet until something snapped. As she dragged herself up the narrow stairs towards her bedroom late at night, she knew it would break her before long. Something had to happen, and soon.

As she reached the low wooden door that led into the Maid’s Room, she was shocked to hear a fervent scraping, scratching sound coming from inside. Was there an animal or bird in the room? She was worried about Penelope who had long since been allowed to go to bed, but had a horrid vision of a rat leaping at her or some giant crow hurtling towards her face when she opened the door. Was Penelope inside?

She gently knocked at the door with the back of her hand. The sound stopped. She knocked again, her fear driving fatigue away from her

"Help me," came a weak voice from the inside. Penelope. It was not a terrified call for help, more a mournful, painful whimper. Without further hesitation, Josephine twisted the door handle and barged her way into the room. She was shocked and alarmed at what she saw.

At first she thought poor Penelope had been the victim of a cruel prank by one of the other maids or one of Miss Blacklock’s more unusual punishments. She was completely naked and bound securely, face down on the narrow bed; obviously uncomfortable. Josephine winced when she saw her hands poking through the iron bed frame so tightly bound together that they were almost purple. A washing board was laid across the bed so that Penelope’s sex pressed tightly against the ridges of cold steel. Josephine noticed that Joseph Smythe’s old leather belt was lying on the floor by the bed.

"Who did this to you?" asked Josephine, quickly closing the door behind her.

"Nobody," replied Penelope, turning her tear stained face to the new arrival. Josephine could see that the ligature that bound Penelope’s wrists was tied in an elaborate lasso with a long dangling strip of cloth the maid had pulled at with her teeth to tighten it. She had clearly gone too far and trapped herself. Josephine also noticed Joseph Smythe’s old trouser belt stretched out on the floor by the bed. "I’m sorry, Josephine. I’m sorry."

Josephine could not bear to see her suffer any longer.

"Let me help you." Josephine tried to release her hands, but Penelope had clearly made a furious effort to tighten her own bonds as much as possible. At length Josephine managed to free a loop which loosened them but could not unpick them altogether. She would need a pair of scissors for that and there were none to hand. Penelope looked up furtively as Josephine massaged her hands and managed to return them to something like their normal colour. Then she carefully slid the washing board out from under the maid, noticing a thin smear of clear liquid on its furrows.

As she saw what she had spilt on the cold metal, Penelope’s face screwed up into a grimace of disgust. Josephine put it on the floor and tried to calm her down by holding her gently, stroking the soft white skin of her back.

"Josephine," Penelope said, slowly and deliberately pronouncing each syllable of her name. "Josephine, I want to die. Make me die, Josephine." The maid looked longingly into the pillow beneath her chin, hoping to be suffocated.

"I’m not allowed to kill you," replied Josephine in a matter-of-fact manner. "The Mistress would punish me for it." Beneath her stern exterior, Josephine was in a state of panic. Penelope knew things that were dangerous; that she had told Josephine the Mistress’s secrets. Josephine relied on Penelope’s mortal terror of discovery for her own protection. Suicidal despair could make her unpredictable.

"She doesn’t see me any more," whined Penelope, drooling spit and tears onto her pillow. "She doesn’t touch me like she used to."

"Who?" asked Josephine.

"Mistress!" cried out Penelope, so loud that Josephine was forced to silence her by placing her hand across her jaw.

"Quiet!" hissed Josephine. "Or you’ll get us both into a lot of trouble. She used to touch you?" She released her grip on Penelope enough to let her nod her head and, once satisfied that the maid was calmer, allowed her to speak again.

"She saw me every day," whispered Penelope, still excited. "She held me. She spanked me. She beat me. She made love to me. I was special to her. I felt so wonderful when she touched me with her beautiful whip, Josephine. I wanted to be in her arms forever. She is so powerful, Josephine. So beautiful and perfect."

"What happened then?"

"She found another girl. A clever girl; much prettier than me. She liked the clever girl more than me. She said I had no purpose, Josephine. She never touches me now; she won’t even look at me."

Listening to Penelope’s little tale of woe, Josephine felt strangely excited to hear her name being repeated so many times in the young maid’s pleading tone. Penelope continued.

"The clever girl ran away and the Mistress sent for me. I thought she would have me again but she said I was no good. Now she’s got you, Josephine. She likes to be with you because you’re big and clever. I’m no good, Josephine. No good for anybody. I want to die. I want to…"

Penelope’s voice had been raising in volume again and once again she was almost in hysterics. Josephine stifled her once again, leaning over her from behind trying to smother her mouth. Penelope bit Josephine’s fingers hard, so in desperation Josephine placed her full weight on her knee in the small of Penelope’s back, pulling up her head as she did so.

"You will be quiet!" This time there was real aggression in Josephine’s voice, coupled with the pain she was inflicting. The effect was instantaneous. Totally subdued, Penelope went limp and silent. Josephine eased the pressure and felt the maid breathing through her nose, deeply and rhythmically. Josephine waited for her to calm down again before letting go of her mouth, but leaving her knee in place where, if needed, it could assert her authority again.

"Oh, Josephine," gasped Penelope. Her voice had now changed altogether, more a sigh of pleasure than a cry of pain. "Josephine!"

There was something reassuring but at the same time disturbing in Penelope’s reaction. Josephine could feel her breathing faster again, but this time not in fear but in anticipation and her skin become warmer to the touch. Penelope was waiting for something.

"Are you alright now?" asked Josephine.

"Hurt me again, Josephine. Please."

"I don’t want to harm you," replied Josephine, partly to remind herself that this was so.

On hearing this, Penelope began to cry again, filling Josephine with pity for the wretched creature who lay bound and helpless beneath her. It was an unusual sort of pity, blended with the growing delight she felt in having another human being under her complete control. As though linked by some invisible thread of understanding, both women’s eyes fell on the belt that lay on the floor.

"I’ll look after you," said Josephine softly, sliding from the bed onto her feet and reaching down for the implement.

"Thank you, Josephine," whispered Penelope, closing her eyes in expectant bliss.

Josephine picked up the belt and stretched it out. It was thin and made of imitation leather. She had no idea how much or little it might hurt someone if used as a whip. Penelope trembled in anticipation as Josephine felt the soft skin of her buttocks with her fingertips. Breathing in quietly, Josephine prepared herself for what she was about to do. She would have to satisfy her.

The first blow was pretty feeble; just a flick from her wrist that barely left a mark on Penelope’s behind. Josephine felt awkward and embarrassed as the maid continued shivering as though nothing had happened.

"Not like that! Harder, Josephine!" urged the maid. Josephine steeled herself and, raising her elbow to her shoulder to give the blow a little more force, delivered a satisfying crack across her buttocks. That felt much better; she was getting into her stride.

"Ooh, Josephine. Thank you, Josephine!" gasped the maid, tensing herself up for the third stroke which landed shortly afterwards. Josephine was amazed at the way her tiredness was vanishing. She felt stronger, physically and mentally, than she had ever felt before, rejuvenated and purified. Above all, it was a taste of liberation.

Penelope grew even more excited and repeated Josephine’s name again and again like a chant as Josephine struck her two more times. Josephine realised that she too was becoming strangely excited. A warm, visceral glow of wellbeing built inside her as though a disturbed balance had been restored. Penelope had begun to squirm in her bonds, panting with exhilaration as she tried to knead her clitoris against the bedclothes. Trembling with delight, Josephine dropped the belt and fell across the young maid’s body, feeling the energy of her straining sinews.

