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JOSEPHINE (continued from part 1, file split in two because of size) A Novel by Miss Anthropy (c) 2000 Miss Anthropy. All rights reserved. This is an erotic work of fiction the setting of which is an alternative history of the United Kingdom. Any resemblance of the characters therein to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The text contains strong language and depictions of persons engaged in violent, sexual and/or degrading acts that some people may find offensive. "In woman, a slave and a tyrant have all too long been concealed" FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE 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