God's Crusade

Part 20

Hard Evidence

January 2041

Mena Forbes flexed her aching jaw as Miss Robinson finally removed her muzzle. She had spent two hours listening to some of Bishop Osborne's more famous sermons, not moving a muscle. He was not an orator. She was well-trained and very well supervised, and she was sure that Miss Robinson would admonish her for any perceived failings. She always had before. Mena remained quite still otherwise. She was never allowed to move without her guardian's express permission, so her mittened hands remained in her lap. Her gown was still arranged exactly as Miss Robinson had left it, and as her eyes slowly grew accustomed to the light she noted the slight smile of pure pleasure on the bitch's face. She thought momentarily of Jen Freeman, her first brutal guardian, who first taught her what it meant to be a maiden almost eight years before. She could not decide which one was worse. Jen Freeman had got inside her head, won her trust and then destroyed her, but Bethany Robinson was relentlessly cruel, making Mena's life a misery day after day, week after week and month after month. It was a close one.

"I am sorry to disturb your lessons Mrs Forbes, but there is someone here that you need to see." Bethany Robinson explained with a mantle ready in her hands. "Obviously you have my permission to communicate with him, but since he does not have an appointment and he has interrupted your routine, you will wear this and your mittens."

"Of course, Miss Robinson," Mena replied, as if she was accepting the decision rather than obeying an instruction, shutting her eyes as the mantle was fixed over her face. Bethany was professionally gentle. She never hurt her charge unintentionally if she could avoid it, and she had to treat her with some respect, according to the instructions of her master. But he liked to remind his wife what she was, and Bethany enjoyed helping him do so. She had completed her five years of National Service as a keeper at a convent school in Wiltshire. Despite being made to go, and never quite forgiving her sister for convincing her father that it was a good idea, she had rather enjoyed the experience. Not basic training of course. She had suffered the same as everyone else for three long months, but she had soon impressed her tutors with her abilities to encourage obedience in others. She had even contemplated taking extended vows as she approached the end of her service, but a letter from her dear father to her old Mother Superior saying that he had found a husband for her had ruined that idea. However, her Mother Superior recognised her talents and perhaps her reluctance to marry, and suggested an alternative. She wrote to Mr Robinson and proposed that rather than the life of a suburban housewife, his daughter could best serve God by developing her skills to teach others about His love. Luckily for Bethany he agreed, and through the Order she had managed to secure a place at Cranbrook Guardian College. Her success there and in her early positions had brought her to the attention of Mr Forbes, as he wanted someone strong enough to look after his talented but headstrong young wife. Her sister was a Pastor's wife in suburban Surrey, but she was suddenly a guardian to one of the most important families in the country, living in Washington, so Bethany felt that she might have regained the upper hand in her life-long battle with her big sister, something she always alluded to in her regular letters home.

Mena seemed to glide into the reception room she was allowed to use for meetings. Her cape was designed for indoors, to give her the perfect Reformist shape, as all the best fashion designers called it, and her whole appearance was designed to bamboozle. She was not what anyone expected as an official spokesperson for a supposedly repressive, sexist regime. It threw her visitors off guard, and on this particular occasion the journalist concerned looked almost intimidated by her presence. He stood up, and she curtseyed before taking her seat with consummate grace. Miss Robinson had schooled her in the art of deportment, as well as Miss Freeman before her, not to mention some of the more severe Catholic nuns during her schooldays, and she was all elegance and poise, using the folds of velvet swirling around her as if they were alive. Brad Hoskins sat down again, as she introduced herself, and asked him what she could do to help.