"Help me, Josephine!" pleaded the maid, obviously trying to reach a climax. Josephine reached under between her legs and felt her sex, warm and wet, twitching with excitement. Penelope stopped writhing but was breathing faster than ever as Josephine reached her clitoris. She could feel the burning lines where the belt had struck Penelope warm against her belly as she slowly and carefully extended her index finger up inside the hot vagina.

That was enough for Penelope. Her entire body jerked within its bonds covering Josephine’s hands with its juices. Gasping with pleasure, Josephine removed her hand and embraced Penelope. Penelope gave a little squeak of delight as she felt the warmth of Josephine gently enveloping her.

"Josephine," she said. "I love you, Josephine, I love you…."

"You’re mine now," replied Josephine. "You don’t need a Mistress. You’re my precious little one now, aren’t you?"

"Yes, Josephine," Penelope replied.

Wednesday morning was once more a trial for Josephine but her load was lightened by her memories of what had happened the previous night. She had managed to find a pair of scissors and, finally released from her self inflicted confinement, Penelope slept soundly in her arms. The stripes that Josephine had given her were nothing like as savage or numerous as Henrietta’s blows and had more or less disappeared by the morning. They were more symbolic than actually damaging.

Still, part of Josephine felt uneasy about what she had done. The ghost of Joseph Smythe’s morality wormed its way into her mind as she scrubbed the kitchen floor. True enough, Penelope was what Joseph would have called a ‘consenting adult’ in the physical sense but her stunted personality made a mockery of this concept. Joseph would have said that she needed help, not exploitation.

Josephine reproached herself. This was foolishness. Joseph Smythe was dead as was his world of personal rights and responsibilities. It no longer mattered what he would have thought. The rules were different now and Josephine would do whatever she needed to in order to survive. Penelope had a utility value. She also represented a danger. She therefore had to be controlled and by whatever means necessary.

Three o clock approached and Josephine changed into her black and white uniform to greet Lady Raven’s special visitor as instructed. She hovered near the door until exactly five minutes to three when the heavy doorbell chimed. When she opened the door she was astonished to see the Governess of North Castle Penitentiary waiting on the threshold.

"Hello Josephine," said Miss Peters, instantly recognising the maid. She was wearing her most expensive suit in a form fitting light grey with a white blouse underneath but seemed somehow less threatening and overbearing outside her own office where Josephine’s excruciating interviews with her had taken place. If anything, though, she seemed more nervous than usual though was trying to appear chatty and relaxed.

"Good afternoon, ma’am," replied the maid. The Governess was still a terrifyingly powerful figure and as she swept through the door Josephine held open, fearful memories of the prison came in as well and hovered menacingly in the air.

"You’re looking very nice," said the Governess. "I hope you’ve been behaving yourself!"

"Thank you, ma’am," Josephine looked at the floor.

"There’s plenty of room in North Castle for you if you don’t," she laughed. "How is the Mistress of the house?"

"She is very well, thank you ma’am."

"Is she? Never mind…." The Governess paused awkwardly at Josephine’s astonishment as her casual reply before chuckling nervously. "Is she waiting in her lair for me?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"No time to waste, then!"

The change in Miss Peters’ demeanour when she entered Henrietta’s giant hall could not have been more marked. Her flippancy vanished and she drew herself in as though preparing for a battle. Henrietta herself was waiting in a corner of the room in the same peach coloured suit she had worn on the day she had sentenced Joseph Smythe. Josephine wondered for a moment if the discussion might have something to do with her, but dismissed the idea from her mind immediately. Women like the Mistress and the Governess would only meet to talk about important things.

"I’m glad you could join me, Jocelyn," said Henrietta with a sickly smile. "How do you like my humble abode?"

"The house is most impressive, ma’am," came the reply.

"I’m glad you like it. Maid, fetch me a Scotch and for Miss Peters…"

"Just a glass of water please, Josephine."

Josephine hurried out of the room to fetch the drinks while the women continued to exchange brief pleasantries. By the time Henrietta was swilling her whisky glass they had started on more serious matters.

"I’m not accusing Factor Three of anything," said Miss Peters. "But the regulations make it clear that…."

"Let me put this differently," replied Henrietta, stretching out her arms. "The Minister for Law and Order is asking you, as a personal favour, to reconsider your approach to this."

"I don’t think it is in my gift, ma’am."

"That’s a pity," replied Henrietta. "A great pity as you are a lady of some talent. You’ve come an awful long way, haven’t you?"

"Are you asking for my resignation, ma’am?"

"Calm down!" Henrietta flapped her hand through the air. "Why would I do that? I was merely observing that you’ve climbed a lot of rungs since you first joined us. What were you to begin with?"

"Clerical assistant, ma’am."

"And before that?"

"It was my first job, ma’am." The Governess was suddenly uncomfortable with this line of questioning.

Henrietta grinned evilly.

"I think we can provide a little more detail than that about your background," she said slowly, watching for the horrified reaction on her minion’s face. "Maid, fetch the little envelope on my desk for Miss Peters."

Josephine obeyed her Mistress. There was something small and heavy inside the envelope which was open with the flap tucked in.

"No building can be stronger than its foundations, Peters," reproached Henrietta. "Look inside, it’s yours."

Miss Peters had gone pale. She looked as though as though something terrible was hunting her down. She slid her hand into the envelope and then withdrew it suddenly. Two small spots of blood fell from her fingertips onto her pure white blouse as a metal object fell out of the envelope and clattered on the floor. It was silver butterfly brooch from North Castle Penitentiary.

"Twenty years ago, when you first joined, you told us you had never been convicted of a criminal offence," boomed Henrietta. "Your entire career rests on that lie." Josephine watched in horror as the Governess crumpled to her knees.

"I want you to watch this, Josephine," said Henrietta, scooping up some papers from a chair with sadistic delight. Josephine noticed that her riding whip was also close to hand. "Listen to your Governess telling us exactly what she is and where she came from."

The Mistress walked over to the Governess who knelt staring at the unfastened silver badge on the floor in front of her.

"We’re waiting" sang Henrietta. "Recognise yourself?" She waved a photocopy of an old black and white photograph in front of Miss Peters’ face. Even from a distance, Josephine could see the image of a terrified young woman standing in chains between two wardresses, her mouth wide open at the enormity of what was happening to her. Despite the years the resemblance was striking.

"Absconding from a girls’ reformatory," pronounced Henrietta. The Governess’ haunted eyes were still fixed on the photograph.

"I… shouldn’t have been sent there," she stammered. "It was wrong!"

Henrietta struck her hard across the face, knocking her down from her knees into a heap on the floor.

"Who are you to tell me what is ‘wrong’?" the Mistress cried, raising her hand once more. The Governess had started bleeding from her nose and her lip. "I’ll tell you what was wrong. Your parents were traitors to their country. That was wrong. They should have hanged all three of you."

"They…" began the Governess, sucking in the blood so she could speak. "They were internees, not traitors. I…. I shouldn’t have been sent…"

"Poor little rich girl didn’t like slumming it with the working class?" sneered Henrietta, crouching low to seize her victim by the hair. She allowed the incriminating documents to scatter on the floor around her.

"They were cruel to me… they hurt me….."

