Regenesis

Abigail - The Institute

They were approaching the tea-room, the lunchtime crowd mostly now departed, with young waitresses scurrying around, changing the table linens, re-laying the tables with fresh cutlery and crockery, and rearranging the chairs so they were all perfectly uniform, ready for the expected tea clientele which would soon begin to appear. These waitresses were dressed in a very formal and old-fashioned black and white uniform, complete with frilly bib aprons and matching headbands on top of the tightly permed curls they all wore. The dresses they wore allowed no room for fashion, with a round collar tight at their throats, a thin band of white showing above, between the sombre fabric and the skin of their necks. The shoulders of the dress were slightly puffed as if to emphasise the starched lily white frills on the yokes of their aprons which pointed up jauntily, but so stiffly that they appeared razor sharp, contrasting with the slightly satiny sheen of the dress beneath.

Again, Abigail's heart sank as she imagined herself being placed as one of their number, low in the pecking order, subject to the strict discipline of the manager there. She had once been a guest there, after her first few weeks in Nursery, more by way of a reward for adapting so well to her new life and as a glimpse of how future good behaviour and obedience might be encouraged. She had, of course, seen and received many examples of how bad behaviour or disobedience was rewarded. When she had been brought here for tea by her Nanny, she saw how the waitresses acted: very formally and with a practised ritual, obedient, submissive and very wary of all around them, not only the customers, but also the supervising staff, who missed no opportunity to correct or punish any mistake a girl might make. Indeed, when Abigail had been brought here, she had witnessed a waitress being scolded for pouring tea too quickly and spilling some, before being removed from the tea-room floor, to return some minutes later, red eyed and very apologetic to the lady who had made the complaint.

Abigail was fairly certain that she was in no way in line for a reward, especially after her actions this morning with the dusting. As they passed by the tea shop, her anxieties increased. Where else could this appointment be?

They continued their walk with Miss Minsk guiding her to a side of town Abigail had not visited before, away from the familiar Nursery and churches to where the buildings became sparser, quickly giving way to meadows and country lanes. Up ahead Abigail saw a long high wall curving off to both left and right with an imposing set of gates directly ahead. As they approached the gates she could see through the wrought iron towards a long straight driveway behind them, with neat edges and a wooded area to either side, masking what was up ahead. The gates opened magically in front of them and Abigail looked around for any sign of humanity who may have operated them. Fearing the unknown she grasped her mistress's hand even more tightly as they passed between the gates, and she turned to see the gates closing noiselessly behind her. The driveway went uphill a little, and as they reached the crest of the small hill, a large manor house came into view. Clearly built more than a century ago, its proportions were designed to impress; from the massive stairway in the middle to the imposing floor-to-ceiling windows which gleamed in the afternoon sun. To one side Abigail saw eight girls playing tennis on two side-by-side courts. They were identically dressed in white tennis dresses and were taking instruction from another lady who stood between the nets, offering encouragement and pushing them to work harder. "Margaret, you must position yourself behind the ball, not just reach for it like some ungainly chimpanzee." "Elizabeth, that's much better. Your serve is coming along so well." Miss Minsk guided Abigail away from the main entrance towards the corner of the building where Abigail heard excited giggling. Around the corner came two girls, identically dressed in school uniform, but from a bygone era. Abigail would have judged their age at just over twenty, but the uniforms made them look a lot younger. They were walking arm in arm, their sparkling white cotton gloves fastened at the wrist, laughing with each other without a care in the world. When they spied Miss Minsk, the giggling immediately ceased, they both abruptly stood still, lowered their eyes and dropped into a perfectly choreographed curtsey, stopping at the bottom as if frozen in time. Abigail was shocked both at their appearance and at their automatic behaviour.