The Parliament of Blood Read Free

‘Perhaps we should be grateful for small mercies. Now then, let’s find that wine, shall we?’
    The flow of people into the room had all but stopped. George and Sir William helped themselves to a glass of red wine each from the table and made their way back through the assembled guests to a space close to the dais where they would have a good view. But George’s attention was focused on the door, waiting for Liz to arrive. Or perhaps she was already here. He looked round, hoping to catch sight of his friend.
    â€˜That’s Lord Ruthven from the Royal Society,’ SirWilliam said, pointing out a pale, gaunt figure standing with a group of others nearby. ‘He’s the chap who eventually insisted I hand over the mummy. Why Brinson couldn’t use some minor character from the Egyptian Department’s own collection I don’t know.’ He took a sip of wine, looking round with interest. ‘And unless I’m mistaken, that’s the Prime Minister’s special adviser, what’s his name?’ Sir William’s forehead creased as he tried to remember. ‘Bradford? Barford? Something like that.’
    But George was not listening. His attention had been caught by another figure in the crowd. A woman. She was standing alone, close to the door, wearing a deep red velvet dress that seemed to cling to her body, the neck line plunging daringly low. Her black hair was tied up intricately and for a moment her dark eyes met George’s across the room.
    Then someone moved in between them, and he lost sight of her. ‘Who is that?’ he said out loud.
    â€˜Someone important, I’ll be bound,’ Sir William said, glancing without interest in the direction in which George was still staring. ‘A gathering of the great and the good. Well,’ he sniffed, ‘the great anyway.’
    Intrigued and captivated by the glimpse of the beautiful woman, George was edging away towards the door. ‘I’ll just go and see,’ he said.
    Sir William sipped at his wine. ‘Don’t be long,’ he cautioned. ‘Expect Brinson will give up on his photographer soon and start anyway.’
    There was a general movement towards the dais, andGeorge found he was pushing against the tide of people. ‘Excuse me,’ he muttered as he collided with a tall woman.
    â€˜Excuse
me
, George Archer,’ the woman said, gently catching his arm.
    George paused, all thoughts of finding the lady in red suddenly gone. ‘Liz?’
    â€˜Don’t tell me you were looking for someone else?’ she joked.
    â€˜You look wonderful,’ George said quickly, anxious to change the subject. But it was true. Elizabeth Oldfield was wearing a pale green dress that was distinctly more modest than the scarlet dress that had recently attracted George’s interest. But her beauty was undeniable, with her lively face, fair hair, and cat-like green eyes.
    â€˜I do hope I haven’t missed everything,’ she was saying. ‘I had the devil of a job to persuade Father I should come. I think he believed it was some sort of performance – you know how he cannot abide the theatre.’
    George did indeed. He also knew that Liz was of a very different opinion on the subject. Her greatest ambition was to be an actress. But her frail, elderly father the Reverend Oldfield could not be more opposed to the theatre and all the sin – as he saw it – that was bound up with the profession of acting. So Liz was forced to sneak out to the theatre in secret. She was a member of a local acting company where she helped as much as her stolen time would allow. Which was, George knew, little enough. But she never complained at having to look after the old man.She never gave any sign that it was a chore rather than her devoted duty.
    He smiled at the thought, and found that Liz was smiling back at him. ‘I said, how is Eddie?’ There was a hint of censure in her voice