Justice Hall - Laurie R. King [160]
“Have one of the cars sent around, if you would, Ogilby. I’ll be at my cousin’s house for tea. If Lady Phillida starts to worry, tell her I promised to be back here in good time.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
“Come, Mary. Let us escape before we find ourselves pressed into service as Ra and Hathor.”
Mrs Algernon provided us with a plentiful tea, on the theory that food would not be had for hours (no doubt true) and that we should at any rate be having too good a time that night to bother eating (which, having spent the afternoon teased by the rich odours from the Justice kitchens, I truly doubted). Afterwards, Marsh, Helen, and the child bundled up in their thickest coats and went for a long walk; when they came back, Marsh was carrying the tired boy and Helen was joking with the older man as if she’d known him all her life. There were snowflakes on their hats, and Algernon appeared before they had completely divested themselves of garments to say that he didn’t think the snow would last for long, the sky looking none too determined about the matter, but that maybe we’d want to move ourselves over to the Hall sooner rather than later, just in case. Mrs Algernon insisted we take another cup of tea, which involved our third meal of the afternoon. As we were sitting down in the solar before the fire with our cups, Holmes blew in, looking remarkably disreputable, a number of large parcels in his arms.
“Have you brought my costume?” I demanded. His mouth was already filled by one of Mrs Algernon’s sustaining little meat tarts, but he waved me towards the pile of things he had deposited just inside the door of the solar. I went over, and determined which was mine by the method of holding up each one and waiting for a shake or finally, a nod. The brown paper wrapping and crude twine gave me no great hope, but to my astonishment, what I pulled out was a more elegant version of the boy’s costume I had worn all through Palestine those years before: loose head-cover, baggy trousers, and long overshirt, even a heavy sheepskin coat to go over it all. All that was lacking were a curved knife for my belt and the torturous sandals Ali had inflicted on me in the beginning—which had in any case soon been replaced by the very boots residing in Alistair’s guest-bedroom wardrobe. In these clothes, I would be “Amir”—with rather more embroidery and a lot less dirt.
“This costume is anachronistic to a theme of ancient Egypt, Holmes,” I commented, but he did not take it seriously as a protest, as indeed had not been intended. Besides which, no doubt the nomads of the desert had dressed in much the same manner for the whole of their existence. I eyed the other packages. “Is yours . . . ?”
“The same,” he answered. Which explained why my constitutionally tidy partner had neglected to shave this morning, that he might present a more ferocious visage.
Perhaps, I decided, this fancy-dress ball wouldn’t be too bad after all.
Donning our costumes was a quick matter, with the arrangement of my hair beneath the turban taking the longest, as it was a skill I had forgotten. When Holmes and I met in Badger’s Hall, I laughed aloud in sheer pleasure. Helen seemed to find our costumes somewhat disappointing, given the ornate possibilities opened up by the Tut theme, but Mahmoud and Ali merely exchanged a glance of amusement.
We piled into the car, Holmes, Marsh, and I, to be driven by Algernon to Justice Hall. Algernon would bring Alistair and the Canadian contingent later, so as to keep them under wraps until the last minute. I had to feel a moment’s pity for the unsuspecting Phillida, whose elaborate party was going to be completely eclipsed by her brother’s announcement.
The special train had obviously arrived at Arley Holt: We passed a steady stream of motorcars coming away from the Hall empty, returning to the village for the next load. This time Algernon circled around to the delivery entrance of the kitchen wing, so that we might enter