The Game - Laurie R. King [18]
The change in noise, however, attracted the parental authorities of those girls young enough to view the game merely as pleasurable exercise linked with mild flirtation instead of early negotiations in the serious economic business of matrimony. Repressive suggestions were made, Mrs Goodheart decreeing that Sunny looked quite flushed and a rest might be in order before it came time to dress for dinner, and the egg-race orgy died a natural death. The young men straightened their collars and went back to their corners; the young women recalled their sophistication and lounged off for a cigarette, illicit or open, depending on the smoker’s age. Holmes and I seized the opportunity for retreat.
We made for the less occupied reaches of the deck, up where smuts drifted from the steamer stacks and the vibration from the engines far below bounced one’s feet on the boards. I had a coin in my hand, to practice flipping it across my knuckles. My fingers were remembering the drill and becoming more supple, the motions more nearly automatic.
“Why on earth did you wish to speak with those people, Holmes?”
“That is ‘Mr Russell’ to you.”
“Holmes.”
“I merely wished to examine the phenomenon of a wealthy and educated young American who embraces the cant of the Bolsheviks. I have some familiarity with his British counterpart, but I was interested to see if there were regional differences.”
“And were there?”
“None of import. The aristocracy amuses itself in many ways, among which is the pretence of being a commoner. You will note, however, that rarely is the claim accompanied by a renunciation of status or wealth.”
“I suppose it’s a harmless enough flirtation. Better than yanking a variety of exotic animals from their homes and shipping them halfway around the globe in order to shoot them.”
“Having granted them a long and prolific life before their demise,” he pointed out mildly. “And by comparison with the extreme behaviour of some of the native princes, the attitude of young Goodheart’s maharaja seems fairly tame. The boredom of the aristocracy reaches new highs amongst India’s hereditary rulers, and the lengths to which some of them go to escape it—well, let us say merely that ancient Rome might learn a few things about depravity.”
I might have explored that interesting topic, but a sudden thought made me glance apprehensively at the dancing boards under my feet. “You don’t suppose those beasts of his are in the hold of this ship, do you?”
“This is a P. & O. liner, Russell. They don’t even permit lap dogs.”
That was a relief. I had seen bison, and did not like to imagine what an irritated one could do to a ship’s hold.
We took our evening meal in our rooms, as well as breakfast on Monday, and by making immediately for the more insalubrious portions of the decks during the middle of the day, we avoided the Goodhearts until Sunny caught us strolling down the stairs at tea-time, her brother ambling along behind her.
“Oh! Mrs Russell, I’ve missed you so. I hope you haven’t been ill, I was looking for you at lunch. Hello, Mr Russell.”
“We’ve just been elsewhere,” I told her; Holmes murmured something vaguely apologetic and pulled a vanishing act. “Did you need something?”
“Oh, yes, I just wanted to ask if you were thinking of going ashore at Port Said tomorrow. Tommy and I are skipping off to see Cairo and the pyramids by moonlight, although Mama says it’s too strenuous a jaunt for her. The purser says we’ll rejoin the ship in Suez, he absolutely promises. Please, won’t you come?”
Moonlight? I thought. The moon would be but a tiny sliver, handsome enough in the desert sky but short-lived and less illuminating than a candle. Little point in saying anything to this young lady, however—the shipping line might not permit lap dogs, but Sunny was doing her best to make up for their absence, endearing herself to all and polishing off