Babel : Or the Necessity of Violence: an Arcane History of the Oxford Translators' Revolution (9780063021440)

He meant it. Victoire and Letty were unrecognizable. He’d grown so used to seeing them in shirts and trousers that he forgot sometimes they were women at all. Tonight, he recalled, they were creatures of a different dimension. Letty wore a dress of a pale, floaty blue material that matched her eyes. Her sleeves were quite enormous – she looked as if she could have concealed an entire leg of mutton up there – but that appeared to be the fashion of the year, for colourful, billowing sleeves filled the college grounds. Letty was in fact quite pretty, Robin realized; he’d only never noticed it before – under the soft fairy lights, her arched eyebrows and her sharply angled jaw did not look cold and austere, but regal and elegant.

‘How’d you get your hair like that?’ Ramy demanded.

Pale, bouncy ringlets framed Letty’s face, defying gravity. ‘Why, curl papers.’

‘You mean witchcraft,’ said Ramy. ‘That’s not natural.’

Letty snorted. ‘You need to meet more women.’

‘Where at, Oxford lecture halls?’

She laughed.

It was Victoire, however, who’d truly been transformed. She glowed against the deep emerald fabric of her gown. Her sleeves, too, ballooned outwards, but on her they seemed rather adorable, like a protective ring of clouds. Her hair was twisted into an elegant knot at the top of her head, fastened with two coral pins, and a string of the same coral beads shone like constellations around her neck. She was lovely. She knew it, too; as she took in Robin’s expression a smile bloomed over her face.

‘I’ve done a good job, haven’t I?’ Letty surveyed Victoire with pride. ‘And to think she didn’t want to come.’

‘She looks like starlight,’ said Robin.

Victoire blushed.

‘Hello, there.’ Colin Thornhill strode up to them. He seemed quite drunk; there was a dazed, unfocused look in his eyes. ‘I see even Babblers have deigned to come.’

‘Hello, Colin,’ Robin said warily.

‘Good party, isn’t it? The opera girl was a little pitchy, but perhaps it was only the acoustics in the chapel – it’s really not a proper performance venue, you need a bigger space so the sound doesn’t get lost.’ Without looking at her, Colin held his wineglass out in front of Victoire’s face. ‘Get rid of this and get me a burgundy, will you?’

Victoire blinked at him, astonished. ‘Get your own.’

‘What, aren’t you working this thing?’

‘She’s a student,’ Ramy snapped. ‘You’ve met her before.’

‘Have I?’ Colin really was very drunk; he kept swaying on his feet, and his pale cheeks had turned a deep ruddy colour. The glass hung so precariously from his fingertips that Robin was afraid it would shatter. ‘Well. They all look the same to me.’

‘The waiters are in black, and they’ve got trays,’ Victoire said patiently. Robin was amazed at her restraint; he would have slapped the glass from Colin’s hand. ‘Though I think you might try some water.’

Colin narrowed his eyes at Victoire, as if trying to see her in better detail. Robin tensed, but Colin only laughed, murmured something under his breath that sounded like the words ‘She looks like a Tregear,’^* and walked off.

‘Ass,’ Ramy muttered.

‘Do I look like I’m serving staff?’ Victoire asked anxiously. ‘And what’s a Tregear?’

‘Never mind,’ Robin said quickly. ‘Just – ignore Colin, he’s an idiot.’

‘And you look ethereal,’ Letty assured her. ‘We’ve all just got to relax, everyone – here.’ She extended her arm to Ramy. ‘Your shift’s done now, isn’t it? Dance with me.’

He laughed. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Come on.’ She seized his hands and tugged him towards the dancing crowd. ‘This waltz isn’t hard, I’ll teach you the steps—’

‘No, really, stop.’ Ramy extricated his hands from hers.

Letty crossed her arms. ‘Well, it’s no fun just sitting here.’

‘We’re sitting here because we’re already barely tolerated, and because as long as we don’t move too quickly or speak too loudly, we can blend into the background or at least pretend to be serving staff. That’s how this works, Letty. A brown man at an Oxford ball is a fun curiosity as long as he keeps to himself and manages not to offend anyone, but if I dance with you, then someone’s going to hit me, or worse.’

She huffed. ‘Don’t be dramatic.’

‘I’m only being prudent, dear.’

One of the Sharp brothers drifted by just then and extended his hand to Letty. It seemed a rather rude and perfunctory gesture, but Letty took it without comment and left, tossing Ramy a nasty look over her shoulder as she sauntered off.

‘Good for her,’ Ramy muttered. ‘And good riddance.’

Robin turned to Victoire. ‘You’re feeling all right?’

‘I don’t know.’ She looked very nervous. ‘I feel – I don’t know, exposed. Put on display. I told Letty they’d think I was staff—’

‘Don’t mind Colin,’ said Robin. ‘He’s a prat.’

She looked unconvinced. ‘Aren’t they all like Colin, though?’