Saints and Sinners

Chapter Twenty-Seven

May 2065

The New Cathedral

Meadvale

Surrey

Harrison Slade had never attended a service at the good bishop's cathedral before. He had done the tour, since finding himself living in Meadvale with some time laying heavy on his hands in retirement, but tickets for Sunday services were hard to come by, and he had never entered the regular ballots for seats at the very back of the huge basilica. But being on such friendly terms with Sebastian Osborne had its benefits, and the Slades and the Blackstones had been provided with good seats, quite near to the front, to hear the great man preach in his own church one last time. Dr Hugh Blackstone had been before. He had been invited to memorial services as a decorated hero of the great pandemic, and he had always accepted them, because as he told Slade, it would not look good to refuse them and looking good had become his life. Diane Slade actually wanted to go, to see something she had never seen before, and Caroline Blackstone was just grateful to have a morning far away from Miss Doyle, who was not provided with a ticket and would therefore worship at their normal church, further down the river. She knew that she still had to behave with Hugh, whilst in public, but the jeopardy was not the same.

"How the other half live?" Slade commented as they reached Renaissance Square, taking in the sights of the Meadvale elite arriving for the service. Miss Doyle had dressed both her charges in their best velvet gowns, both gifts from Bishop Osborne whilst they were guests at Ellington Manor, but even in such finery, they did not compare with the great and the good of the holy city.

"Some of those gowns cost five thousand pounds, or so I am told?" Blackstone replied as he guided Caroline around a group of ladies who seemed to be parked whilst their husbands stopped to chat to friends. It was a fine spring morning and most ladies were only wearing short capes, rather than full length cloaks, so the extravagant gowns were visible. He took a particular interest in a lady in sumptuous black velvet decorated with the finest lace, although he had no idea that he was actually staring at Caitlin Winstanley.

She might even have recognised him had she had full use of her sight, but her son had her retinal lenses dimmed, leaving her in a world of vague grey shapes. Randolph Winstanley did not like his responsibilities to be too stimulated by their surroundings out in public, and although he was hardly expecting anything untoward to happen just outside the cathedral, he did not like taking chances. Not that Caitlin really minded the discipline. Her husband, who she was still visibly mourning even though he was still alive, as far as she knew, would have kept her blind in the same circumstances, and whilst her son was a rigid authoritarian, he did love his mother. She had somehow managed to get more or less what she wanted out of Ralph's demise, living with her son, and his own children, and she constantly gave thanks for that. Her grandson had her leash, and she responded to a rather sharp tug as the nine year old pulled her into step with him. He was learning how to control women, starting with the simple things. His older brother was walking their mother. Both of them had a lot still to learn, and Caitlin felt her collar pinch her skin.

"The President is not best pleased with me?" Charles Montague told his son, already inside the cathedral, as they watched their wives settle themselves in their pew.

"I got that distinct impression?" Richard Montague grinned, resting an affectionate hand on his father's shoulder. "You put reform on the agenda...you, the architect of the modern renaissance, called for moderation and basically trashed Nick's presidency?"

"Bellamy was more specific, to be fair..."

"And you put pressure on him to accept the reparations proposal?"

"Because I think it is fair to everyone...that money was never theirs and if anyone deserves to pay a price for this mess it is Drew Symonds?" Montague insisted, keeping his voice down but hoping that the great organ would keep their words private.