"Probably because they loved their country!" Henrietta hissed, twisting Miss Peters’ hair and forcing her to stare up into her face. "So you ran away? I think the magistrate was perfectly within her rights to send you to North Castle!"

"You’re hurting me!" squealed the Governess. Henrietta laughed and squeezed harder.

"How old were you when we caught you?" Henrietta laughed. "Eighteen? What a tender age! I bet you had company in there! How many times?"

Josephine, watching the little scene and with rising fascination saw the moment when the mistress of North Castle, hitherto a superhuman figure and a symbol of authority, broke beneath the glare of the Minister for Law and Order. Henrietta released the Governess and watched her cry like a baby, bleat like an animal and shed blood as a, very ordinary, injured human being. Josephine knew that she would never see this woman in the same light.

Henrietta had not finished with her yet.

"And now we have caught you again," she pronounced, walking around the Governess who had curled herself up in a tight ball just as Josephine had the first time Henrietta beat her. "Deliberately making a false claim on an official form? That’s five years imprisonment, Peters. Five years. I doubt if you would last five weeks."

Miss Peters murmured softly to herself on the floor. It sounded like a prayer about forgiveness. Henrietta smiled when she heard the words and knelt down by the Governess.

"The Ministry never forgives and it never forgets, Jocelyn," she whispered. "Everything we do leaves a permanent mark. You belong to me while I control your little secret. After that…."

Henrietta left her sentence hanging in the air and drew herself to her feet. She cast a casual glance at Josephine.

"Maid!" she ordered. "Miss Peters will remain here until she has composed herself. Then the maid will show her outside, through the servants’ entrance."

Josephine stepped forwards to see if there was anything she could do to help Miss Peters.

"Don’t touch her," cautioned Henrietta. "She’s still your superior."

Late that evening, the Governess arrived back at the old fortress she had entered before once as a captive and again, twenty years later, as its mistress. She was shocked to find a prison van waiting for her at the station, but the driver tipped her cap and begged her pardon as the official car was in the garage being serviced.

The Governess rode silently in the passenger seat as the van approached the prison. As the van bounced along the badly kept road, the little brooch inside her handbag rattled around like a malevolent genie waiting to burst out and declare itself. She clutched the handbag tightly in her lap, desperately trying to hold it in a way that would silence its guilty contents. In doing so she accidentally wound its leather strap around her wrists until, thinking she had snared herself untangled them in a frenzy as though they were laced with poison.

She watched the black form of the Penitentiary looming up out of the night. Why had she lied about her past so many years ago? Her boyfriend, now deceased, had told her it was the only way to escape from it and to live as an honest citizen. Henrietta’s words that afternoon had swept the illusion away. The years of faithful service that were laid upon that lie and the promotions that followed only served to maximise its impact and therefore the severity of the punishment that awaited her.

As they opened the main gate she realised the cut on her lip had burst open again. It was dark, as it had been the first time they brought her here. She was bleeding, as she had been the first time she heard the awful grating sound of the opening gates. She was afraid.

As the Governess stepped through the door that was opened for her a sodium lamp snapped on and bathed her in its unforgiving light. Cowering from the glare she heard, as she had done thirty years before, the unmistakable clacking of a North Castle wardress’ heavy boots on cobblestones.

"Fell down the stairs?" a callous voice enquired, accompanied by a jangling of keys. Miss Harper had descended from her room to welcome her. "Ma’am?" she added as an afterthought, after a suitable pause.

"I am fine, thank you," the Governess whispered.

"I’m your instructions from Her Ladyship," Miss Harper whispered with a cackle. "Please don’t try to leave this building, by the way. Welcome back."

The gates slammed shut behind her.

 

 

CHAPTER TEN: THE CHAIN OF COMMAND

 

The weeks that followed the Governess’ humiliation had passed relatively pleasantly for Josephine. Miss Blacklock’s efforts to make her life a misery were increasingly frustrated by the Mistress who would regularly summon her to her study to assist as she had done before in her own duties. Furthermore, Penelope was always willing to take care of any particularly unpleasant tasks assigned to Josephine, gladly to free her own little ‘mistress’ from unwanted labour.

The work that Josephine did for Henrietta was absorbing and fascinating. By the end of the third week she had dismissed two incompetent officials, approved a plan to build a new prison and written a short lecture for the Mistress to deliver to a group of the Party Youth. To begin with, Henrietta closely scrutinised her work and, where she disagreed with something, tore it up and gave the maid a stinging blow or two to discourage future errors.

Josephine learnt quickly and such beatings became few and far between. She came to understand Henrietta’s view of the world, the attitudes that she would take and, most importantly, the way in which she liked to express herself. Suspicion and fear of potential enemies were the watchwords all the time, and a callous view of human life compulsory. Josephine treated it as an intellectual exercise, trying to second guess the way the Mistress would deal with any given situation and to copy her behaviour.

She began to gain a small measure of Henrietta’s confidence. The Mistress started thinking aloud when Josephine was in the room, using her as an extra brain to help resolve particularly difficult problems. Before long, Henrietta felt able to involve her in more interesting and intimate matters than her official role. Josephine already knew something about these from Penelope but learnt much more from the Mistress as they began to plot together.

There were of course some matters Henrietta kept private, mostly to do with her enigmatic friend Sophia, Factor Three and the women she was blackmailing. Josephine relied on Penelope’s spying for these details. In most things, though, the Mistress was happy to confide in her, not because she trusted her, but because she knew she had her completely within her power. Josephine could not leave the house, and when her usefulness expired she could be quietly disposed of.

One evening the two women finished work together later than usual having been very busy all day. Josephine was pulling together the bits and pieces that lay around her on the floor while the Mistress sat above her at her desk, adding her signature to three Preventive Custody Orders Josephine had carefully typed out for her. These would go straight to the Party Enforcement Branch without the Ministry of Law and Order even knowing what had happened. The suspects would be arrested first thing next morning without any of the usual bureaucratic niceties. Henrietta liked it that way.

"On your feet, Josephine," called Henrietta, snapping shut her briefcase. Josephine obeyed immediately, standing with her hands behind her, waiting for further orders. She remembered that she had been unsure of a spelling and expected to be asked to fetch the riding whip.

"I’m starting to like you," Henrietta commented thoughtfully. "You think like I do sometimes, though at a lower level. I like that."

Henrietta pulled the rope behind her desk and waited for Miss Blacklock to walk into the room. The housekeeper took a little longer than usual.

"Ah," said Henrietta. "There you are Miss Blacklock. We were wondering what was keeping you."

"I’m sorry ma’am," replied the housekeeper, looking pointedly at Josephine. "I’m a little low on staff."

"I’ll get you another maid," Henrietta replied. "Miss Smythe is now working full time for me."

"Miss Smythe?" asked the housekeeper in disbelief.

"Miss Smythe," replied the Mistress flatly. "She’s wasted on housework. She will need a new wardrobe as well. I would also like to move her into one of the smaller guest rooms."

"First floor, ma’am?" Asked Miss Blacklock, with rising incredulity.

"Why not? Most of those rooms are empty. The little room along the corridor from mine would be about right for her. I’m sure you don’t mind sharing the indoor bathroom with her."

"No. ma’am."

"And I expect she’ll need to borrow a maid from time to time. For her personal needs."

"I’ll see to it, ma’am."

"Excellent. Leave us now."

