Gotham Through the Ages, Part II
Gotham City – 1718
Harleen Quinzel looked out the window at the open ocean longingly, fanning herself to aid the salty breeze, which did little to relieve the heat. It was a scorching day in midsummer, the hottest day anyone could remember, and she was sitting packed into a corset and stuck indoors, forced to listen to a harpsichord concert. She longed to be outside, racing along the beach, skirts flying, hair loose, corset-free, not packed in here suffocating like a fish out of water…
She was elbowed suddenly by her mother, and realized that everyone else was standing up and applauding. Harleen joined them hastily – her mind had been wandering so much she hadn't even realized the concert was at an end. She had been warned about daydreaming like that before, and would no doubt receive a lecture from her mother later.
"Thank you so much for honoring us with that splendid entertainment, Mr. Wayne!" said Harleen's father, shaking the musician's hand as he stood up to take a bow. "You have such musical talent!"
"A modest hobby of mine, Mr. Quinzel – certainly nothing to brag about," corrected Bruce Wayne, with a charming smile. Most women thought he was very handsome – Harleen looked around to see the fawning, adoring, ridiculous expressions on every other young woman in the room and rolled her eyes as they all raced to thank him for the concert, competing for his attention like so many squawking peacocks…
"You should join them, Harleen!" hissed her mother.
"Thank you, no, Mother," she retorted. "I have no desire to make a spectacle of myself."
"And how else, pray tell, do you intend to find a husband, if not by making a spectacle of yourself?" retorted her mother. "Do you think men hunt for wives between the covers of books?"
Harleen did not respond, but rather headed over to the window seat, settling herself by the cool breeze. She reached underneath the cushion and removed the book she had been reading earlier, before her mother had raced in telling her to dress up in her finery because Bruce Wayne was coming to give a concert. She would probably get lectured for reading later – she always did. But better a lecture than making small talk with tedious people, she reasoned, opening the novel again.
"Excuse me, Miss Quinzel?" said a voice. She looked up, surprised, to see Bruce Wayne smiling at her.
"Mr…Wayne," she stammered.
"May I join you?" he asked, gesturing to the window seat.
"Yes, yes, of course, please do," she said. "Forgive me, I was just…reading," she said, trying to hide the book again.
"May I ask what?" he said.
She nodded, handing the book to him. "Tales of Piracy and Romance," he read. "I must confess, I don't often think of those two words combining."
"Romance as in adventure rather than…love stories," explained Harleen. "I believe piracy and adventure often go together."
"In my experience, one should never confuse adventure with danger," replied Bruce. "But I confess I have no interest in piracy or adventure myself – I find both of those ideas abhorrent. Why anyone would put murderers, thieves, and brigands on an idealistic pedestal, I haven't the foggiest idea."
"No," agreed Harleen. "No, nor have I…but what about this mysterious privateer who's been rumored to be sailing near Gotham's shores?"
"You mean the so-called Batman?" laughed Bruce Wayne. "It seems this city can talk of little else!"
"Well, to appear so suddenly like that, out of the blue, and to protect Gotham's shores in their darkest hour, when it is assailed by all sorts of ruffians…it's very heroic," finished Harleen.
"If you say so, Miss Quinzel," replied Bruce. "Heroism and foolishness also often go together, in my experience."
"I think he must be a very brave man," said Harleen.
"Or a very mad one!" laughed Bruce.
"Well, at least he's doing something to keep this city safe, as a man should," retorted Harleen. "But then I imagine he's not nearly so proficient on the harpsichord as you, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce smiled. "It's not every woman who personally attacks me during conversations," he said. "I quite enjoy the experience, Miss Quinzel, if you'll permit me to say so. It makes a pleasant change from my gaggle of female admirers."
"Well, a man as wealthy as yourself, Mr. Wayne, I'm afraid much suffer through such trials," retorted Harleen. "Women are taught that their only ambition in life is to land a rich husband, and so consequently rich husbands are very highly sought after."
"And is landing a rich husband not your ambition, Miss Quinzel?" asked Bruce.
