#Charles’ hair is also nice here. not look king that it looses its shape but fluffy enough

[leclercskiesahead]

ScuderiaFerrari All eyes on Imola 👀🔜

[windermeresimblr]

Historical Paper Dolls: The Sun King’s Court

Last week, we discussed ruffs. Today, we’re staying in the 1600s, but focusing on a fairly specific niche: the fashions of Versailles between the 1660s and the 1690s. I was inspired to do this by @rennylurant‘s and my discussion of the “Versailles” series. 

Alun and Alasdair and Joyeuse and Guiomar are all sharing center stage today. I simply couldn’t resist getting them all dressed up and making them go on a walk to see and be seen. I originally wanted them to promenade in a “Hall of Mirrors” set, but I couldn’t figure out how to get the pictures to not show the sky instead of the second story, so we have our trusty backdrop instead.

Men’s Fashion

Louis XIV mandated that all men who appeared at Versailles were to wear a long coat, a vest or waistcoat, a cravat, and knee breeches. This ensemble also required a hat for wearing outdoors. Charles II copied these fashion edicts upon his restoration to the throne in the 1660s. Don Draper’s work wardrobe and the trope of the “man in the grey flannel suit” are directly traced back from this style.

The waistcoat often reached to the jacket hem or just above it, buttoning up the front similarly to the modern version. (Earlier in the period, it had been rather shorter.) It was a canvas for embroidery, and could be made of contrasting fabric to add to the opulence of the look. The back of the waistcoat often remained plain, as it was not often seen when the justaucorps was worn; there are some instances of waistcoats having sleeves for winter wear. (Of course, you can then say that it is no longer a vest, and is instead a short coat--but that’s what the early form of the waistcoat was!)

The cravat is the ancestor of the modern necktie. Usually made of lace or fine linen, it was wound around the neck before allowing the ends to fall loose in front. There was a fashion in the 1660s for a ribbon to be tied around the cravat, which Alun is sporting once he’s fully dressed. The ribbons around the cravat were usually red, although other colors such as blue were not unheard of. This fashion trend continued, with the ribbons increasing in size and amount, until the 1690s. Then the cravat was worn without such decoration.

Knee breeches had been fuller (and/or shorter) prior to the 1660s, but with the popularity of the long-line justaucorps and waistcoat, slimmer and longer styles became more fashionable. Breeches were often made in the same fabric as the coat. They could be tied with ribbons or buttoned shut.

Because the new style was meant to emphasize the new-found peace after the turbulent early part of the 1600s, boots were gradually eschewed in favor of shoes. They were usually square toed and decorated with ribbons and bows and shoe-roses (essentially a pompom); there was a trend in the 1680s for red heels on one’s shoes. The heel, of course, became rather high, in order to emphasize the shapeliness of one’s calves, which were shown off by the slim knee breeches.

The long jacket was also known as a justaucorps, and would remain in fashion (with a great deal of change in how it looked) until the 1800s. The sleeve length varied from above to below the elbow, allowing the wearer’s shirt to poke through at the ends. Whether it had deep cuffs or shallow, broad lapels or none, and closed in the front or was worn open, the jacket was longer and more loosely cut than in previous decades. By the 1680s, it reached almost to the knee and remained full through the waist. 

Men wore their hair long, often to mid-back. While some people kept their hair mostly straight, especially in Spain, loose curls or waves were favored. Louis XIV, who had gone bald at an early age, started a wig mania that didn’t die down until the late 18th century. He wanted something that would mimic his natural hair, only, of course, thicker and superior in almost every respect. The men of Versailles soon copied him. This early wig mimicked the wearer’s natural hair color, was not tied back in any way, and was styled with a rather severe and exaggerated center part. 

A variety of hats were worn. The most common was a hat with a wide brim and a moderate crown, often decorated with feathers; your classic “Musketeer” hat. One side of the brim was often turned up; this turned into a brim-turning craze, resulting in the tricorne. 

Women’s Fashion

From the 1660s to the 1670s, the trend in women’s fashion was a broad or off-the-shoulder neckline with full, elbow-length sleeves, a tightly corseted body, and a full skirt. While the gowns shown in portraits may look like a one-piece garment, the trend was actually for a separate bodice and petticoat, which usually were the same color and material. The bodice was attached to the skirt with tabs, which eventually transformed into less obvious hook-and-eye closures. (Terribly fiddly, of course, and essentially defeating the purpose of separates.)