"Yes. ma’am." The housekeeper departed.

"Thank you, Mistress," Josephine stuttered in astonishment. Henrietta laughed.

"Little things," she chuckled. "Little things that cost us nothing. That is how we control one another, Josephine. Just remember that anything I give you I can take away. Very easily. That will be all."

It took a long time for the warmth of summer to penetrate the damp stone walls of North Castle Penitentiary. For the girls incarcerated in the gloomy corridors of the East Wing there was hardly any sign that summer was approaching, except perhaps that the wardresses were leaner, fitter and always looking for some exercise.

The regime in the prison had recently become particularly brutal even by its previous standards. The old system of iron regulations, harsh but perversely fair in their application had been replaced by the more or less unlimited authority of each wardress over her own little area. Miss Harper had told them to do whatever they liked as long as they got ‘some fucking results’ and most of them interpreted this as an order to have fun making life unpleasant for their charges.

Most of the changes had resulted from a meeting that had taken place two days after the Governess was called away to meet with Henrietta. Miss Stapleton had just reached the end of a long shift when she was summoned, without warning, to the Governess’ office.

"I’ll be brief with you, Stapleton," the Governess muttered, in a tired and strained tone of voice. "I’m not happy with the way you run your section. Very dissatisfied."

Miss Stapleton was standing to attention in front of the Governess’ desk, staring directly forwards, as the regulations required. Miss Harper was hovering nearby with a satisfied sneer on her weather-beaten face. She was enjoying this a great deal. For some reason, now that it was warmer the Governess had closed the windows in her office, making the room stuffy and uncomfortable.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Miss Harper asked, pointedly.

"In what areas must I improve, ma’am?" Miss Stapleton asked, addressing the Governess directly.

"The purpose of this interview," hissed Miss Harper," is not to tell you how to do your job, but to deal with the consequences of your failure!"

"Stapleton," said the Governess. "You aren’t… assertive enough with the prisoners."

"Ma’am?" replied a slightly puzzled Miss Stapleton.

"You spoil the little bitches!" snarled Miss Harper. "Every girl outside your section wants to be one of Veronica’s little pets. That’s poor management, Stapleton. Pathetic, in fact."

The Governess feebly raised her hand in protest.

"In case you hadn’t noticed, women come here to be punished!" Miss Harper continued. "You’re not up to that, are you?"

Miss Stapleton could tell that there was something wrong with the Governess. She was clearly short of sleep, but there was something else about her; something lost and listless. Her greyish skin reminded her of girls they brought in still recovering from drug addiction. Her eyes were swollen and listless.

"I’m sorry, ma’am," she said, desperately trying to think of what she might be doing wrong. She had always admitted to herself that her philosophy of discipline erred towards leniency and reassurance but did not think that she was too wide of the mark. Perhaps she had made an error in her judgement, and if so, she was determined to put it right.

"I’m sorry, Stapleton," the Governess continued, languidly. Miss Harper drew herself erect with her chest in and her baton under her arm, barely able to suppress her glee. "The Chief Officer has recommended you be reduced in rank to the first grade of Officer. The decision has been authorised…" she paused to draw a deep breath, " by myself. Effective immediately."

Nothing in Miss Stapleton’s appearance betrayed the shock and bewilderment she felt at what seemed to be the instant demolition of her promising career. It took her just a fraction of a second longer to recall the standard response to a disciplinary decision from a superior officer.

"Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am," she replied in her usual clipped tone of voice. ‘Don’t fight it, don’t question it, accept it!’ she screamed at herself inside her head.

The Governess closed her eyes and seemed to stare through her eyelids at the window behind Miss Stapleton, as though conversing with the heavens.

"Dismissed," she muttered, burying her head in her hands.

Josephine waited patiently for Penelope to finish dressing her for the evening. She hardly needed assistance but rang for it anyway since the maid enjoyed serving her. It was to be an informal occasion so she wore a short black dress held up by a neck band that revealed her shoulders and the top of her cleavage. Underneath she wore a light waist clincher, subtle enough not to show but strong enough to bring her visible measurements within the limits recommended by the Ministry of Health and Welfare for a girl of her age and height, and rigorously enforced on her by the Mistress’ private decree.

It had been almost a month since her sudden elevation and she had found her new life more agreeable to her in many different ways. The ‘little room’ Henrietta had prescribed for her was over twice the size of the attic room she had shared with Penelope, with a comfortable bed opposite a large glass topped dressing table over which hung an ornate mirror. Above the bed itself was a large painting, a scene from classical legend or history. Two maidens in armour stood over the remains of a battlefield as one passed a serpent across to the other. Behind them loomed a mountain, the peak of which was lost in the clouds.

The room was not perfect, however, and the age and condition of the house expressed itself in the long cracks that had appeared in the ceiling and the walls. More disconcerting were the thin bars fixed in the window, painted white so that they were not obviously visible. There was also heavy lock on the door, usually unlocked, to which Henrietta had the key.

Josephine had been allowed some latitude in choosing her new wardrobe but during the day had to conform to a formula of long, dark dresses, normally in navy blue or black, similar to those Miss Blacklock wore. In the evening she was allowed and expected to wear more revealing outfits, appearing playfully seductive to please her Mistress. Amongst her many other skills, Beatrice turned out to be an acceptable hairdresser and offered to tidy up Josephine’s hair. Josephine giggled the first time she saw it cropped short all over because she looked a little bit like Miss Stapleton. Nevertheless, she planned to grow it longer as soon as she could.

Despite her freedoms, she remained a prisoner in the house and the greater interest Henrietta now showed in her had its disadvantages. The harsh but simple rules she had been forced to follow as a maid were replaced by a complex and subtle array of precise regulations intruding into every detail of her life, from the times she took her meals to the parts of the building she was allowed to enter.

The servants were unsure of her status at first, though as she always seemed pleasant to them, they were happy to let her flit between their world and Henrietta’s, treating her with familiarity or deference as appropriate. Only Miss Blacklock resented her. It was, by all accounts a strange existence, though she was getting used to it and, were it not for the arbitrary and changing nature of her Mistress’s whims she might even have found it comforting.

Tonight would be particularly interesting as Sophia had come over again, this time to spend the weekend at the house. Sophia had arrived around lunchtime on Saturday and the two women had immediately locked themselves away in Henrietta’s study to begin plotting together. Frustratingly enough, she and Penelope were both far too busy to monitor the conversation as she would have liked to.

Josephine had heard there was some terribly important meeting of Factor Three coming up within a few weeks and she guessed that the Mistress and Sophia were making plans for this. It was unlikely, she thought, that they would involve her in this since Factor Three was always a secretive business. She was therefore surprised and delighted when Henrietta sent a note ordering her to join them for dessert that evening after dinner. She did not know why they wanted to see her but she was determined to make a good impression.

 

"So this is your new personal assistant?" Sophia asked with interest. "I thought she was a chambermaid."

Sophia and the Mistress were relaxing together in the giant leather armchairs in the study when Josephine was admitted to their presence. Next to the young magazine editor, Henrietta seemed much older than she normally did. The contrast between the women was striking. While Henrietta appeared old fashioned in her clothing and habits, the young businesswoman looked modern in every sense in a royal blue trouser suit with a crisp white blouse. Sophia was also quite openly armed, perfectly legal for women with the appropriate licence, with the handle of a pistol protruding from the inside of her jacket.

