Winthrop patted Purefoy easily on the shoulder. "Not at all, my good man. Not at all. It's been four thousand years since the Theban was confined to his bandages. I'd say there is no imperative to rush, wouldn't you? Now, let's get you a drink.." Chuckling, Winthrop gestured towards the row of statues situated along the back wal, to either side of the huge staircase. Purefoy watched, fascinated, as one of the statues stepped down from its perch, collected a tray of drinks from a nearby table, and made its way jerkily towards them. Purefoy had assumed the statues were part of the display, items brought back from the expedition by Winthrop and his team. The one coming towards them looked every bit the part: a flawless, life-size replica of an Ancient Egyptian statue, replete with carved headdress and blank, staring eyes.
Winthrop laughed when he saw the young reporter's expression. "Dear boy, haven't you seen one of these new Ottoman automaton devices?"
Purefoy shook his head.
"Why, they're al the rage. Much better than those terrible British things we had last year. No, these truly are wondrous machines. Look here." He waved at the device as it came closer, and Purefoy stood agape as Winthrop took a flute of champagne from the proffered tray. "Brass framework of unsightly cogs and things underneath, but a porcelain veneer over the top, designed to order. I had these ones made up in the style of the twelfth dynasty. Remarkable, aren't they? Just like living statues."
Purefoy accepted the glass of champagne from Winthrop and took a long sip. "Indeed they are.
Very impressive." He watched as the bizarre creation made its way back through the crowd, returned the tray to its place on the table and climbed back on to its pedestal beside its fel ows. He studied it for a moment, unnerved by the manner in which it had so easily blended once again into the background, becoming nothing but another immobile exhibit. He repressed a shudder. Purefoy turned to Winthrop, who he realised had been talking at him for some time.
".. and there is Lord and Lady Buchanan, talking to Sir David and his wife. Oh yes, and there's Sir Maurice Newbury, examining some of the ushabti idols in that glass cabinet over there. Yes, perfect, I should say. You should meet Sir Maurice right away. Come on. I'm sure he'd be delighted to meet a man from The Times."
Winthrop led him through the crowds towards a man who was standing alone beside one of the glass cases, examining the items on display inside. The man was wearing a thoughtful expression and the glass of champagne he was clutching in his left hand appeared to be untouched. He looked up, distractedly, as Winthrop and Purefoy approached, and smiled when he recognised his host. He came out from behind the cabinet, giving Purefoy the opportunity to see him properly. He was dressed in a fitted black suit with white shirt and bow tie. His hair was jet black and swept back from his forehead, and his emerald eyes glittered above a hawkish nose. Purefoy guessed he was in his mid-thirties, but could have been older. He extended his hand and Winthrop took it firmly.
"Lord Winthrop. A pleasure to see you again. I trust you are well, following your return from the Middle East?"
Winthrop nodded vigorously. "Wel enough, Sir Maurice, wel enough. I see you've been admiring my little collection."
"Indeed. Quite a find you had out there in the desert, Henry. I'm particularly intrigued by the markings on this series of four ushabti figures. They seem very unusual -" He stopped, suddenly, looking up to see Purefoy standing off to one side, sipping at his champagne. "Oh. How terribly impolite of me." He stepped over towards Purefoy and extended his hand. "Please, forgive me..?"
"Purefoy. George Purefoy."
"Please forgive me, Mr. Purefoy. It's just I get a little carried away when I find myself surrounded by such exquisite objects as these."
Purefoy laughed at the man's obvious embarrassment. In truth, it was Lord Winthrop's faux pas for not introducing them, but Purefoy took it as a measure of the man that he accepted the error on himself. "Not at all, Sir Maurice. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Winthrop clapped his hands together with a hearty laugh. "Capital! Maurice – Purefoy here is a reporter with The Times. He's going to be writing a piece about tonight's little soiree for the morning edition."
Newbury offered Purefoy a sly, knowing grin. "Indeed? And have you decided yet how you intend to approach your piece?"
Purefoy glanced awkwardly at Winthrop, who smiled at him expectantly. He cocked his head to one side in thought. "I don't believe I have, as yet. I think it rather hinges on the centrepiece." He paused, glancing around at the gathered crowd. "I'm sure it will be a spectacular revelation for us all."
Winthrop stepped forward and clapped him – a little over-zealously – on the back. "Don't doubt it, dear boy! Don't doubt it for a minute. Now, I real y must attend to Lady Worthington over there. She looks a little lost amongst the canopic jars. I'll leave you in the capable hands of Sir Maurice, here." He trailed off, his attention already across the other side of the room. Purefoy stepped aside to let him pass, and smiled as Winthrop's exasperated voice boomed loudly behind him. "Lady Worthington.. Over here, my dear."
Newbury leaned in towards Purefoy. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Lovely old chap, but quite lost in his own magnificence, if you know what I mean."
Purefoy chuckled. "Precisely."
"Of course," Newbury looked momentarily troubled, "you won't print that, wil you?"
Purefoy shook his head. "Indeed not, Sir Maurice. Your commentary is safe in my hands."
Newbury laughed. "Excel ent to hear it!" He sipped at his champagne. "Now, have they given you any notion about what's really going on in this room?"
Purefoy frowned. "I'm not sure that I quite understand."
Newbury grinned. "I'll take that as a no." He beckoned Purefoy forward. "Stand here for a minute. Tell me what you see."
Perplexed, Purefoy edged forward until he was standing beside the glass cabinet that Newbury had been studying a few moments earlier. Newbury gestured to the crush of people. "Out there.
What do you see?"
"I see a crowd of people, all dressed in their finery, here to see the unrolling of a four-thousand-year-old mummy from Thebes."
Newbury laughed again. "I thought that's what you'd say." "Why, what do you see?"
"I see a crowd of people desperate to be seen, al dressed up for an ancient dead man. I see no one who is truly interested in whatever it is they'l find under those ancient bandages, or the items on display in the cases in this hallway. No one here gives a damn about Egypt or Winthrop's expedition. London society is nothing but a game, Mr. Purefoy, and a dismal one at that. It's about being seen, about showing one's face at the appropriate functions. That's why all of these people are here tonight, and that's precisely why Winthrop invited them. He likes the pomp."
"Then why are you here, Sir Maurice, if you find it all so tiresome?"
Newbury smiled. "Ah, now that's a question. I could tel you that I'm here because I have an academic interest in the subject. Or that I'm very much intrigued by the reports I've seen filed at the British Museum about the expedition and exactly what it is they found out there in the hot sands. Or even that I enjoy the thril of seeing ancient artefacts uncovered for the first time in millennia. But in truth I'm sure I'm just as bad as the rest of them, here to drink my complimentary champagne and strut around before the gathered society commentators like a peacock."
Purefoy chuckled. "Now I know you're tel ing the truth." Laughing, they both took another sip of their champagne. "Now, see those three chaps over there, standing together in a huddle?"
Purefoy strained to see over Newbury's shoulder. "Ah, yes. I see." Three middle-aged men in top hats and black coats were standing by the doorway into the drawing room, gesticulating passionately, deep in the middle of what looked like a heated debate.