The neckline became quite low in some cases, especially for portraits. In some cases, the breasts were totally exposed; more commonly, a good deal of the breast was shown, pushed up and accentuated by the tight corsetry of the period. It was a look very suited to the deceptively casual, libertine atmospheres of Charles II’s and Louis XIV’s courts. It was of course was frowned upon by the moralists, and was not terribly practical for those who needed to do anything more strenuous than embroider. 

Throughout the period, pearl earrings and necklaces were very popular. The earrings often featured very large, teardrop-shaped pearls; the necklaces were made of the ordinary round, moderately sized pearls. Necklaces were worn very tight and very high, at the base of the throat. This was a look that would continue through the eighteenth century. Pendants were not as popular as they had been in previous years, but were still worn. Gemstones were also still very popular, as Joyeuse shows; I liked the contrast of the sapphires and her pink (salmon?) dress, and took a lot of inspiration from an image of Madame de Montespan I’ve linked in the credits.

Women generally did not openly wear wigs in this period; instead, they wore their natural hair (or someone else’s, if they had the misfortune to go bald). In the 1660s and 70s, the fashion was for curls at the front with buns in the back.

Here’s the fashion trend of the 1680 and 90s, the mantua. The mantua actually began as an “undress” dress, or casual wear; it was meant to showcase elaborate and exotic patterned fabric from overseas. It started as a fairly simple shoulder-to-floor open-fronted overdress (dolman-style sleeves, no fancy seam work, etc.) with a long train However, it soon evolved into the pleated, pinned, and looped style we see showcased here. 

Although this was worn over the wearer’s shift, stays and petticoat, with only a stomacher (a decorative modesty panel pinned to the stays) and a coordinating outer petticoat keeping the underwear from becoming outerwear, the high neckline and longer sleeves were more modest than the somewhat revealing off-the-shoulder look previously popular.

In the 1680s and 90s, the hair was piled up at the front of the head and dressed with the towering mass of wire and ribbons known as the fontange. The fontange was inspired by one of Louis XIV’s “petit maitresses” doing up her hair in a pinch with a ribbon, and gradually mushroomed out of proportion into something involving starch, wire, and a serious amount of hat pins. This is a mere shadow of its extravagance.

Credits

Alasdair

Wig by Cloudwalker Sims | Waistcoat by EA | Justaucorps and Waistcoat (V2) by Fortuna/Irene-Gouret on TSR | Knee Breeches by EA | Stockings by revolution-sims | Shoes by @revolution-sims | Hat by @deniisu-sims

Alun

Hair by @chazybazzy and Anto | Waistcoat and Knee Breeches by EA | Justaucorps, Waistcoat, and Knee Breeches by EA | Stockings by revolution-sims | Bow by s-club | Shoes by revolution-sims | Tricorne by assas-sims-creed

Guiomar, 1660-79

Hair by @aikea-guinea and Sussi | Earrings by Ladesire | Necklace by Vitasims | Bodice and Skirt by EA

Guiomar, 1680-99

Hair by Chazzybazzy and Toksik | Earrings by Ladesire | Necklace by Vitasims | Fontange by Traelia | Mantua by GlorinosaVG

Joyeuse, 1660-79

Hair by Chazzybazzy and Applekisssims | Jewelry by Tankuz | Bodice and Skirt by EA

Joyeuse, 1680-99

Hair by EA | Fontange by Traelia | Earrings by Ladesire | Necklace by Vitasims | Mantua by GlorinosaVG

Poses

Walking Couple poses by Lenina90

A few necessary side notes:

Image 2: The breeches are not quite correct for the period, nor are the lapels. The shoes are also a little anachronistic. However, they look nice.

Image 6: The severe line of the corset in this period is not a look easily achievable with sliders without distorting the clothes, unfortunately. See this wax figure of Madame de Montespan for an idea of how this looked in real life. It’s not really a look for the faint-hearted or prim-and-proper types.

Image 8: I honestly don’t know what’s going on with Guiomar’s hair. It’s not spaniel curls, it’s not really a bun, but she can almost pull it off. 

Image 9: Neither of these are very close to a proper mantua, but I have yet to find a mesh I really love, or one that I can convert without it being a problem.

I’m still really pleased how much of this could be done using EA meshes. I also think I will permanently move these to Saturdays.