"I used her as a maid until recently," replied Henrietta. "But it was clear to me that her talents lay in another direction. You must remember she was once an academic."

"One of our best conversions, I believe," replied Sophia. "Is she completely cured of the political disorders Joseph Smythe suffered from?"

"Judging from the work she’s done for me she is. You’re a good citizen now, aren’t you, Josephine?"

"Thank you, Mistress," Josephine replied. "I hope I am."

"Well, she’s certainly a pretty one," Sophia added. "And a pretty little mind as well, no doubt?"

Josephine blushed.

"Pretty when she wants to be," replied Henrietta. "And ruthless too, in her own little way. Quite a useful asset, really."

"Are you sure we can trust her?" Sophia asked, more seriously.

"Trust does not come into it," Henrietta replied. "Whatever happens, she belongs to me and I can treat her as I choose. If she fails or tries to do something silly, I’ll bring her back here, set my dogs on her and put whatever’s left back to work in the kitchen. It would be a shame to spoil that face of yours, Josephine."

"Now that’s what I call a staff incentive," laughed Sophia. "Is she bright enough?"

"She’d better be."

"Well, it’s your call."

"We’ll do it."

Henrietta invited Josephine to sit down on a small wooden chair in between her and Sophia and the two women explained the task they had mind for her.

The Executive Committee of Factor Three would shortly be meeting to elect a new Mother Superior and Henrietta intended to stand for the post.

"Most of the real work at these meetings goes on under the table," explained Sophia. "That’s where the Servitors operate."

"What do Servitors do, ma’am?" asked Josephine.

"Most members of the Committee have a girl who sits on the floor next to her," replied Sophia. "In theory, they are there as an observer and a helper for their committee member. In practice, they spend most of their time bargaining, on behalf of their mistresses, with the other Servitors."

"What sort of bargaining, ma’am?"

"Mostly buying votes, forming alliances. That sort of thing."

"I never used to have one," put in Henrietta. "Didn’t see the need. Sophia has convinced me otherwise."

"I used to be one until recently," remarked Sophia. "So I know what I’m doing. But I’m on the Committee now, so I can’t do the job for Henrietta and cast my own vote."

"But why me?" asked Josephine in astonishment.

"That’s the clever part," replied the Mistress.

"Lady Raven has recently acquired a large amount of money from, let us say, an unofficial source," continued Sophia. Josephine remembered the night of the Head of Penal Services’ unfortunate death and guessed where the money might have come from. "This means she is considerably richer than her opponents think she is."

"An ambush?" asked Josephine, innocently.

"Exactly!" beamed Sophia. "And you, my little friend, are going to engineer it for us. From the floor. Anyone else is a security risk."

"And we can’t afford that," put in Henrietta. "At all costs."

"I’ve still got my old Servitor dress," Sophia added. "And I’ll teach you everything you need to know."

"Of course, we will need to make her a life member for this," mused Henrietta. "Otherwise she won’t be allowed in the Great Chamber."

"I’m sure you can afford that," grinned Sophia. "The Secretary always turns up early for these meeting. I was at school with her Servitor so I can book out a slot with her just before it starts. No problem."

"Are you sure you can teach her enough in time?" asked Henrietta. "There’s a great deal riding on this."

"I should think so, she does seem pretty bright," replied Sophia. "I’ll show her the basics now. Watch me, Josephine."

"Yes, ma’am," Josephine watched as Sophia slid her jacket off and, with a playful giggle, descended to her knees in front of her armchair.

"As a Servitor, you’re not allowed to speak at meetings so the first thing you’ve got to learn are the hand signals," she began. "I’ll show you some now."

"Brings back memories," grinned Henrietta, leaning forward in her seat.

"Now, if there’s about to be a vote," Sophia continued, "your Mistress will probably want you to show the other Servitors what she’s about to do." She pushed her chest forwards and raised her hands in the air, slightly behind her head.

"That’s for a yes vote," put in Henrietta. "Even I remember that one."

"This is ‘no’," said Sophia, suddenly crossing her arms tightly on her chest, fists clenched defensively. "Generally, the more emphatic the gesture, the stronger your mistress’s intention is. Now this one’s my favourite."

Sophia placed her right hand on her left breast, stroking and tugging at her nipple though her silken blouse as though drawing milk from her bosom. With her free hand, she pointed at Josephine.

"This means that my Mistress wants to offer yours a bribe," she said. "I’ll teach you the signs for amounts later. If I rub both breasts at once, I’m bribing any takers."

Sophia paused. "This is to accept a bribe," she said greedily mauling a pair of invisible breasts in the air in front of her.

"Now what do you think this means?" she asked, snapping her hand through the air as though slapping someone in the face.

"You’re rejecting the bribe, ma’am?" asked Josephine.

"Bang on. Well, my Mistress is, anyway. Here’s another one you need to know," Sophia mimed the action of slipping a ring on her finger which she held up in front of her. "Wedding ring," she explained. "Your bribe didn’t work because someone else has already bought me. Now, if you offer more than they did," she continued, reversing the gesture, "the wedding ring comes off and we’re back in business. Quite simple, really. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma’am," Josephine replied, fascinated by the gestures the young businesswoman was making.

"You see," remarked Henrietta. "I told you the girl was a natural!"

The universe has suddenly become a very different and altogether more pleasant place for Senior Officer Jones. Striding through the courtyard to return to her quarters, she felt as though she was walking on a cushion of warm air. The hard cobblestones had strangely become flexible and buoyant, as though made of warm rubber. The skies above were clear, the breeze in her hair pure and refreshing.

Everything around her had passed out of focus from the moment the Chief Officer had shaken her by the hand. The people around her seemed different; smaller, less threatening and more willing to obey her or at least to get out of her way. Even the grim walls around her were friendly and welcoming, reminding her of the extra keys she was now entitled to possess and fencing in the little dominion of which she was now an aristocrat.

As she entered her room, which she would shortly be trading for a proper flat, closer to the main gate, she reflected that this feeling, dwarfed only by her elation on the day she first became a wardress, was the only true happiness possible in life. She knew would become used to her new position and then life would continue as before with its little ups and downs, small pleasures and frustrations. But now she revelled in the unique joy of having broken a barrier, expanded herself and entered a new mode of existence.

She lost no time in replacing the epaulettes on her uniform blouse in front of the mirror, amazed at the difference one extra pieces of brass on each shoulder made to her appearance. She looked older, wiser, more confident and less inwardly afraid. This was a feeling to be treasured. Then she remembered something, which put the icing on the cake. It was time to pay a visit to Officer Stapleton.

Miss Stapleton was busy packing away the few belongings she allowed herself to keep in her daytime office. Sadly. the little collection of Victorian implements of restraint and discipline she kept would have to remain as they belonged to the prison. She would miss these, she thought, as they reminded her of society’s determination looked after those in greatest need of its care.

As she saw Miss Jones entering the little room, she stopped what she was doing and stood upright, awaiting her superior’s instructions.

"Are you still in here, Stapleton?" Miss Jones asked with a leer.

"I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll be as quick as possible."

"Miss Harper told me all about you," Miss Jones continued. "Don’t expect any sympathy from me. You’re a fucking loser, Stapleton, and nobody likes you except the little sluts who think you’re their fucking mother."

"I’m sorry, ma’am."

