Word of Honour by Michael Pryor Page B

antiquated
custom.'
    'Of course. Ridiculous.'
    'In fact, we have a speaker at the next meeting of the
Eastside Suffragists on this very topic. Would you care
to come?'
    'Naturally,' he said automatically, as he generally did
whenever Caroline requested anything. 'Perhaps we could
have dinner afterwards. Or a stroll. Something.'
    She frowned. 'It's a serious political meeting, Aubrey,
not a rendezvous. I thought you took the cause seriously.'
    'I do. I have. I shall.' George , Aubrey thought, now would be a good time to appear. He stood on tiptoes and looked
through the doors of the theatre, over the heads of the
people crammed into the foyer. Cigar smoke made it
difficult to see, and Aubrey knew his jacket would need
a good airing when he got home.
    'You're looking for George?' Caroline asked.
    'He's getting the tickets.' And he's taking his time about it.
    'Really? I thought he'd come along with the sole
purpose of chatting to that girl over there.'
    Aubrey swivelled. Not far away, George was talking to
a young blonde woman. She wore long gloves and she
held a handbag so tiny that Aubrey couldn't imagine it
had any use apart from providing a home for a pair of
dormice.
    'He's been there for some time,' Caroline said. 'And
he's making sure he speaks to her mother, too.'
    'That's Jane Evans. Not the mother. That's Mrs Evans.
Her husband, Jane's father, is Justice Evans, the judge.'
    'You know them?'
    'Justice Evans is a friend of my father.' Aubrey paused.
'A proper friend, not a political friend. They knew each
other in the army.'
    George was nodding at something Mrs Evans had said,
but Aubrey could see that it was taking him some effort
to stop himself orienting on Jane. It was as if a compass
point was trying to stop centring on north.
    Aubrey waved. Despite George's focus, he caught the
gesture. With some reluctance, he made his apologies to
the Evanses and eased his way through the crowd.
    'Hello, Caroline,' he said. 'Nice hat.' He rubbed his
hands together. 'Cracking girl, that Jane. Dab hand at
croquet.'
    'You hate croquet,' Aubrey said. 'You always call it the
lazy man's hockey.'
    'I may have been hasty in that judgement. Time to
reconsider.'
    'You have the tickets?'
    George looked blank for a moment, then brightened.
'Of course. Good seats, I think.' He plucked them from
the inner pocket of his jacket, just as the doors opened to
the auditorium.
    Aubrey was decidedly ambivalent about sleight of
hand. When younger, he'd desperately wanted it to be
true. He wanted such deftness to be real instead of simple
magic masquerading as prestidigitation. What a world it
would be, if a person could make a ball vanish into thin
air, just by clever manipulation and misdirection.
    But with every sleight-of-hand artist he'd ever seen,
the illusion didn't last. He soon saw the spells that were
used to make scarves dwindle and disappear, or doves
reconstitute themselves inside top hats, or pretty assistants
hover in thin air, which was a great disappointment.
    He settled in his seat, willing to be deceived but
knowing he wouldn't be. The critical part of his brain
never slept. It was always ready to squint, mutter and prod
him into asking why, or how, or what.
    The curtain was down. A four-piece string ensemble
played in the pit – something Holmlandish, Aubrey
thought, but thankfully it was something danceable
rather than one of their galumphingly serious compositions.
    Caroline had chosen to sit between George and him,
and immediately Aubrey had the Great Armrest Issue to
contend with.
    In purely economic terms, he knew half the armrest
was his. His ticket entitled him to it. In personal terms
that could be a good thing. If he took half the armrest,
and Caroline took half, his forearm – and elbow – would
be close. An altogether satisfactory arrangement from his
point of view as it could lead to an accidental touch or
two, when he shifted position – which would be only
natural.
    But what if she wanted more armrest space?