God's Crusade

Part Five

Megan Brown liked the new house. It was old, extensively refurbished and restored to its former Victorian splendour, and it was much larger than their previous home. Sevenoaks had been a rich area but they had started the congregation there from almost nothing and the Pastor's house had been modest as a result. Reigate was a different proposition altogether. It had been one of the first political constituencies to fall the Christian Democratic Party led by Charles Buckingham, and the local Member of Parliament was Peter Munroe, the home secretary. Moving there with her husband as Pastor for the large Reformist congregation, was a clear sign that Nigel Brown had a bright future.

Her mother was extremely impressed and her father was full of pride. Megan had risen in the world since her days as a reluctant maiden, unsure why her parents were so keen to embrace the demands of the modern renaissance. It was not easy and she was still in a fairly small minority who were truly obedient to the doctrine, but she was making the most of her limited opportunities. She had two children, a boy and a girl, and although she occasionally found her life as a Daughter of Eve hard, she had to think of their future. They were facing a brave new world and as her husband said, the country was in a transitional phase. Less than ten years ago she was one of a handful of maidens in Sevenoaks and a decade later a town such as Reigate could boast a hundred or more.

"Open," Miss Grant, the guardian her husband could afford on his new salary, commanded and Megan obeyed, more used to the attentions of the Sisters in the Chapter House. Even that was bigger in Reigate, with over a dozen nuns working in the large church, and serving the wealthy parish. She tilted her head to allow the guardian to fit her muzzle, quite accustomed to the discipline. She was sometimes jealous of those who had not yet adopted the new ways but as Nigel said, it was only a matter of time.

۩

It was getting dark as Mena and Miss Freeman made their way back to Kingston House. It was plain from the happy expression on the younger woman's charming face that she had thoroughly enjoyed her shopping trip. Gone was her hated school uniform and in its place she wore a deep red and black dress based on a day court dress of the 1840's, according to Miss Freeman, who had read the designers literature whilst they were shopping. But unlike one which the young Queen Victoria might well have worn, Mena's new acquisition complied with the laws that governed what might be worn in public in England, as its wide skirts were long to conceal the shape of her legs and any flash of ankle, its sleeves reached down to her slim wrists and the collar came up under her rounded chin. In fact, as it came from Harrods, it was probably a fraction more chaste than was actually strictly necessary, even in Reformist Britain, but Harrods really did expect its clientele to mix in the very highest circles. And yet offsetting that, the cut of its sumptuous material and the delicacy of the embroidery made it very plain that this was a very suitable dress for a wealthy woman who desired to mix fashion with an outward show of piety. Mena felt like a million dollars.

Beneath its ground sweeping skirts, Mena wore a pair of smart ankle boots, her legs further hidden under opaque silk stockings in black with frivolous (but unseen) scarlet clocks rising up the back of her slender legs. She had loosened the harsh bun behind her head, the hair style approved of at school, and had allowed it to fall behind her, its weighty mass drawn loosely back by a scarlet ribbon. On her head she wore a tiny bonnet, more of a dark red and black hat than of any regulation headgear, but just enough to satisfy the Laws, according to her ever helpful new friend, Miss Freeman. Loosely tied at her throat, but pushed behind her slim shoulders, a light cape matching the dress's colour scheme billowed out, fanned by the breeze of her confident walk. Finally her hands were sheathed in tight black kid gloves, the wrists tucked in under the cuffs of her dress.

As she walked along the Knightsbridge pavement, she was aware of a few envious glances coming from the few women she encountered. But, pleasing her more, she saw how the men she passed looked at her with their eyes either brim full of approval or even lust, she thought as she floated past them, turning countless heads. She was no longer a child, shut away in a convent, and that excited her, even if moving to London was slightly bizarre. She felt like a young lady. She might have struggled to explain it, even to herself, but the culture shock was invigorating. Her grandparents were not poor by any means, but they were not ostentatious at all, and although she had holidayed in some rich resorts, with Marie-Claude and her father, it had been all beachwear, real kids stuff in hindsight. London fashion was maybe not her ideal choice, but Reformism had engendered a fashion revolution right around the world, so it was not a completely alien concept, and she felt wonderful. She was beginning to realise that her father was right, complying with the new laws and being a pious little Reformist really were two entirely different things.