God's Country

Part Eighty-Seven

July 2020

'Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up.'

James 4:10

Philip Henderson had attended the wedding of Harry Trevor and Brogan Craig with his wife and daughter, and their brand new guardian, a stern looking woman called Miss Fisk who hailed from Meadvale. He stayed overnight to attend the main service at the Cathedral and listen to Pastor Winstanley's sermon, as a faithful Reformist, clinging onto to his career like a drunk hugging the last bottle. He had chosen his side. The Conservative Party was as good as dead, finally about to be swallowed whole by the CDP, and Catherine Henderson would be marrying in September, an alliance designed to permanently cement her devoted father's position alongside Charles Buckingham.

Miss Fisk guided Catherine Henderson along behind her parents. She had used a blinding mantle on the maiden, because she had proved to be a rather recalcitrant charge thus far. Her father explained that he had indulged his only child in the past, and asked Miss Fisk to use as much corrective discipline as she saw fit, to prepare Catherine for her marriage. She had only had control of the girl for two days, one of which was dominated by the Trevor wedding but most maidens responded to the paddle in good time, in Miss Fisk's experience.

Samantha Fitzgerald nudged her sister, pointing out the Chancellor to her as he walked past, heading towards the front, where the really important people always sat. Then she saw the man of the moment, Harry Trevor, walking beside Mr Craig deep in conversation, with a guardian and three velvet mounds moving gracefully behind him, all in blinding mantles from the look of things. Samantha guessed that his new wife was the one in the middle, wearing a gown and cloak in the deepest emerald green, the cloak intricately laced from her throat to the very floor. It had to be a very expensive outfit indeed because it did not seem to move at all. Mrs Trevor floated across the smooth floor, like a green ghost, with her covered head held impossibly high, guided by her guardian's hand on her shoulder. Samantha wondered what it would be like to live like that, all the time, and felt a sharp pang of pity for poor Mrs Trevor, although she was constantly urged to admire such people. She also took a close look at the guardian, and the others in attendance. It was such an appropriate role for a woman, of course. Doing God's work in His holy name, but the guardians had freedom, of sorts, and independence.

Brogan could not think straight, as blind in her mind as she was in reality, concentrating hard on Miss Howard's touch, well aware of her responsibilities to her new husband after her first long night as his new wife. He had talked to her for hours once he had her back in her sleeping gown in the cold light of dawn, his hands caressing her through the soft material and his words lashing her body like a whip. He did not intend to set her free. On the contrary, he obviously took great delight in his power over her. He spoke of his utter joy to have her as his wife, and to keep her right at the centre of the new renaissance. He seemed to think that Mr Craig and Miss Ellis had done a grand job on her, commenting that his mother believed her to be one of the most desirable, well connected maidens ready for marriage, and he assured her that she could live a blessed life with him in God's most loving embrace. He spoke of his ambitions as a politician, and how his wife had to play an integral part in his progress up the career ladder. He was a proponent of the highest standards of the Reformist doctrine, he told her, with obvious pride. His wife would be a shining example to the less fortunate in every possible way, just like his sister was. He was surprised by her conversion, he had said, as he opened the sleeping gown just enough to take her once again, and rather mystified by the circumstances, but he was thrilled that she had found God and he assured her that she would be kept as a real paragon of Reformist virtue. Brogan could only remember herself signing the marriage certificate, and reading the words as she did so. At the time it had felt like the last step to freedom, but she had, in fact, just signed her own death certificate.