Her absolution was quick, a modest penance of a few Hail Marys and she felt the better for it.
She began to get up-- "Now, a private matter, my child. Two days ago Mr. Struan sent for me, privately, and asked me to marry you both."
She gasped, then smiled gloriously. "Oh Father, how marvelous!"
"Yes, my child, yes it is, "Please marry us as soon as possible," the young Senhor Struan said but it is difficult indeed." Night and day he had wrestled with the problem. An urgent letter had gone the same day to the Bishop of Macao, Catholic spiritual leader in Asia, begging for advice, equally urgently. "Very difficult for us."
"Why, Father?"
"Because he is not a Catholic an--"
"But he has agreed our children are to be brought up in the True Church, he promised."
"Yes, yes, my child, he has, he has, he told me the same but he is not of marrying age, not without permission, nor are you, but I wanted to tell you secretly that, even so, I have asked His Eminence for permission to conduct the ceremony for the greater Glory of God, even so--with or without your father's... approval. I hear your father, he is missing, somewhere in French Indo-China or Siam, or somewhere."
Particulars of her father's frauds and flight had raced around the Settlement but, in deference to her had been kept quiet, also from Struan. "If His Eminence agrees, I am sure Senhor Seratard, in loco parentis, he will agree, even so."
The tightness in her throat did not go away.
"How long will it take for His Eminence to reply, to approve?"
"By Christmas, around Christmas, before then, if he is in Macao and not travelling, visiting the Faithful in China, and if it is the will of God."
As usual he sat facing away from the screen, ear close to it for whispered privacy, but now he glanced through the mesh and could see her vaguely.
"The matter I like to discuss, privately, is the conversion of the Senhor."
Again she gasped, "He said he would convert?"
"No, no he has not yet seen the Light, that's what I want to talk about." Father Leo leaned closer to the screen, savoring her nearness, choked with a desire he knew to be unholy and Satan-sent, the same that, on his knees, daily and nightly he fought against--as, in equal torment, he had fought against for as long as he had been within the Church.
God give me strength, God forgive me, he thought, almost in tears, wanting to reach out and fondle the breasts and rest of her that was hidden by the screen and by her shawl and by her clothes and the wrath of God. "You must help, help him embrace the True Faith."
Angelique was as far from the screen as she could be. Painstakingly, she eased the curtains open to reduce the claustrophobia the boxlike structure gave her. Confessionals never used to be like this, she thought, shuddering. It's only since ... since that which never happened. "I will help, Father, I do, as much as I can," she said, her nervousness increasing, and again began to leave.
"Wait!"
The violence in the voice shocked her. "Father?"
"Please... wait, please wait, my child," the voice said nicely now, but the niceness was forced and this frightened her for it was no longer the voice of a priest and sacrosanct in a sanctified place, but of a stranger. "We must talk about this marriage, and his conversion, my child, and beware of evil influences, yes, we must, conversion is a must, a must as preparation for... for Eternity."
""Must," Father?" she muttered. "Were you about to say, "must as preparation for marriage"?"
"For... for Eternity," the voice said.
She stared at the shadow behind the screen sure that he was lying, appalled that she could even consider it, let alone believe it. "I will help all I can," she said and got up and groped through the curtains for air.
But he stood in her path. She noticed sweat on his forehead and that he towered over her, in height and bulk. "It's for his own, his own salvation.
His, my child. It would be better, better before."
"Are you saying, Father, his conversion is a must before you will marry us?" she asked, in dread.
"It is not to me the conditions, what His Eminence decides govern us, we are faithful servants!"
"In my fiancee's church, he has not said I must become Protestant, of course I cannot force him either."
"He must be made to see the Truth! This is a God-sent gift, this marriage. Protestant?
That heresy? Apostasy? Unthinkable, you'd be lost forever, doomed, excommunicated, your eternal soul consigned to everlasting torment in the Fire, to burn, to burn forever!"
She kept her eyes down and was barely coherent. "For me yes, for him... millions believe otherwise."
"They're all mad, lost, doomed, and forever they'll burn!" The voice hardened even more.
"They will! We must convert the heathen. The Malcolm Struan must con--"
"I'll try, good-bye, Father, thank...
I'll try," she mumbled and stepped around him and hurried away. At the door she turned back a moment and genuflected and went out into the light, him standing in the aisle, his back to the altar, all the time his voice ringing in the rafters, "Be an instrument of God, convert the heathen, if you love God save this man, save him from purgatory, if you love God save him, help me save him from Hellfire, save him for the Glory of God, you must... before you marry, save him let us save him save him..."
That evening a samurai patrol came out of the guard house at the North Gate. Ten warriors, fully armed with swords and light battle armor, an officer at their head. He led the way over the bridge and passed the barrier into the Settlement. One man carried a tall narrow banner with characters on it. The leading samurai held flares aloft that cast weird shadows.
The High Street and the seafront walk were still busy in the pleasant evening. Traders, soldiers, sailors, shopkeepers taking a constitutional or standing in groups, chatting and laughing, here and there, with a few singsongs and drunks and one or two wary male prostitutes. Down on the beach some sailors had lit a fire and were dancing a tipsy hornpipe around it, a transvestite amongst them, and from the distance came the noisy undercurrent of Drunk Town.
The ominous presence was noticed. People stopped in their tracks. Conversation hesitated in midsentence. Then ceased. All eyes turned northwards. Those nearest the patrol backed out of the way. Not a few felt for a revolver and cursed that it was not in the pocket or holster.
Others retreated and an off-duty soldier near an alley took to his heels to summon the Marine night watch.
"What's the matter, suh?" Gornt asked.
"Nothing, yet," Norbert said, his face grim. They were amongst a group on the promenade but still well away from the samurai who paid no attention whatsoever to the silent crowd watching them, slouching along out of step as was their custom.
Lunkchurch sidled up to them. "You armed, Norbert?"
"No. Are you?"
"No."
"I am, suh," Gornt took out his tiny pistol, "but it won't make much of a dent in them if they're hostile."
"When in doubt, young feller," Lunkchurch said hoarsely, "take a powder I always say." He stuck out his hand to Gornt before he hurried off.
"Barnaby Lunkchurch, Mr. Gornt, pleased to meet you, welcome to Yokopoko, see you in the Club, hear you play bridge, any time."
Everyone was quietly easing out of range.
Drunks had suddenly become sober. All were very much on guard, the speed of a sudden samurai rush with flailing swords too well known. Norbert had already chosen a line of retreat should it prove necessary. Then he saw the Marine night watch come out of the side street on the double, rifles ready, a sergeant at their head, to take up a commanding, though not provocative position and he relaxed.