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‘Go,’ Ramy said. ‘Enjoy.’
She took Woolcombe’s hand, and he spun her away.
That left Robin alone with Ramy. Their shifts were ended; the bells had rung for eleven several minutes ago. They both pulled on their dress coats – identical black garments they’d purchased at the last moment from Ede & Ravenscroft – but continued lingering in safety by the back wall. Robin had made a perfunctory attempt to enter the fray, but quickly retreated in horror – everyone he was vaguely familiar with stood in tight conversational clusters and either ignored him completely as he approached, which made him feel oafish and awkward, or asked him about working at Babel, since that was apparently all they knew about him. Except whenever this happened, he was assaulted with a dozen questions on every side, all having to do with China and the Orient and silver-working. Once he’d escaped back to the cool quiet by the wall, he was so frightened and exhausted that he couldn’t bear doing it again.
Ramy, ever loyal, stayed at his side. They watched the proceedings in silence for a bit. Robin snatched a glass of claret from a passing waiter and downed it faster than he should have, just to dull his fear of the noise and the crowd.
At last, Ramy asked, ‘Well, are you going to ask anyone to dance?’
‘I don’t know how,’ said Robin. He peered out at the throng, but all the girls in their bright balloon sleeves looked one and the same to him.
‘To dance? Or to ask?’
‘Well – both. But certainly the latter. It seems you need to know them socially before it’s appropriate.’
‘Oh, you’re handsome enough,’ said Ramy. ‘And you’re a Babbler. I’m sure one of them would say yes.’
Robin’s mind was spinning with claret, or else he wouldn’t have managed what he said next. ‘Why won’t you dance with Letty?’
‘I’m not looking to start a row.’
‘No, really.’
‘Please, Birdie.’ Ramy sighed. ‘You know how it is.’
‘She wants you,’ Robin said. He’d only just realized this, and now that he said it out loud, it seemed so obvious that he felt stupid for not seeing it earlier. ‘Very badly. So why—’
‘Don’t you know why?’
Their eyes met. Robin felt a prickle at the back of his neck. The space between them felt very charged, like the moment between lightning and thunder, and Robin had no idea what was going on or what would happen next, only that it all felt very strange and terrifying, like teetering over the edge of a windy, roaring cliff.
Abruptly Ramy stood. ‘There’s trouble over there.’
Across the quad, Letty and Victoire stood backs against the wall, surrounded on all sides by a pack of leering boys. Pendennis and Woolcombe were among them. Victoire was hugging her arms across her chest, Letty saying something very quickly that they couldn’t make out.
‘Better have a look,’ said Ramy.
‘Right.’ Robin followed him through the crowd.
‘It’s not funny,’ Letty was snarling. Her cheeks were blotchy with rage. She held both her fists up like a boxer might; they trembled as she spoke. ‘We’re not showgirls, you can’t just—’
‘But we’re so curious,’ said Pendennis, drawling and drunk. ‘Are they really different colours? We’d like to see – you’re wearing such low-cuts, it tantalizes the imagination—’
He reached an arm towards her shoulder. Letty drew her hand back and smacked him full across the face. Pendennis recoiled. His face was transformed, beastly with fury. He took a step towards Letty, and for a moment it seemed as if he really might hit her back. Letty flinched away.
Robin rushed up between them. ‘Leave,’ he told Victoire and Letty. They darted towards Ramy, who took their hands and pulled them towards the back gate.
Pendennis turned on Robin.
Robin had no idea what would happen next. Pendennis was taller, a bit heavier, and likely stronger, but he was swaying on his feet, his gaze unfocused. If this became a fight, it would be a clumsy, undignified one. No one would be seriously hurt. He might even land Pendennis on the ground and skirt away before Pendennis got his wits about him. But the college had strict rules against brawling, there were quite a lot of witnesses, and Robin did not want to know how he would fare against Pendennis’s word before a disciplinary board.
‘We can fight,’ Robin breathed. ‘If that’s what you want. But you’re holding a glass of Madeira, and do you really want to spend the night with red all down your front?’
Pendennis’s eyes dipped to his wineglass, then back up to Robin.
‘Chink,’ he said in a very ugly voice. ‘You’re just a dressed-up Chinkee, you know that, Swift?’
Robin’s fists tightened. ‘And are you going to let a Chinkee ruin your ball?’
