Gloriana

THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER

Within the narrow confines of a sedan chair carried by four none too healthy lackeys cursing and stumbling on rain-slippery cobbles, Captain Quire sat staring almost tenderly at Alys Finch, who sat with back straight, hands folded and knees together, in respectable stomacher, gown and petticoats, with a starched ruff like an aurora about her throat, emphasising her high, unnatural colour; she was as carefully costumed as her ex-swain, and as carefully trained by the demon who had mastered them both. His tone was approving: “How swiftly you rise in society, Alys. I shall soon be proud of you.”

“Thank you, sir.” The voice was small and automatic.

“You had natural manners and I have needed to do little in that area. I improved your taste in clothing, taught you to eat properly and to speak and so on, but I have not the time to teach you the most important accomplishment, which is to be able to laugh, smile, make witty observations at will, yet never once relax into genuine and dangerous happiness. I feel a responsibility to you, Alys, as any father might (for I am creating you more consciously, more carefully, than a natural father would), and I cannot allow you to be vulnerable. I promised to make you strong, to make you reliant only upon yourself and your master. And to that continuing end we visit Josias Priest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You thought yourself weak and Phil so strong. I proved you wrong. It is you who are strong, Alys, and who will be stronger still anon. An able lieutenant for Captain Quire in his constant war against the world’s weaklings. For Quire is Mother Nature’s thresher.” His black eyes smouldered with self-mockery which she, mesmerised for almost two months, could neither understand nor recognise. “And that is why I have never insulted your strength and your intelligence by demanding love from you. Instead I have demanded disciplined obedience and given you power and security in return. For few men understand what Quire understands-the extent of a woman’s physical fear. It is what I exploited in you at first. And now I offer you release from that fear. I have trained you as a sergeant trains his troops. I have said, ‘Trust me with your life, your soul, your freedom-and I will protect you and teach you how to protect yourself.’” He stretched his cruel, muscular hand towards her and lifted her chin. “Do you feel safe, Alys, and strong?”

Her grey eyes were steady, though without much vitality. “I do, sir.”

The chair swayed from side to side and came to the cobbles with a bump. Quire opened the door and sprang out. They stood before the gates of a high-walled courtyard. Beyond the courtyard, surrounded by tall shrubs and ornamental trees, was the white wall of a two-storied house of the sort that might belong to a well-to-do merchant.

Leaving Alys Finch within the sedan, Quire rattled the gate and called a halloo. “Priest! Are you there, man?” Dogs barked. Two lanterns appeared from the left side of the house. They were carried in the hands of middle-aged footmen in short smocks and hose. “Priest! It’s Quire!”

Before the footmen could reach the gate a door in the house had opened and more light filled the courtyard. A skinny silhouette. A hand lifted. “Admit the gentleman, Franklin.”

Quire went back to the sedan and helped Alys Finch, whose natural grace had, in his eyes, been improved and who was now demure by intention rather than instinct, to the stones of the street. He gave the rogues twice the fee they asked for, ignored their honestly expressed gratitude, and led his girl through the gate, calling out, as it was shut and locked behind him: “Master Priest, I have brought a young lady to you, for training in deportment and the dance, and to learn the ways of the Court.”

Josias Priest, the Dancing Master, continued to wait at his threshold. He had a velvet evening cap upon his lank, mousy hair. His eyes were shifty and his mouth hung open, like the soft mouth of a petulant and pampered pony. On his scrawny body, a head taller than Quire’s, was a long gown of the same dark velvet as the cap. He held a dinner knife in his right hand, though his stance was entirely without aggression.

“It’s late, Captain Quire,” he said, as his visitors came in.

“You needn’t begin your work tonight.” Quire was bluff. Josias Priest’s watery eyes became even more alarmed. “She’s to stay here, so that she can be trained thoroughly and swiftly.”

“I don’t accommodate my pupils, Captain.”

Quire led the way into Priest’s dining room. Here a large table had been laid with a supper so mean that it would have shamed a river scavenger. Quire looked sadly at the cheese rind and the ham fat, the crust. “She’ll expect better food than this. She is my particular charge, my ward, and I’ll want her fed heartily, with all kinds of nourishment.” He drew back a chair for her and, eyes upon the surface of the table, she sat down. “Succeed with this one and I’ve another for your troupe.”

“It is not good policy, Captain, to have young lady pupils staying on the premises. For one thing, there is the gossip. It also produces undue excitement in the other pupils. Moreover, there is always the danger that the young person will conceive a-an infatuation-”

“Do you think you’re in danger of falling in love with Master Priest, Alys?”

“No, sir.”

“There! You’re safe, Priest. With such guarantees, how can you refuse? I want her to have everything-and you must do your best. You are good at your profession. You must teach her to walk, to dance, to make entertaining conversation. Most of all, you must teach her how to flatter. You know how to flatter, do you, Priest? Of course you do, it’s your greatest skill-indeed, it’s your philosophy! Good, then-deportment, dancing and flattery. I shall drop in from time to time to see what progress you are making. I shall expect considerable progress, Priest.”

“Captain Quire! I have no room!”

“You have a large house and several servants. Dismiss one of the servants, if you must. It would be a charitable act, come to think of it.” Quire adjusted the sombrero on his thick, black hair, admiring himself in one of Master Priest’s many mirrors. “Be a good girl, Alys. I shall be watching out for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll have clothes sent round,” Quire told Master Priest.

Priest laid down his knife with a clatter, making some attempt to resist. “Lessons? Accommodation? How will she pay?”

“I’ll pay, Master Priest.”

“How much?”

“In my usual currency, where you and I are concerned. I’ll pay you with six months’ silence.”

Master Priest sat behind his supper, pushing the plate aside. “Very well. But to what purpose do you want her trained?”

Quire paused at the door and scratched his chin. He shook his head and grinned. “None, as yet. There may never be one. My actions, Master Priest, as you must know by now, are often performed for their own sake.”

“I can’t understand you, Quire.”

“I am an artist, and you, Master Priest, are a tradesman. For you, every action must result in an evident cash profit, however small, however indirect. You keep accounts. I create events. There’s room for us both in the world. Do as I tell you. Do not try to understand me. Remember both those things and you’ll be a happier Priest, Josias.”

A hard, important look into Alys’s eyes, and Quire was gone.