CHAPTER THREE

The ballroom at Shepheard’s Hotel was filled with the crème de la crème of upper-class British society. It had been said that one may encounter everyone of one’s acquaintance at Shepheard’s, and it was certainly true for the Emersons. The Professor and Mrs. Emerson were whisked away immediately by a man whom Nefret identified as Mr. Cyrus Vandergelt, an old family friend.

‘Your costume is receiving quite a lot of attention,’ Ramses commented on Nefret’s outfit. She was wearing a pair of slim trousers, specifically made for her, a khaki vest, and a white shirt, rolled up at the cuffs. Her golden-red hair was braided neatly, and a pith helmet completed the ensemble.

Ramses looked imperial and arrogant in his outfit – white robes, with a replica of the crown of Egypt adorning his head. Nefret looked at him admiringly.

‘Your costume is excellent, my boy,’ she said approvingly. ‘Very majestic.’ She turned to Mary. ‘And, Miss Poppins, you look just like Aunt Amelia, down to the parasol!’

Mary looked down at her costume and smiled slightly. ‘I am quite grateful for your assistance in my costume,’ she told Nefret. ‘I think it turned out rather well.’

‘I must admit that it does bear more than a passing resemblance to Mother’s typical uniform,’ Ramses said. ‘Even down to the belt of tools. Though Mother often carries...’

‘Thank you, Ramses,’ Nefret interrupted, cutting him off before he could launch into one of his lectures.

He stopped talking, his face impassive as usual.

The band began to play a waltz, and Ramses offered his hand to Nefret. ‘Would you care to dance?’

Nefret looked to Mary for permission, which she readily gave. Ramses bowed gravely over her hand and led Nefret onto the dance floor.

Mary watched them dance, sighing wistfully as she thought of Bert. If only he was here... then they could be waltzing together, his arms holding her tightly as they spun across the ballroom. She wished that he was here with her, in the Land of the Pharaohs... she had always wanted to be here, and now she had got her wish, but at too high a price.

‘It was your choice, you know,’ Archibald spoke up.

‘I know,’ she hissed. ‘But that doesn’t mean I can’t indulge in a few moments of self-pity, does it?’

‘Actually it does,’ he replied coolly. ‘Practically perfect people never permit sentiment to muddle their thinking.’

She firmly pinched his beak closed, unable to listen to his words any longer. He was right, she knew he was – when she had given up Bert she had also given up self-pity, and all those sordid little emotions that made people less-than-practically-perfect. And that’s what made it all the worse – she couldn’t even allow herself to regret the choices she made, because she had made them knowing full well what her choice would entail.

The waltz ended, and Ramses joined her.

‘Where’s Nefret?’ Mary asked.

‘Dancing,’ he replied tersely, without any of his usual verbosity. ‘Would you care to dance?’

She nodded, taking his hand and beginning to dance with him. And as she moved her feet to the familiar tune, she let a single tear slip down her cheek, thinking of Bert.

They returned to the dahabeeyah late that night, after the ball had ended. The Professor and Mrs. Emerson immediately retired to their room, and Ramses left them as well.

‘Good night, Nefret,’ Mary said, opening the door to her room.

‘Good night, Miss Poppins,’ she replied, smiling dreamily as she entered her own room. Mary closed the door behind her, beginning to get undressed. Despite her melancholy, she had enjoyed the party – especially wearing Mrs. Emerson’s trousers. They afforded her an ease of movement quite different from the layers of petticoats and skirts she typically wore. Perhaps Mrs. Emerson would be kind enough to tell her where she had had hers made. They would be far more comfortable to wear on the site (for Nefret had informed her that she planned to spend the mornings working, and that Mary should join her), and far more practical than her typical clothing. Not to mention that she had no need of a corset with this outfit...

She folded the trousers and the shirt neatly, setting them on top of her dresser, before opening the top drawer and extracting her nightdress. Slipping it over her head, she remembered a time, only a few short days ago, when she had slipped this same nightdress off and made love to Bert for the first time.

Mary shook her head vigorously, trying to rid herself of the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. His kisses, his hands caressing her body, his voice murmuring her name... if she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that he was here with her now, standing right in front of her, whispering her name.

She did not open her eyes, unwilling to dispel the illusion of happiness she had created for a few brief moments, and felt her way to the bed. Slipping under the covers, she allowed herself to pull up the hem of her nightgown and continue in her fantasy.

Her hands were nothing like his, and her tentative touches were nothing like the firm, determined caresses of her lover. But she was so desperate for him, desperate for some of the romance that was present in excess during the masquerade ball that night, that she was able to forget all that and lose herself in a haze of sensation.

Afterwards, she fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of Bert and the future they might have had.

***

‘You made quite a handsome Antony, my dear,’ Amelia said to her husband.

‘I’ll never understand what possessed you to pick such unauthentic costumes,’ he grumbled good-naturedly. ‘Honestly, Antony would hardly be wearing such an outfit! As for Cleopatra...’

‘Yes?’ Her eyebrow was raised, daring him to say something disparaging about her costume.

He laughed at the expression on her face, pulling her closer. ‘Well, her costume would have been much more... revealing.’

She had a witty retort on the tip of her tongue, but forgot it as he engaged her in other, more distracting, matters.