He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [166]
“Nefret! You are not going to wear that in public, I hope?”
“Why not?” She spun round, so that the legs of her voluminous trousers flared out. At least they were opaque, being made of heavy corded silk. “It covers more of me than an ordinary evening dress.”
“But your—er—your shirt is . . . Are you wearing anything under it? My dear girl, when a gentleman’s arm encircles your waist in the dance . . .”
“He will enjoy it very much,” said Nefret.
“I may have to shoot someone after all,” Ramses drawled.
Nefret gave him a bright smile. “The Professor is wearing a sword; he can challenge the offender. That would be much more romantic. Now, Aunt Amelia, don’t fuss; this is only the underneath part. I’ll wear a yelek and a girdle over it.”
Chuckling over the little joke they had played on us, Fatima duly appeared with the garments in question and helped Nefret into them. The yelek was of silk in a delicate shade of pearly white; it was practically transparent, but at least it covered her. Emerson closed his mouth, which had been hanging open since he set astonished eyes on his daughter, breathed a gusty sigh of relief, and offered me his arm to lead me to the motorcar.
I will not describe the ball; it was like others we had attended, except for the uniforms. The patches of khaki were like muddy stains upon the sparkle and brilliance of the costumes. I lost sight of Ramses after he had performed his duty dances with me and Katherine; he might have been avoiding Percy, who made rather a point of putting himself in our way without having the temerity actually to address us. Whenever he was in our vicinity Emerson made grumbling noises and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. I had to remind him that, first, dueling was against the law; second, his weapon was only for show; and third, Percy had done nothing to provoke a challenge.
“Not yet,” said Emerson hopefully. “They are playing a waltz, Peabody. Will you dance?”
“You promised me that if I let you leave off the strapping you would not use that arm.”
“Oh, bah,” said Emerson, and demonstrated his fitness by sweeping me onto the floor. Emerson’s terpsichorean talents are limited to the waltz, which he performs with such enthusiasm that my feet were only on the floor part of the time. After one particularly vigorous spin I looked round and saw that Percy was dancing with Anna. Her cheeks were flushed, and she gazed sentimentally into his smiling face.
“Look there,” I said to Emerson, and then wished I had kept silent when Emerson came to a dead stop in the middle of the dance floor. It required some argument to get him started again.
“Doesn’t she know about the bastard?” he demanded.
“Perhaps not. Katherine and Cyrus are aware of his Machiavellian machinations with regard to Sennia, but Katherine would not have passed the information on to Anna without my permission. The time for discretion has passed, in my opinion; he cannot be courting her good opinion because he admires her.”
“That isn’t very kind to the girl,” Emerson murmured.
“It is true, however. She is not handsome enough or rich enough or—er—accommodating enough to interest him. He is using her to insinuate a wedge! She must be told of his true nature.”
“I will leave that to you,” said Emerson. “I can’t see that it matters.”
“You would not take that attitude if it were Nefret dancing with him instead of Anna.”
“Damned right.”
When the music ended Percy led Anna off the floor and left her. I lost sight of him after that; sometime later I realized I had also lost sight of Nefret.
I felt obliged to go in search of her. The Moorish Hall was the first place I looked. I disturbed several couples who were enjoying the intimacy of the shadowy alcoves, but Nefret was not among them. After I had finished searching the other public areas I went to the Long Bar. Women were not supposed to be there except