"Miss Harper’s told me to knock a bit of sense into this place and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. You’re on my team now and don’t forget it!"

"I am under your orders, ma’am."

"You are, aren’t you?" replied Miss Jones with a grin. Miss Stapleton noticed she had hooked the office door behind her with her foot and pulled it shut.

"Blouse off!" she snapped.

"Pardon, ma’am?"

"Underwear inspection. If its non regulation, it’s coming off"

"Yes, ma’am." Miss Stapleton began to undress herself.

"Skirt as well. Come on, I don’t have all day! Not on my desk, leave them on the floor!"

Before long, Miss Stapleton was standing a set of white underwear perfectly in line with the prison regulations with her arms by her side. Miss Jones watched her with interest, becoming increasingly excited at the sight of her firm, healthy, beautifully proportioned body.

"Anything in there you shouldn’t have, Stapleton?" she asked. Miss Stapleton noticed a few drops of saliva dribbling down her cheek.

"No, ma’am."

"Nothing to help your favourites get to sleep at night?"

"No, ma’am,"

"Shall we take a look?"

"A search should be undertaken in the presence of the Medical Officer, ma’am," Miss Stapleton reminded her.

"Keep your legs apart and put your hands on your head," ordered Miss Jones, stepping over and rubbing her hands gleefully. "Unless you want to make a formal complaint to Miss Harper, that is."

"No, ma’am," replied Miss Stapleton. "Just let me know when you’ve finished."

Josephine was only half aware of what was happening around her as they laid her face down on the table in the middle of the chamber. She was naked, but the air around her was warm and filled with heavy vapours from the portable burners that hissed away in the corners of the room. Only the coolness of the table top beneath her kept her senses alive.

Early that morning she had left Henrietta’s mansion with her Mistress and Sophia, with their robes for the Committee meeting folded away in a suitcase in the boot of the car. At first, Henrietta wanted to put Josephine in the boot as well, but Sophia advised against it as it was important for her to get as much rest as possible before her initiation and the meeting itself. In the end they let her ride in the back seat of the car, which was wonderfully comfortable and, for the first time since the day she left the prison, enabled her to look through the window at the world outside.

It was now late in the summer, nearly a year since Joseph Smythe’s arrest, and the countryside around had become a glowing amber. Josephine had no idea where they were going and, as a rule, Henrietta avoided cities and main roads which might have helped give her an idea of their direction. Aside from the occasional Community Party poster it was the countryside as Josephine remembered it from the past. It reminded her of trips to the seaside when Joseph was a child.

Just before lunchtime they arrived at their destination, which appeared to be a rural hotel, three stars, set in a mock Tudor farmhouse with a number of outbuildings discreetly converted into corporate function rooms and conference facilities.

"I think we’re supposed to be an insurance company this time," commented Henrietta as they looked for a parking space. "The owner’s a member of course, but the briefing asked us not to robe up until we’re in the rooms we’re booked."

"They don’t want us to frighten off the other guests, I suppose," replied Sophia. "I’m surprised they’ll let us initiate members on the premises."

"I think they get a commission from the registration fee. How much is it now, Sophia?"

"Three thousand, six hundred, I think."

"Bloody hell! It was two hundred guineas when I joined. Do you hear that, Josephine? I’m making quite an investment here."

"Do you have that much on you?" asked Sophia.

"Oh yes," replied Henrietta, looking at her handbag. "It always pays to keep some loose change handy!"

"Is the candidate ready?" asked the Committee Secretary. Like Henrietta and Sophia, who were also in the room, the Secretary had donned the scarlet robes which transformed her from the inoffensive woman who had met them at the door into a sorcerous matriarch filed with power and malice.

There were other women in the room as well, three big girls in leather skirts and tight, revealing bras who had helped Josephine into place on the table and a youngish woman in a green Servitor dress tapping away at a portable computer on a seat behind the Secretary. She had just finished counting the large bundle of fifty-pound notes Henrietta had furnished from her handbag.

Josephine squirmed uncomfortably on the table. It was too short for a person to lie down on properly and her head and feet stuck out on either side. The aroma from the burners was giving her a headache, and the blood rushing into her head hanging over the edge of the table made it worse. The surface had been oiled for some reason and she was having some trouble staying on it. She noticed that in front of her was a smaller table with a statuette of two women embracing, one of whom was holding a baby.

"Lets get this over with, then," muttered Henrietta.

The Secretary nodded to one of the leather clad Custodians, and the main light in the room was extinguished. The room was now in darkness save for the flickering light of the braziers and the ethereal glow of the Servitor’s computer screen, which illuminated the figure of the women and the child. Josephine felt Sophia taking hold of her right hand and lifting it up behind her. Henrietta, meanwhile, had taken a seat directly in front of her and, opening the front of her robe to reveal her two enormous breasts which were so close that they filled most of Josephine’s vision.

Sophia had explained this part of the ritual to her. Taking hold of Josephine’s other hand and lifting it to render her completely helpless, the Secretary began monologue in Latin, which Josephine did not understand. From time to time, the recital would pause and Sophia would squeeze Josephine’s hand to prompt her into saying "accipio"; ‘I accept’..

"Its all mumbo jumbo designed to scare superstitious types," Sophia had explained to her in the car on the way. "Its supposed to give the Order powers over your immortal soul, but I doubt if you believe any of that."

At length the monologue came to an end and Henrietta took hold of Josephine’s head, lifting it slightly so she looked directly into he eyes. Two pink orbs hovered beneath Josephine’s chin indecisively for a moment, until Henrietta suddenly pushed her head down so that her lips momentarily touched her right nipple, allowing her to pick up a faint salty taste. The women around her paused, as though slightly surprised at what she had done.

"Therefore, I name you," continued the Secretary, suddenly breaking into English, "Sister Josephine, thirteenth daughter of Henrietta, first niece of Sophia…." She paused as though she had forgotten something.

"One, one, seven!" The Servitor called, reading from her computer screen.

"One hundred and seventeenth granddaughter of Catherine," continued the Secretary with a smile. "Bound Sister of the Order with all rights and duties accruing thereby."

One of the Custodians suddenly approached from behind and Josephine smelt something new, sharp and metallic, which had been masked by the burning incense. Sophia and the Secretary both suddenly tightened their grip, pinning her down hard onto the table. Josephine tried to scream with alarm but Henrietta seized her face, stifling her nose and mouth so she could not breathe.

A split second later a searing pain came from her right buttock the Custodian had applied a red-hot iron. Fighting in vain against the women who held her down she heard the sizzling of her flesh as the branding iron was held in place. It felt for a moment as though they were burning a hole right through her. At last the intensity of the pain fell away as the iron was withdrawn, but built again when her body came to terms with the damage it had suffered.

"Right hander, eh?" commented the Secretary, releasing her grip on Josephine’s arm. "I thought she was a maid of yours?"

"It was a mistake, replied Henrietta with a shrug, releasing Josephine. "Lost my concentration."

Factor Three’s newest member made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan.

"Well, it’s to done now," remarked the Secretary, looking at the ugly red mark burnt into Josephine’s backside. "Come on, Patricia dear, we’ve more important things to do. I’ll see you ladies at the meeting."

The Secretary hastily left the room, followed by her entourage.

"So far, so good, " said Henrietta, fastening her robe at the throat once more. "Sort her out in time for lunch. I’ve got other business to settle."

