God's Country

Part Eighty-Eight

The Calm after the Storm

August 2020

'Oh Lord, how manifold are thy works! In wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches.'

Psalms 104:24

Mrs Harry Trevor stood quite still as Miss Howard dressed her. Her guardian did not consult her on her outfit at all, and the only word she actually said was an admonishment, as Brogan gasped at the tightness of her corset, which Miss Howard considered most unladylike for a Daughter of Eve. She was not yet muzzled, because she would be wearing it all day and it would not be fitted until the last possible minute. But she was diapered, and as the layers of pantalets and petticoats were attached to her one by one, she watched herself just disappear in the mirror. Even before the gown itself, she was covered by several layers of silk, cotton and lace. Her waist, pulled in to around eighteen inches, looked tiny as the plastic cage covered in petticoats burst out like a bell, and her padded underjacket only served to hide the tortuous contraption that seemed designed to cut her in half. The addition of the silk-lined gown was like a dead weight, on her heart as well as her shoulders. As always, she thought she might buckle under it all, or faint away desperate for breath, but so cleverly designed, the finished appearance was elegant and sophisticated, creating a great lady from head to toe. Harry had told her that was important for a woman like her. She had to look the part. The people needed to be able to look at her and know that she was of a different class to them; more pious, more educated, more dedicated to the cause. Everyone who saw her had to realise that she was an adoring Reformist, her love of God clear for everyone to see. Great Lady's like her did not need their hands, or to see, or hear anything other than God's words. She was an ideal, to be admired and revered, and to set the ultimate example. She had to be looked up to, and she had to inspire others to show the same dedication to the cause.

She remembered her very first experience of Reformist fashion, in Selfridges, almost eight months previously. No time at all really. She remembered thinking that the assistant was trying to smother her then, when she had hardly been wearing anything at all. Eight months did not seem much time but then again it felt like a lifetime. Brogan Hardcastle was as good as dead, and Brogan Lawrence Craig Trevor stood in her place, a new person, a phoenix rising from the ashes of her hopes and dreams.

Harry liked to talk to her, but rarely required a response. He only made it home for dinner once in a while, and the three ladies in his house were usually muzzled, again, as soon as the meal was finished, after the minimum of polite chatter. During the afternoons, they usually socialised with fellow Reformists, and it was rare that Brogan and Olivia got any time alone to talk to each other. Harry did take Brogan with him for some events, such as the one she was being prepared for that particular morning, but she fully realised that she was purely decorative. Harry was using her to set an example. Miss Howard finished fastening her gown and picked up the muzzle. Brogan was well trained, and opened her mouth wide to accept it almost before the command was issued, feeling the last vestiges of hope draining away. Not only was she hopelessly trapped, but the Reformists were in complete control of everything as far as she could ever tell. Harry had told her his plans for government, the plans Charles Buckingham and his trusted elite had for social change, and he seemed to believe that the Reformists would rule for a decade or more. He seemed to believe that they were going to change the world forever. Brogan was absolutely terrified, and not just for herself anymore, but for everyone.

No more than an hour later she was following Harry around a hospital somewhere in his constituency. She did not know where and could not see anything for herself. He guided her around, holding onto her arm, and if he let go she just stopped and stood still, his obedient and dutiful wife. He gave a little speech, of which she could not hear much, but she heard the enthusiastic applause. The patients simply could not stop staring at her, in awe of such a prime paradigm of Reformism, but she did not see them at all, of course.

She did not see much during her day out but she saw enough to realise that she was still in a minority. Harry boasted that the renaissance was working but the further she got away from Westminster and Meadvale, the less physical evidence she saw. Parliament was not sitting but Harry socialised with a number of his fellow MP's, and their wives were all Daughters of Eve, more or less, even if their devotion was not always quite as obvious as Mrs Trevor's. No one ever said anything and Brogan did not spend much time with those who were obviously acting a part, but some clearly were. Miss Howard took great delight in interfering as much as she could, and anyone visiting the house in Eaton Square tended to enjoy the full doctrinal experience, but it was impossible not to notice what was going on.

But Harry insisted that the country was changing all around them, and told Brogan that she had chosen the right side, as if she had made that choice for real. It clearly amused him. In the dog days of August, although he still worked he tended to work from home as much as he could, and he spent some time each day talking to his new wife. She was not allowed to talk back but he took her expressions as answers, and talked her through what he was doing with schools and hospitals, and about his growing Nun army. Brogan liked to hear what was going on because it gave her something to think about, something to focus on other than God, but it also scared her. Through all Harry's bluster and bravado, she thought she understood what was going on, because she possessed the crucial inside knowledge. Buckingham's famous boundaries were pushing people down a Reformist route. Little freedoms were being slowly removed from public life, so that people had no choice other than to toe the line.

But it was still early days. Miss Howard was still very strict with her, hardly treating her 'young mistress' like an adult, but spending most of their time in London meant that she saw and heard a lot more than she ever did in Meadvale, or in a nursery. Harry liked to show her off and that meant producing her at dinners and other social events, so whilst she listened to his rather boastful descriptions of his achievements, as if he was trying to prove his sudden importance to her, she could also see the truth with her own eyes, albeit occasionally obscured by her veils and mantle. Few people were genuine Reformists. A few more were also pretending to be, and there was undoubtedly a new impetus behind Christianity, most especially if one had children at school.

Brogan understood the Westminster bubble. She knew it was an unreal world which had no real relationship with reality, and in post renaissance Britain, in the first movement of the Reformist revolution, the bubble was feeling the full force of Pastor Winstanley's doctrine. In the House itself, almost two thirds of MP's were members of the Christian Democratic Party and that alone influenced the rhythm and the atmosphere of the old place. For a start, the CDP were resolutely white, male and at least outwardly devout. The Palace of Westminster was always fond of its rituals and prayers had always been a part of every day, but those little moments took on a much greater significance under the new regime. Christianity was quietly but habitually on the agenda, and on Sundays, if they remained in London, Bishop Osborne's services had become much more reminiscent of the Cathedral in Meadvale. Loyal CDP MP's liked to display that loyalty for all to see and what better place to strut their stuff than the weekly church service?

But that was not real life. Brogan did not get to see much of it, but when she did she could see that there were not many veiled women on the streets. The renaissance was, if it existed at all at that stage, a secular one. Rules were being set and partially enforced, but also mostly observed, because the new laws were largely considered reasonable. Decency was not much of a struggle for most people, Brogan thought, because most people were decent. Harry talked about it like some sort of revolution, but Brogan could not see much greater achievements in evidence than the banning of the mini-skirt.

She needed something to think about. She would have gone mad otherwise, and the devious project her devoted husband bragged so much about, in daily rants she finally assumed were designed to overwhelm her in some way, gave her a chance to fill her darkest thoughts with something other than her own nightmare. Whenever Miss Howard was tormenting her, or her husband was raping her, she turned her mind to what she knew of the world outside. She just could not believe that the Reformists could win, not so easily. She had been one of the first to sense something unpleasant beneath the saintly surface of Buckingham's rise, but she knew she would not be the last. She could not be.