The Sins of the Fathers

Chapter Ten

May 2061

The Bishop of London's Meadvale Residence

Meadvale

Surrey

Sister 2430109 rolled out of the bottom of her sack as it was pulled roughly off her. She looked up, already terrified, to see Ralph Winstanley standing over her. He leered at her, and kicked out at her, pushing her back into a corner of the cell, out of his way. She could clearly see and hear, but she could feel the clip pinching her vocal cords, as she watched him opening another sack. Moments later, another naked girl, much younger than 2430109, scurried out onto the matting and hurried to kneel right in front of Ralph, head bowed and hands clasped together in her lap.

"Copy her, you stupid bitch?" Ralph demanded, and she hurried to obey. She was used to doing as she was told, even before her three months of basic training, but convent keepers made the brutal women who looked after her as a Daughter of Eve seem like Mary Poppins by comparison. She was forty-nine, and the girl looked like a teenager. Ralph produced two leather collars from his cassock, and buckled one around each of their slim necks. He pulled Mena's tight, and then attached a leash to it. "Walk on all fours...copy your fellow pet...and stay at heel...or you will regret it?"

Again, Mena obeyed, helpless to do otherwise. She was not human anymore. She had been taught that at the training convent. She belonged to God, and they could and would make her do whatever they wanted in His name. Alistair Forbes had enjoyed torturing his wife. He had hated her, she thought, for no good reason, and he really liked to make her life as difficult as possible, but the cruelty in the convent had been on a different level and it had broken her into pieces. As a Daughter of Eve, she had felt owned, merely a possession that Alistair could do what he wanted with, but she was still a woman, a gentlewoman, who he allowed to live a pious life. Bits of that life were unbearable, but mostly she was earning God's love like her friends. It had become bearable. But as a nun, she was just a number, and her life did not matter to anyone. She had to work and pray and obey. Nothing else. She had no life. And she was beaten regardless of her behaviour or performance. And Ralph Winstanley was showing her what she was to him by treating her like an animal, forcing her to scuttle along at his side with her bum in the air, leashed like a poodle and stark naked, sobbing her heart out, breaking just a little more. She had not thought that was possible.

"Get to your mat, pet?" Winstanley commanded as he let the other girl off of her leash and pointed her to a rough rug in the corner of the large study. Mena had been in the room before for pre-dinner drinks, many times during her thirty-year marriage to Alistair Forbes. The study was built alongside the Meade, and especially in the summer, it gave Ralph's guests a fine view across the water to the town beyond. She stayed as she was, on her hands and feet with her backside ridiculously in the air, looking up at a man who was a godfather to one of her daughters. He smiled at her, and pulled on her lead, pulling her up onto her feet, letting her feel the collar digging into her throat. Then he pulled his phone out of his purple robes and tapped away on the screen. Mena felt the clip on her vocal cords ease. "Nice to see you again, 2430109...but I know you better as Philomena, so I shall call you that, or Mena, as it suits me...are you enjoying your service, so far, dear?"

"No, your grace?" She replied nervously, her voice more like a croak after several days of enforced silence. She was tempted to lie, but he would know it, and could punish her for it if he chose to do so. She was fairly sure that she was going to be punished anyway, so she decided to tell the truth, looking down at the floor. Ralph was just over sixty years old, rotund and almost bald, not a handsome man. Their relationship had never been close, because the Bishop of London did waste much time talking to Daughters of Eve. Not even his wife. But he was always polite to her. No gentleman would ever be publicly rude or disdainful to any Daughter of Eve. That was not done. Renaissance Britain was well-mannered and Daughters of Eve were revered by everyone. They were the jewels in the Reformist pantheon, according to Alistair, living for the glory of God and an example to the less fortunate.