"It is my mother's," agreed Harleen. "But I confess to wishing for more out of life."
"Such as?" asked Bruce.
Harleen shrugged. "Perhaps adventure, Mr. Wayne, as abhorrent as it might sound to you. Perhaps I wish to live the kind of life that I can only ever read about in books. I daresay you would call that mad too."
"I would call it charming," replied Bruce. "As you yourself are, Miss Quinzel. Quite charming," he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it. "I shall leave you to your book."
The moment he left, Mrs. Quinzel joined her daughter, her eyes bright. "Well? What did you and Mr. Wayne discuss?"
"Madness," she retorted. "And the Batman. Though he believes the two are synonymous."
Mrs. Quinzel looked annoyed. "Honestly, Harleen, that is not the kind of conversation that encourages a man to propose!"
"I have no wish for him to propose, Mother," retorted Harleen. "I have no wish to marry that idle philanderer with more looks than brains. We should have run out of conversation before the honeymoon, and our married life would consequently be very dull indeed."
"This is not a joke, Harleen!" snapped Mrs. Quinzel. "And I do wish you'd take it seriously for once! You are twenty-seven years old – you won't be of marriageable age much longer! No man wants a wife too old to bear him any children! You must get your head out of those silly storybooks and hook a man! You don't want to end up an old maid, with no one to provide for you! Your looks will not last forever, and the more you read, the more they fade! Novels rot your mind and your youth – give them up for goodness sake and focus on something important!"
She took the book from Harleen's hands and stormed off. Harleen glared after her, and then sighed, turning her attention out the window again to the ocean beyond.
The port of Gotham City was as yet a comparatively small one, but a highly wealthy one. Its location on the coast of the American colonies made it a thriving trading hub for goods from both the Caribbean and Europe. It also made it an attractive target for raiders, smugglers, and pirates. There was as yet no law enforcement in Gotham, and so its citizens were primarily helpless against these invaders, until a few months ago when the mysterious Batman had appeared in Gotham's waters.
He claimed to be a privateer, handing criminals over to the crown but taking no payment for his pains. The flag of his ship was of a man with bat wings, hence the name, and he wore a black mask so that no one ever knew what his real identity was. But his appearance had caused a stir in the city, and its inhabitants constantly gossiped and speculated about who he could be. He was like a hero of romance come to life, come to save the people of Gotham from the criminals who plagued it.
Harleen and her family had arrived in Gotham City from England when Harleen was a child – her father was a merchant looking to increase his profits by setting up shop in Gotham. And increase them he had – George Quinzel was now one of the most prominent and respected citizens of Gotham, and his daughter would come with quite a dowry to whomever could win her hand.
Unfortunately for any fortune-seeking men, Harleen had no interest in giving her hand to anyone, preferring to spend her days reading or outside in the fresh sea air, alone with her thoughts and dreams. She would often take off her shoes and stockings, a scandalous gesture if anyone were to see, wade into the shallow waters of the coast, and just stand there, letting the waves wash over her ankles and imagining the distant lands that lay beyond the ocean, that she had only ever read about in books, and likely only ever would.
Her mother was at her wit's end to see her married off, and had begun pressuring her father to keep inviting young, eligible men to the house, hence Bruce Wayne's impromptu concert today. And while Harleen didn't enjoy causing her mother or her father unnecessary consternation, she also simply could not force herself to be interested in proposals of marriage. Certainly not from men like Bruce Wayne anyway, she thought.
But then the kind of man she wanted didn't really exist, except in her books. Or if he did, she had certainly seen no evidence of it from the young men of Gotham City, she thought gloomily. She read tales about charming rogues, men of witty conversation and masculine wiles, who could fence and fight, with an element of swashbuckling danger and passionate romance. She had never encountered anyone like that in real life, so she assumed they must exist only in works of fiction. Which was a shame, because she honestly believed that such was the only kind of man she could ever give her heart and her hand to. So she would probably end up an old maid, she thought resignedly, but that was better than marrying some rich idiot. At least she would always have the man of her dreams in her head.
And she was about to meet him in the flesh very soon.