Chapter 2

“Imogen,” Maurice Prestwick intercepted the de facto ‘housekeeper’ for the Centre.

“Yes, sir?”

“We’re getting a new staff member on Sunday. You met Sister Sarah Sanders at the wedding, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“She’s going to be medical oversight for us, staff and residents. I need for you to make sure there’s an accommodation unit clean and suitable for a single woman. She will be senior staff. I think there’s an apartment similar to mine, isn’t there?”

“Yes, sir, there is. Will Saturday do? I’m a little busy until then.”

“Oh, that’ll be fine. You can call on anyone else you need, to help. Overtime rates, if necessary.”

“Thank you, sir. Heidi will help. Can I have a couple of residents as well, or do you want me to use staff?”

“No – use trainees if you like. As long as they volunteer. They can have the equivalent money credited to their accounts. Oh, and Imogen, make sure you don’t overdo it. Supervise only, okay? No risk to your pregnancy.”

Imogen’s head dipped and she blushed slightly. “Thank you, sir. I will take care.”

They both headed for the Centre. He looked at her with raised eyebrows. She responded, “I’m going to have a word with a couple of the residents about Saturday.”

He nodded. “That’s good.”

She found that her first choice was still in the shower, so she moved on to her second. Penelope ‘Poppers’ Lindon, IS29/16. She had, like Etty Hemmings, been a long-term resident as a result of her drug use and other lifestyle choices.

“Penny – a word?”

The girl looked up from her laptop computer, where she was working on an online mathematics course. “Imogen! Hi!”

“I need a couple of volunteers to help clean one of the staff flats. Dusty work. Most of Saturday. Are you interested? There’s pay involved.”

“Sure! It’ll be a change. Count me in. Who’s coming?”

“Apparently Bill Sander’s sister’s going to work here. She’s going to provide in-house medical supervision.”

The younger girl’s face fell. “Oh. Another woman on staff, then.”

“Oh, Penny! You’re being shorted on cock?”

The other shook her head, smiling. “No. Not since I gained weight and had the tats removed. But, you know, variety...”

Imogen shook her head. “No, Penny. I’ve only ever had one. Don’t want another. Anyway, you’re interested? It’s voluntary, really.”

“Yes – count me in.”

Imogen went a few doors down to cell ten. Linda Burgin was also sitting at her computer.

“Linda.”

“Oh, hey, Imogen. Or should I say ‘ma’am’?”

“Don’t you dare! I’m a graduate of this place, not a trainer. But I want to ask you if you’re interested in volunteering for some cleaning on Saturday. We’re getting a new member of staff, and the quarters she’s getting need cleaning.”

“Make a change. Yeah, count me in.”

“Good! Heidi will help, but I’m ordered to supervise.”

“Of course. How much longer is it?”

“Couple of months. But I’m fine, really. Doctor says I’m built for childbearing...”

“Don’t say it, Imogen!” Linda interrupted, “Steve adores you, just the way you are.”

“Yes, he does. He does. Okay, then. I’ll call for you Saturday morning after breakfast.”

The cleaning went well. The apartment was very dusty, and there was an element of grime involved, but by the time they’d finished, it was immaculate, and Imogen placed bowls of potpourri in the bedroom and lounge. The women looked around with satisfaction.

“Thank you, Imogen,” Penny said. “I’ve actually enjoyed myself.”

“I ought to be thanking you,” Imogen told her.

“Nah. It’s good to get out of the Centre, and it’s good to do something useful. Other than laundry or the kitchen, of course.”

“None the less, thank you all. I’ve arranged for a nice meal for all of us a little later, but I expect we’ll all enjoy a shower.”

Later, Imogen, with Heidi and Steve, collected the two women from the Centre and took them to a meeting room where a table had been laid for dinner. Heidi and Imogen immediately undressed, and were seated by Steve, who then seated Linda and Penny.

Two trainees, escorted by a duty trainer, brought them their meal; soup, steak, cheese, syrup pudding and custard. Afterwards, Linda sighed. “Wonderful. I feel a little guilty about Chloe and Tam.”

“Don’t,” Imogen told her, “They – with Dusty – have had the same meal in the kitchen. You’ve earned this.”

“I don’t suppose...” Linda began, hesitantly, looking at Steve, “you’d be interested in adding another wife to your family?”