"Right," replied Sophia, fumbling around in her handbag for something as the Mistress swept out of the room. Josephine felt an extra twinge as Sophia lanced the brand with a hypodermic needle.

"Just something to stop it hurting during the meeting," she explained with a smile. "It’ll pick you up a bit as well. Don’t say Aunt Sophie doesn’t look after you!"

Sophia slapped on a bandage as an icy, numbing feeling spread slowly across her buttocks, washing away the pain as it did so. The iciness continued to work its way up her spine where it became a wave of invigorating energy. It made her feel more confident and capable though she felt as though the cheeks of her backside had swollen to twice their normal size.

"They didn’t tell me about that bit either," smiled Sophia. "Until it was too late to back out. Just as well, really. You’ve got a real asset now, Josephine, particularly since its on the right hand side."

"What does that mean?" asked Josephine.

"Oh, nothing in theory," Sophia replied. "It’s just that right handers make up only a tenth of the Order and happen to monopolise the entire Executive Committee. It’s an unofficial tradition, if you like. Can you sit up yet?"

"I can’t feel anything at all down there now. It’s really funny, but I feel fine."

"That’s good enough. Keep your mind off it and concentrate on what you have to do."

"Yes, ma’am."

"Right. Get dressed and we’re in business."

"In a few minutes time," remarked Miss Johnston with a broad grin, "I will be free from you miserable little sods forever!"

The girls in the laundry looked back at her in surprise.

"I’m going upstairs to one of the guardrooms," she continued. "Back to the living, you might say." She could tell that some of the younger women were looking apprehensive. Whatever they might think of her, a supervisor whose faults and foibles were predictable and well known to them was infinitely preferable to the unknown. One or two of them even seemed to be silently pleading with their eyes for her to stay.

"I won’t miss you one little bit," she laughed. "I’ve hated every minute here and I hope you have as well. Enjoy the rest of your worthless little lives."

Suddenly, the girls working nearest to the door into the courtyard noticed who was approaching, and a moment later, all the women in the room, including the wardress, were standing to attention.

Miss Jones swaggered lazily into the laundry, her newly enlarged bunch of keys on her belt bouncing on her thigh as she did so. Looking around with her nose in the air at the little clutch of faces wreathed in steam she recalled only having been in here once before, when she received her first tour of the prison as a wardress. Even then, the lowly status of this room and its pathetic inhabitants had left an impression on her mind. Following her superior at a respectful distance, Miss Stapleton entered the room.

"Welcome to the zoo, Stapleton," leered Miss Jones. "Here is your post until you can convince me you’re fit for something better. Johnston! You’re in the kitchens. Try not to fuck up all the time."

Miss Jones turned and left the room with a delighted Miss Johnston tottering after her. The girls in the laundry fixed their gaze on the new woman set over them. They had all heard of Miss Stapleton and could not believe she had been cast down from her lofty height to replace Miss Johnston as their supervisor. Miss Stapleton looked slowly round at her charges and set her eyes on the youngest of them, standing on the rickety stool Josephine had briefly occupied.

"Isabel? Is that you?" she asked. The girl was astonished.

"Yes, Miss," she replied. None of the other girls, let alone Miss Johnston, had ever bothered to find out her name.

"Eighteen years of age. Release date in two years, perhaps sooner. Wants to be a fashion model. It might happen, you never know" she added kindly. The trembling girl returned her smile. "And when you are released," continued Miss Stapleton, "you will be able to read, and you will know that American propaganda is taken straight to the police, not hidden in your bedroom."

"Yes, Miss," nodded Isabel, enthusiastically.

"One more thing. Favourite colour. Let me guess…. Pink?"

"Oh, yes, Miss!" Isabel’s previously terrified countenance broke into a giggle of delight. Miss Stapleton chuckled benevolently.

"I’ve read your file," she said, becoming more serious, and looking around the room. "In fact, I make it my business to know a great deal about all of you. I know what you are capable of, and I know what you hope for and what you are afraid of. I will act on this information. Conduct yourselves accordingly."

"Yes, Miss," chorused the fascinated inmates.

"Thank you, ladies," Miss Stapleton continued, "Given that I know you all by name, you may dispense with the numbers. Remove them now."

The wardress watched the little pile of numbered bibs growing at her feet as the girls scurried forwards and back to their places. Perhaps her demotion was no bad thing after all.

Closely following Sophia, Josephine waddled uneasily into the public gaze of the main reception area. A large number of Factor Three’s somewhat diverse membership were present, helping themselves to a generous buffet lunch laid on for them. Most of the women present were ordinary members, no doubt seeking favours from the robed Committee members huddled in the centre of the room. There was also a fairly large group of Servitors who had taken over the corner of the room nearest to the telephone.

Josephine was acutely conscious of her nakedness, clearly visible through her green Servitor dress, which seemed to be made of a fine nylon webbing, more like a mosquito net than clothing fabric. Every little draught or breeze that passed through the room felt cold against her skin and she felt vulnerable and exposed.

She recognised some of the faces amongst the Committee members from newspapers and the television. Others were anonymous as individuals but somehow she could tell from their appearance what they represented. There were captains of industry, senior figures in the Party, the armed forces and the government. The oppressors Joseph Smythe had feared and hated, the cancer at the heart of the Community Party system, were gathered together in their most secret recluse. And Josephine was here walking amongst them.

"You’ll be fine," whispered Sophia. "Just remember the rules I taught you, use your brain and believe in yourself. Go for it!"

Sophia gave Josephine a gentle push towards the little flock of green dresses in the corner of the room, and, putting her fears aside she walked boldly towards them.

On the way, she passed uncomfortably close to the Committee members in the middle of the room, some of whom were looking out for new faces.

"I think that one belongs to Raven," one of them muttered, pointing her out to one of her companions.

"Unusual for her to have one," mused another. With a start, Josephine noticed that she was wearing the gold chain of office of the Mother Superior.

"Think she’s up to something?" asked a third.

"Hardly," laughed the first woman who had spoken. "Look at that one’s arse. New-born." She pointed down at Josephine’s bandage which was clearly visible through her dress. "I think she’s just here for show."

"Poor girl," the Admiral chuckled dryly to herself. "I hope she doesn’t take anything that happens to her Mistress today personally."

The other Servitors were hardly more welcoming than their mistresses. They ignored her at first, except for one or two of them who copied the example of their elders in expressing their amusement at her status as a novice. It was really odd seeing their bodies through their thin dresses and reminded Josephine very much of the showers at North Castle. She wondered what Mary was doing at the moment.

"Welcome aboard," a voice came from behind. Patricia was there, crunching her way through a long stick of celery. "It’s good to see a new face around here. I’m glad Lady Raven has finally sorted herself out a Servitor too. Helps keep track of what’s going on. I’ll show you some faces if you like."

Patricia helpfully introduced Josephine to some of the others. When she left to help herself to lunch, two Servitors who had been keeping apart from the others came up to her.

"You’re Raven’s, aren’t you?" one of them asked. Servitors rarely referred to one another by their own names unless they were close friends.

Josephine nodded.

"And yourselves?" she asked.

"I’m Brown’s," one of them replied, before introducing her colleague. "She belongs to Sister Miles. You’re new-born, aren’t you?"

"That’s right," replied Josephine. Brown and Miles were both believed to be staunch allies of the Admiral Henrietta hoped to depose. "Can I help at all?" she asked.

