God's Crusade

Part Seventeen

Mena Forbes prayed in the embassy chapel, listening intently to the sermon coming out of the speakers. Miss Robinson, her loyal guardian, had rendered her blind and she was on her knees, making amends for her many sins. Her job, although as she received no payment for it and she thought of it more as a duty to her country, her father and her husband, forced her into untenable situations on a regular basis, and she was constantly required to beg God for his forgiveness. It was always given, of course, after she had paid some penance. She was far too useful, and her husband wanted her to do more, whilst her father tended to use her as a sounding board sometimes, as well as making her set an example of modern Reformism to everyone else. But someone had to look after her soul and Miss Robinson took a great delight in it, always ensuring that her 'mistress' atoned for every single moment of shame. Normally with her beloved paddle. Then the embassy Pastor would happily offer her absolution every Sunday morning safe in the knowledge that Mrs Forbes always strived to earn God's love for fear of the alternative.

Mena hated Miss Robinson with a passion, but she still never got to her as much as Jen Freeman often had, and she doubted she ever would, because of the circumstances of her introduction to her new life. Miss Robinson could and did beat her with obvious relish, but Mena still remembered that first awful paddling from her former friend, kneeling on that chair. Her father and Jen Freeman had systematically destroyed her, like a slow death of a thousand cuts, and compared to that Miss Robinson could do little to hurt her. But she still tried, extremely hard sometimes, much to the amusement of Alistair. Her father never even mentioned her routine. He acted as if nothing was wrong and she had never plucked up the courage to challenge him about it, not even once. He still called her Rabbit when they were alone.

Mena called him Papa, or suffered the consequences of her disobedience. Every moment of her life was controlled, planned and watched, and she constantly had to perform, like a poodle, or a caged bear, called upon to dance for the paying customers. What she was before was of no relevance. No one cared, least of all the journalists of Washington. She was the acceptable public face of Christian Reform, something she suffered for in private.

۩

Hermione was quite tired long before the lengthy service ended, but her ordeal was not over. Her grandfather accepted a kind invitation to lunch from one of his wife's friends, after consulting with Christopher and getting a happy nod from his wife. Hermione was not given a choice, obviously. She found herself walking again, as no one ever seemed to drive around town, to a large house a bit further up the steep hill that her grandparent's comfortable home sat on. It was not what Hermione had expected, but she clearly had to go, and after almost four hours in church in her mittens, mantle, veils and muzzle her slightly rose-tinted view of British life had been shaken to its very core. It was all such hard work, and she felt rather lost and almost abused, clinging onto her grandmother for support. She had been introduced to their hosts, a pleasant couple called James and Sheila Hinton, and their two daughters Rose and Vanessa, at church, and she walked with the female Hinton's and her grandmother, in a silent procession close behind their men folk, and straight into a large lounge. Mrs Slade was in for a surprise. Her friends, although duly impressed by her handsome, apparently affluent son and his piously dutiful daughter, had still managed to trump her in the social competition they were all so busily engaged in.

"Ladies, Miss King will settle you all whilst we take a glass of sherry before lunch in the sun room...she is a trained guardian, so you will all be in the best of hands." James Hinton announced, with a broad smile. Chris Slade smiled too, although ironically, remembering his mother's very obvious social climbing from his own childhood, and seeing that even whilst ill she was still very much in the game. But she had been trumped that time. He knew she would moan about it for days, whilst plotting some sort of revenge. He rather hoped that would include Hermione. He had enjoyed seeing her worship with his parents. He could not explain it, and he felt slightly guilty for enjoying it, but it felt right. He felt in control and he liked it. He liked having Hermione with him, he liked seeing her making his mother happy and he liked being in a very different world. He felt at peace. He felt that he fitted in and that he was appreciated, and he felt very much at home. His ex-wife might not like it, and that made it even better, of course.