furniture for the column of four to pass. But Bella had begun to see what was going to happen next. And there was no way they were going to be able to march down that room eight abreast.
‘Someone’s going to get impaled on a suit of armour,’ she said, half fascinated, half appalled.
Richard kept a straight face. ‘It has been known. It is rumoured that someone forgot to clear away the piano one year and my Uncle Leopold marched straight over it, dragging his partner after him.’
Bella folded her lips tightly together. Her shoulders were starting to shake. Oh, God, I’m not going to be able to get through this lunacy without disgracing myself, she thought.
And then they did all join up in an eight, and the lady at one end of the line and the man at the other did indeed have to vault over occasional tables and slalom round chairs. Above the clatter of falling objets d’art and cries of anguish from those who had stubbed their toes, the King’s voice could be heard saying testily, ‘Keep time. Keep time, damn you.’
Richard bent his head sideways. ‘Don’t worry. He’s almost certainly talking to the piper rather than my mother,’ he confided in a whisper.
Bella’s ribs ached. She moaned. Suppressing laughter was becoming agony for her.
‘You’re a swine,’ she said conversationally, keeping her bright smile in place.
‘Yeah. But I know how to do this stuff. So,’ he went into a mobster voice, ‘you need me, baby.’
That was when the double doors at the far end were flung wide and they progessed, eight by eight, into what Bella could only describe as a baronial hall: high ceiling, banners, serfs gathered round the walls watching, the lot. She gasped and would have stopped dead, but for the momentum of the group which kept surging forward. She stumbled but Richard and George between them half lifted her off her feet, keeping her upright and moving until she had regained her balance.
‘Keep up. Keep up,’ muttered Prince George in a very good imitation of the King.
Bella gave a strangled gulp and her ribs started to hurt again.
The piper got to the far end of the hall and turned to face them. The eights all peeled off and formed squares, and the serfs – who, now she came to look, were just as well dressed as the Royal party – bundled on to the floor too.
The piper started to tap his foot. You could feel the whole room counting. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. And they were off, circling round to the right, and then back, hell for leather, like a cavalry charge.
Richard said over his shoulder, ‘Next, stick out your right hand, left round my waist. You’re going round in a star with the other ladies.’
Bella was still trying to assimilate this when he put his arm round her waist, flung her into the circle and was galloping off, round again. And when they completed the circuit, he switched places with her and they went back and around the other way. Her head started to spin …
It seemed as if every time she learned how to do a move, and started to enjoy herself, the damn’ dance did something different. And did it fast. There was a good bit in the middle where you were allowed to stand still while other people did their thing. But sometimes you had to do your thing and that was torture. Richard was really good at sending Bella off into the fray, with a gentle push in the small of the back. But the other people in the set all seemed to know what they were doing, and helped too, reaching out a hand to steer her when it was feasible, giving her good clear hand signals when it wasn’t.
The music finally came to an end on a long chord and she and Richard were bowing to each other.
‘Curtsey,’ he mouthed.
‘What?’ But she looked sideways and saw what the women across the set were doing. Bella copied them and didn’t wobble too much at all.
‘I told you it would come naturally,’ said Richard smugly, taking her hand as she rose out of the curtsey. He tucked it under the crook of his arm. ‘I’m going to have to do lots of duty dances, but I’ve lined up friends and experts to take you through when I can’t dance with you. Have you got your dance card?’