Page 45 of These Old Lies
Between the butlers, housekeepers, valets and cooks all laughing over punch and gossiping about their colleagues was an entirely different set of attendees. A set of Cinderellas taking advantage of everything possible before midnight. Ned thought he lived as openly as a queer man could in England, and still the transgressions playing out in front of him felt flagrant. Men in make-up, men in dresses, men laughing coyly, men clearly pursuing other men.
Ned and Charlie had already done a circuit of the ballroom commenting on the costumes, which covered every description from Arabian to mediaevalknights to Vikings and even an American cowboy. Not that Charlie and Ned were making a poor showing themselves. Ned had called in several favours to arrange for costumes on the theme of the Green Man. He had kept Charlie’s simple—brown trousers and a green shirt—but had opted for something more fanciful for himself.
Ned wanted to show Charlie that he would take advantage of what was being offered, and honestly, had wanted that for himself as well. His costume was a long green tunic artfully decorated with sequins and macramé leaves, with tight hose that caused Charlie to mutter and leave the room when Ned was putting it on. He had done his face in elaborate stage make-up and was particularly pleased with the cat’s-eye effect. And of course, he was wearing Charlie’s glorious hat as the pièce de résistance.
“I could spend all night simply watching everyone,” Ned said with wonderment in his voice.
“Or you could dance with me.”
Ned’s eyes widened for a moment. “Are you sure?”
Charlie gestured to the chaos of swirling people around them. “Do you think anyone in this crowd will be shocked? I think I just saw Lady Malcom fast-stepping with her butler. And if anyone does comment, we can say we suppressed our inherent modesty out of a competitive spirit to win the fancy-dress competition.”
Heart beating in his throat, Ned extended his hand to Charlie. It felt as bold as anything he had done in his life.
As he laid his hand on Charlie’s shoulder, Ned wondered self-consciously about how Charlie would need to adjust to accommodate for Ned’s height advantage in order to lead. “Relax, Pinsent, trust me,” Charlie whispered into his ear, pulling him in closer as they moved to the music.
It took Ned about two turns to realise he needn’t have worried. Dancing with Charlie was in another league from anything he had ever done before. Charlie played Ned like he was one of the band’s instruments, bringing out movements that Ned would’ve sworn he wasn’t capable of. Charlie evoked from Ned a grace and a confidence that left him breathless.
A fair while later, they took a break from the foxtrotting to enjoy a glass of punch. From his perch against the wall, Ned could see two young mensizing them up. The one on the left was dressed as a mediaeval damsel of some sort, complete with a long dress, pointed hat, and perfect pink bow lips. His companion was no less ambitious in a nymph-inspired outfit of flowing trousers, shirtless except for a vest, and eyes done in an elaborate curling style. Ned might have a decade of life on these boys, but he had to admit he was a little in awe of them, wearing markers of femininity so gleefully and unselfconsciously.
They must have noticed Ned’s gaze, because the short one in the nymph costume gave him a saucy wink.
“I like your eye make-up,” Ned blurted out.
“Nothing to slap like this.” The damsel leaned in so Ned could see. “The lining on the eyes is all in the flick of the wrist.”
“Yours is not so bad either,” the nymph costumed one said with frank admiration. “It’s bona to vada, such a dolly dish.”
Ned had no idea what the last part meant. It sounded like Italian that had spent several days drinking in East London.
“Scarper off, omi-palone,” Charlie responded with more humour than malice. “His dance card is full tonight.” As if sensing Ned’s confusion, Charlie clarified with a bit of a blush, “He said he liked your arse.”
Half of Ned was tempted to take prim offence, while the other half wanted to embrace the same devil-may-care attitude. He went with the second.
Ned turned back to the boys and met their eyes directly, as if taking this conversation very seriously. “Idolook sensational in this fancy dress.”
“We saw you dancing, too. Everyone here wanted to stab your eyes out for looking so in love.” The damsel emphasised every syllable with delight.
The frankness of it all nearly knocked Ned for a loop. Hugh, Freddy, and the rest of his set might be indiscreet, scandalous even, but none of them were willing to publicly sacrifice their masculinity like this, and certainly not with a complete stranger. These boys didn’t even know Ned’s name, but by virtue of the fact that he was wearing a bit of make-up and tight trousers, they accepted him.
“Well, when you have a man this fantabulosa, you have to make the most of the moment while you have it,” Charlie answered.
After admiring all the details of their respective costumes, the four of them concluded that they were the best the room had to offer and spent the next half hour laughing about the failed attempts at flirting happening around them. There was none of the cynicism of Ned’s typical nights out, where people provoked and shocked for the sake of it. It was all far more direct and vulgar than Ned was used to, while at the same time hidden behind this cockney slang that Charlie kept having to translate. Both explicit and hidden, and Ned felt like he was on a carnival ride of queerness.
Eventually some new ‘dolly dishes’ attracted the attention of their companions. Charlie and Ned wished them the best of luck finding a handsome man for the night and received in response a litany of slang that Ned didn’t really understand, which was probably for the best.
He turned to Charlie as the boys left. “What was he speaking? They sounded as London as the Thames, but the words were almost Italian?”
“It’s the language of the Dilly boys, a way of making sure the coppers don’t understand them.”
Ned cocked his head at Charlie. “And how do you know the language of the male prostitutes of the West End?”
Charlie shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I never went prowling in the Turkish baths, if that’s what you mean. I watch the world around me, right? Lots of the shopboys speak it.”
Ned was pretty sure the whole point was that no one was supposed to understand the shopboys’ slang, but that was a conversation for another day.
Looking at the crush of people around them, a furrow of worry creased Charlie’s brow, “I know it’s not like the fancy parties you’re used to, but I hope…”