Free Hangmans Holiday by Dorothy L. Sayers Page B

Hermione Creethorpe, who, in her Queen of Clubs costume, looked a very redoubtable virgin, as, indeed, she was.
    “Quite right,” said the old lady, “and I consider that very cheap.”
    “We haven’t been playing long,” said Wimsey apologetically.
    “It would have been more, Auntie,” observed Mrs. Wrayburn, “if you hadn’t been greedy. You shouldn’t have doubled those four spades of mine.”
    Lady Hermione snorted, and Wimsey hastily cut in:
PLAN OF THE BALL-ROOM

    A—Stair to Dressing-Room and Gallery; B—Stair to Gallery; C—Stair to Musicians’ Gallery only; D—Settee where Joan Carstairs sat; E—Settee where Jim Playfair sat; F—Where Waits stood; G—Where Ephraim Dodd sat; H—Guests’ “Sir Roger”; J—Servants’ “Sir Roger”; XX—Hanging Lanterns; O O O O—Arcading.
    “It’s a pity we’ve got to stop, but Deverill will never forgive us if we’re not there to dance Sir Roger. He feels strongly about it. What’s the time? Twenty past one. Sir Roger is timed to start sharp at half-past. I suppose we’d better tootle back to the ballroom.”
    “I suppose we had,” agreed Mrs. Wrayburn. She stood up, displaying her dress, boldly patterned with the red and black points of a backgammon board. “It’s very good of you,” she added, as Lady Hermione’s voluminous skirts swept through the hall ahead of them, “to chuck your dancing to give Auntie her bridge. She does so hate to miss it.”
    “Not at all,” replied Wimsey. “It’s a pleasure. And in any case I was jolly glad of a rest. These costumes are dashed hot for dancing in.”
    “You make a splendid Jack of Diamonds, though. Such a good idea of Lady Deverill’s, to make everybody come as a game. It cuts out all those wearisome pierrots and columbines.” They skirted the south-west angle of the ballroom and emerged into the south corridor, lit by a great hanging lantern in four lurid colours. Under the arcading they paused and stood watching the floor, where Sir Charles Deverill’s guests were fox-trotting to a lively tune discoursed by the band in the musicians’ gallery at the far end. “Hullo, Giles!” added Mrs. Wrayburn, “you look hot.”
    “I am hot,” said Giles Pomfret. “I wish to goodness I hadn’t been so clever about this infernal costume. It’s a beautiful billiard-table, but I can’t sit down in it.” He mopped his heated brow, crowned with an elegant green lamp-shade. “The only rest I can get is to hitch my behind on a radiator, and as they’re all in full blast, it’s not very cooling. Thank goodness, I can always make these damned sandwich boards an excuse to get out of dancing.” He propped himself against the nearest column, looking martyred.
    “Nina Hartford comes off best,” said Mrs. Wrayburn. “Water-polo—so sensible—just a bathing-dress and a ball; though I must say it would look better on a less Restoration figure. You playing-cards are much the prettiest, and I think the chess-pieces run you close. There goes Gerda Bellingham, dancing with her husband—isn’t she too marvellous in that red wig? And the bustle and everything—my dear, so attractive. I’m glad they didn’t make themselves too Lewis Carroll; Charmian Grayle is the sweetest White Queen—where is she, by the way?”
    “I don’t like that young woman,” said Lady Hermione; “she’s fast.”
    “Dear lady!”
    “I’ve no doubt you think me old-fashioned. Well, I’m glad I am. I say she’s fast, and, what’s more, heartless. I was watching her before supper, and I’m sorry for Tony Lee. She’s been flirting as hard as she can go with Harry Vibart—not to give it a worse name—and she’s got Jim Playfair on a string, too. She can’t even leave Frank Bellingham alone, though she’s staying in his house.”
    “Oh, I say, Lady H!” protested Sambourne, “you’re a bit hard on Miss Grayle. I mean, she’s an awfully sporting kid and all that.”
    “I detest that word ‘sporting’,”