"Your boss doesn’t like the Admiral very much, does she?" Brown’s Servitor asked, making sure that nobody else was listening.

"That’s an interesting observation," Josephine remarked, cautiously.

"Lets cut the crap, shall we?" snapped Miles’ Servitor. "Raven wants to be left alone with the Ministry of Law and Order, doesn’t she? We’re looking at the rest of Factor Three. We want to run the rest of this outfit more like a business."

"A leadership challenge?" asked Josephine.

"Brown." replied Miles’ Servitor. "If she gets the votes Raven controls and wins, whatever Raven wants to do with the Ministry is none of our business. That’s the deal."

Josephine thought for a moment.

"Of course," she said slyly, "The Admiral would pay handsomely for those votes. I believe her war chest is rather large."

The two Servitors smiled evilly, shaking their heads.

"Shall I tell her?" asked Brown’s Servitor.

"Why not?" replied Miles’ Servitor. "There’s nothing she can do about it, even if she wanted to."

"The Admiral’s bank owes Lady Miles a favour," said Brown. "There’s been an unfortunate error this morning on her main account. It will of course be sorted out tomorrow. But that would be a bit too late if something happens in the meantime."

"You can’t stop it," Miles’ Servitor said, smugly tapping her mobile phone. "Only I know who to call and what to tell them."

"Have we got your votes then?" asked Brown’s Servitor. "We can buy enough anyway, but you can do yourselves a favour by saving us money."

"I think we’ll have to see what happens," Josephine replied. "But thank you for keeping me informed."

Half an hour later, the delegates were taking their seats or their places on the floor in the Great Chamber. Henrietta had arrived and was seated in her customary position directly opposite the Admiral, but this time Sophia was next to her, with two other Committee members Henrietta knew well on either side of them. The full Committee of about forty members was present, seated around a magnificent oval table laden with candles and several miscellaneous artefacts of the Order.

Most of the Servitors were present too, silent as required but engaged in frantic conversations with their colleagues via their peculiar sign language or by notes passed around under the table. Patricia was there at the Secretary’s feet with her laptop which was the only piece of electronic equipment allowed in the room, along with some brightly coloured cards and a heap of marker pens. Josephine had not yet arrived.

"Where is she?" hissed Henrietta, "We’re about to start!"

"I’m sure she’ll turn up," replied Sophia. "I wouldn’t worry. Ah! Here she is!"

Henrietta’s eyes followed Josephine as she rushed apologetically into the room and hastened to her place on the floor beneath her. This was not a particularly good start. The Mistress made her displeasure felt by kicking Josephine sharply in the small of the back, nearly knocking her over under the table, much to the amusement of the other Servitors who had seen her arrive.

The Committee and their minions finally settled down and at length the meeting opened. The room was darkened and, while candles were lit for the benefit of the Committee members, those on the floor found their world illuminated by strange phosphorescent lamps. Josephine watched the other Servitors gesturing furiously in the eerie green light while the Secretary’s voice above recited the formulae that would set the meeting in motion.

There was nothing particularly important to begin with, mostly Committee members giving their reports on what had happened during the past few months. Henrietta proudly announced that the police force and all the state prisons were now firmly under the control of Factor Three including, at long last, North Castle, while her colleagues announced similar successes in their own areas of expertise. Factor Three’s grip was tightening.

A few motions were then tabled for the Committee to vote on. This was more interesting as, for the first time, Josephine got to see the other Servitors bargaining for support. It happened very quickly; a few swift hand motions were enough to buy a vote. Both Servitors would glance at Patricia who would hold up a card with a black circle on it to indicate that, according to her computer, whoever had just made the bribe could afford to do so. Once the hidden auction below was complete, the Committee members would vote by a show of hands and Patricia would record the bargains struck and payments made.

On one of the less important motions, the question of whether the Committee member sealed in chainmail underwear should be allowed to remove it, Henrietta had no particular opinion. As instructed by Sophia, Josephine took the opportunity to make her mistress seven thousand pounds by selling her vote to the highest bidder, the Servitor belonging to the committee member in question. She tapped the sole of Henrietta’s right shoe three times for a ‘yes’ vote and, thankfully for the discomfited Committee member, the motion passed by a narrow margin.

Finally, the Committee fell silent as the Secretary asked if there would be any challengers to the title of Mother Superior. Above the table, there followed what appeared to be a pause for sombre reflection. Underneath, a feeding frenzy began.

Brown’s Servitor immediately indicated that her mistress would be standing against the Admiral and started buying votes for her at thirty thousand pounds apiece. She moved very professionally, working her way around the table while Miles’ girl did the same thing in the other direction. Furious at this betrayal, the Admiral’s own Servitor went to forty thousand and, sweeping her arm across a row of Servitors who had been offered bribes by Brown, tried to buy ten votes at once.

A moment later, she was staring aghast at Patricia who was shaking her head and holding up a different card on which was printed a large letter ‘X’. Delight followed in the Brown camp where the two Servitors were beaming in supreme smugness at the disaster the Admiral had suffered. The Servitors were in disarray. The Admiral’s Servitor expressed her furious disbelief to Patricia who shrugged her shoulders. There was nothing she could do. The bank would not honour the payment.

It took another moment for Patricia, the Admiral’s Servitor and the Brown camp to realise that the others had just stopped looking at them. They were staring at Josephine who had grasped her bosoms with both hands, then held up five fingers and stretched her arms out, pointing at all around the table. Fifty thousand per vote. Thirty pairs of greedy hands stretched out towards her as Patricia held up the card with the circle. Henrietta Raven had just announced her intention to challenge the Admiral for the role of Mother Superior.

Battle was joined. Sharing their alarm at what had happened, the Admiral’s Servitor and Brown’s camp quickly buried their differences and Brown threw her weight behind the Admiral. They were trying to buy back votes but it became clear that Brown and the crippled Admiral simply did not have enough money between them to beat Henrietta.

"Do we have any more candidates?" came the Secretary’s hollow voice from above.

"I think I have a problem," put in Miles herself, in her gravely tones. "My Servitor needs to leave the room. She has some medication she must take or she will become very ill."

"I object!" called Henrietta. "This should not hold up the vote!" Josephine’s constant tapping of her heel indicated that the sooner the vote took place, the better.

"She can go," replied the Secretary. "But we move to a vote as soon as possible."

Miles’ Servitor left the room like a ferret as her mistress and their allies tried to keep the debate going for as long as possible. The Admiral’s Servitor stared at Patricia and kept trying to spend her mistress’s money in the hope that the messenger sent from the room would contact the bank in time to release it.

The Admiral in particular was skilful at dragging the conversation out as long as she could, frustrating Henrietta’s urges to move to a vote straight away. It seemed that she would succeed in postponing the vote for long enough for Miles’ Servitor to complete her mission. For some reason, though, the Servitor had been absent for nearly five minutes and nothing had happened.

The Secretary finally conceded to Henrietta that there was no reason for the vote to be delayed and, following a final burst of frantic activity below the table, it was called. Josephine looked around the table and breathed a tremendous sigh of relief as she saw the outstretched hands. She had easily enough. A moment later a delighted Henrietta squeezed hard on her shoulder as, by twenty seven votes to thirteen, she was elected Mother Superior.

 

(continued)

 

 

 

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