“Or two, even...” inserted Penny.

Steve chuckled. “I defer to my wives. But seriously, both of you are lovely and I’m sure there’s someone out there for you. Actually, I did hear about a local garage which is looking for apprentices. A man and his son who need help keeping up with demand for their services. Depends whether you’d mind getting grease under your finger-nails.”

“I don’t know,” Linda sounded thoughtful.

“I can’t think that greasy hands would be worse than what I did before entering the Centre,” Penny put in.

“I’ll mention it in the office,” Steve told them. “You could at least meet the men.”

As the table was being cleared, they left to escort Linda and Penny back to the Centre. Once back in their own quarters, Steve set about massaging his wives before making love to them. Linda and Penny had to make do with massaging each other before satisfying two of the trainers.

Sunday went much as usual. The chaplain visited two of the women while the rest exercised, studied, or pleasured the trainers ... and were rewarded themselves.

Bert Wood and Sassy Welling drove to the hospital, where they met Sarah Sanders and loaded her things into the minibus. “I’ve learned not to collect a lot of stuff,” she replied when Sassy commented on her three moderately sized holdalls. She then went with them to collect the new admission – just one that time.

Joanna Pollock, IS31/60, was an ‘import’ from further south. Word had got around about the Centre and more than half of their admissions were from more than fifty miles away.

Joanna, though, apart from her origin, was much like most of the other admissions; overweight and referred to correct that and her ‘superior’ attitude. She was thirty-nine years old and her husband was an agricultural manager in Leicestershire. He supervised several hundred acres of farmland, worked by slaves and Indentured Servants, mostly female. She had been very unhappy to have her long, wavy, auburn hair cropped short, and even less happy to have all her body hair permanently removed. Escorted – firmly – to the minibus, she’d eyed Sarah, who was dressed in dark blue scrubs, up and down.

“Who are you?”

“I am Sister Sanders. You will call me Ma’am, or Sister.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because,” Bert informed her, “You will address staff as ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ as appropriate. It is one of the conditions of your indenture. If you fight us, you will be very uncomfortable. Sister Sanders is a special case, but none the less, you will address her with respect.”

“Crap!”

“Keep it up, Sixty. You’ll learn.”

“My name is Joanna Pollock.”

“But here, you are IS31/60.” Sassy Welling said that, as Bert was climbing into the driver’s seat. “Seat belt, Sixty.”

The woman pouted obstinately, but reluctantly strapped herself in.

Back at the Horseshoe, Sarah followed Bert and Sassy as they escorted Sixty to the door. The door, three-inch-thick, weathered oak, almost two hundred years old, swung open to reveal Major Prestwick, who stepped back to let them enter. He spoke first to Bert.

“Reg is in the Centre and will oversee admitting Sixty, if you’d just take her through.”

“Yes, sir.” Bert handed over the minibus keys, then the three made their way through the reception area.

“Sarah, I expect you have luggage?”

“Yes, Stuffy. Only three bags, though.”

“Let’s fetch them, and I’ll show you to your quarters. I assumed you wouldn’t want to be involved in an admission before you’ve been oriented.”

“You assume correctly.” They went back to the bus and collected her bags.

“Oh, and on duty, I will address you as Sister, if that suits, and I’m afraid I’ll need to be ‘Major’. The trainers I call by their given names, or sometimes by their rank. I want you to be seen as distinct from the usual staff.”

“Good enough. At the hospital, I was ‘Sister’ of course, except to the other ward managers. On active duty, I was Sister or Major, as appropriate.”

They were in the building by that time, the door shut with a slightly intimidating thump.

Stuffy, carrying one of Sarah’s bags, leaving his right hand free to deal with security, guided her to her new quarters, unlocked the door and handed her the key. “There’s a spare key in the safe in the office,” he told her.

She stepped inside and looked round. Sniffed. Espied a vase of roses on a table. “Roses?”

“Something to welcome you. Imogen Collins oversaw cleaning the place and you’ll find bowls of potpourri here and there, but I thought you might appreciate a little colour.”

“I do. This looks better than my room at the hospital. Much better; my own sitting-room, bathroom and bedroom?”

“Exactly. You can use the kitchenette there if you want to cook, or you can order a meal from the kitchen. Usually there’s a single hot item, with sandwiches or salad as an alternative. If you need any special dietary items, just let Imogen know.”