He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [186]
“I don’t suppose so either,” I said. “There are not enough decent recreational facilities for any of the enlisted men. No wonder the poor lads resort to grog shops and cafés and—er—other even less reputable places of—er—amusement! I will take steps to correct that. I beg your pardon, Ramses, did you speak?”
“No, Mother.” He looked down at his plate, but not so quickly that I failed to see the glint of amusement in his black eyes. What he had said, under his breath, was, “Tea and cucumber sandwiches.”
So it went, through three additional courses. Cyrus’s questioning of Emerson was a transparent request for reassurance; I did not doubt he had seriously considered sending Katherine home—or trying to. Anna and Nefret continued to snipe at one another, and Ramses contributed nothing useful to the converation. After dinner we retired to the parlor, where Katherine sank into a chair.
“If anyone else mentions the war, I will scream,” she declared. “Nefret, will you please play for us? Music is said to soothe a savage breast and mine is quite savage just now.”
Nefret looked a trifle sheepish. She had certainly done her bit to contribute to the unpleasantness. “Of course. What would you like to hear?
“Something cheerful and comic,” Cyrus suggested. “There are some pretty funny songs in that stack I brought with me.”
“Something soft and soothing and sweet,” Katherine corrected.
“Something we can all sing,” said Emerson hopefully.
Nefret, already seated at the piano, laughed and looked at Ramses. “Have you any requests?”
“So long as it isn’t one of those sentimental, saccharine ballads you favor. Or a stirring march.”
Her smile faded. “No marches. Not tonight.”
She played the old songs that were Emerson’s favorites. At her request Ramses stood by to turn the pages for her, and if he found the songs too sentimental for his taste, he did not say so. I managed to prevent Emerson from singing by asking Nefret to do so. Her voice was untrained but very sweet and true, and Emerson loved to hear it.
Katherine put her head back and closed her eyes.
“That was charming, my dear,” she said softly. “Go on, if you are not too tired.”
Nefret sorted through the sheet music. “Here’s one of Cyrus’s new songs. Ramses, sing it with me.”
He had been watching her, but he must have been thinking of something else, for he started when she addressed him. I knew he was as keenly aware of the time as I was. Within an hour he must leave to meet Thomas Russell.
With a smile and a shrug he held out his hand. “Let me see the music.”
“If you are going to be that particular—”
“I only want to look through it first.” He had learned to read music, though he did not play. Once I had wondered why he bothered. After a quick perusal, he curled his lip. “It’s worse than saccharine, it’s precisely the sort of romantic propaganda I was talking about the other day.”
“Please, Ramses,” Katherine murmured. “This is so pleasant, and I haven’t heard you and Nefret sing together for a long time.”
Ramses’s cynical smile faded. “All right, Mrs. Vandergelt. If it will please you.”
It was the first time I had heard the song, which was to become very popular. It did not mention the War; but the wistful reference to “the long, long night of waiting” before the lovers could again walk together into the land of their dreams made its message particularly poignant in those days. Music may be a tool of the warmongers, but it can also bring solace to aching hearts.
They went through it twice, and the second chorus was nearing its final notes when Ramses’s smooth voice cracked. “Damn it, Nefret! What did you do that for?”
She was shaking with laughter. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kick you so hard. I just didn’t want you to spoil it by breaking into falsetto.”
“A scream of pain is preferable?” He rubbed his shin.
“I said I was sorry. Pax?”
She