[belphegor1982]

Chapter 2 is up!

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: The O'Connells are required by the English Government to bring the Diamond taken from Ahm Shere from Cairo to London. Things get interesting when Jonathan bumps by chance into an old friend of his from Oxford, Tom Ferguson…

Chapter 2: Familiar Faces (on AO3 here)

“So that’s your office? I must say, I’m impressed, old boy.”

“Knock it off, Jon.”

The room was tiny and rather stuffy, and Jonathan had to wait a while before Tommy could find a spare chair, in this case a collapsible with a cloth back. The mess was indeed impressive – you couldn’t see even a little bit of desk under all the huge, dusty files lying on it and all the loose sheets. All around the desk, the path was more or less cleared, but you still had to be extra careful not to step on books and files of varying shapes and sizes. The whole floor was cluttered up by cardboard boxes, some still held shut by adhesive tape, most of them open; as Jonathan peeped into one, he saw various items wrapped in protective paper.

Despite the messy aspect, Tommy’s office gave an overall cheerful impression, helped by the sunlight pouring in through the window, high up the wall. Dust danced in the rays and didn’t seem to be willing to settle anywhere.

“Sorry for the shambles, mate,” said Tommy, rummaging through the papers on his desk and starting to tidy everything up. “They made me move in here only a week ago, I haven’t had time to clean it all up.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve seen worse.”

Tommy’s head shot up from the desk, glancing sheepishly at Jonathan. “Y’know, when I told your sister I was one of the chief agents… Well, I might have overstated the thing a lil’ bit.”

“No! You’re not serious, are you?”

Tommy growled at Jonathan’s smirk, and he fell silent, letting his eyes wander here and there. They finally came to rest upon the only thing that seemed tidy enough – a dozen old-looking books resting on a set of shelves.

Jonathan left his chair to get a proper look. Some of the books came directly from the British Museum, and looked as if they were borrowed from the archives – old and worn, with leather covers slightly frayed along the edges. Not to mention the dust. And they smelt like escapees from the City of the Dead.

“I say, that’s some collection you’ve got yourself here,” said Jonathan amazed as he read the date of print of a particularly shabby-looking one. “My God… Evy would go spare if she saw this.”

“I’m sure she would,” Tommy said, emerging from the layers of paper and straightening himself up. “I just love these kinds of old books, you know; there’s a feeling about them you just don’t get with more – ‘recent’ ones. Now, where’d I put that bloody –”

“Looking for something in particular?”

“Yes,” Tommy sighed as he dropped on his chair, only to jump up and remove something before sitting down. “I’m sure what little I’ve got on Hamunaptra is lying ‘round somewhere in a folder – can’t seem to find it.”

Jonathan put the book he was holding back on its shelf and looked at the desk, his hands in his pockets. “No wonder.”

“Oh, that’s gonna help for sure, Jon,” muttered Tommy. Jonathan was about to retort, when his eyes stopped on a small picture in a frame. It was a photograph of a woman, and the longer he stared at it, the more familiar the woman seemed. Finally, it clicked into place: the freckled face with a round nose and pointy chin, the mass of frizzy hair and the sweet, candid smile could only belong to one person.

“Hey! Isn’t that Elizabeth McAlester?”

An uneasy sort of smile crept up on Tommy’s lips. “Yes, that’s her – ‘cept her last name hasn’t been McAlester for some time now.”

Jonathan stared at him blankly for a full minute. Now this, of all things, was unexpected.

“You mean, she’s – you’re –”

Tommy nodded, still smiling.

“How long –?”

“That’ll make it seven years in October.”

There was a moment’s silence, during which this piece of news sank in. Elizabeth McAlester had been a cousin of a common friend, Arthur McAlester – a tall, gangly fellow with glasses constantly perched on the bridge of his long nose, rather bossy but altogether likeable. She was a year or two older than them, and went to Somerville. Jonathan and Tommy had spent their last year before the war wooing her in turn, although it was more of a game for the two boys than something really serious. None of them had really gone too far, though. They valued their reputation as gentlemen – sort of – and she was too much of a nice girl.

Thinking back on it, Jonathan realised that, had things worked out differently, Elizabeth would probably have been the only girl he could have spent some significant time with. She was smart, sweet, and funny when she wanted to. And he used to make her laugh – she had a nice laugh. But there was also the fact that she didn’t really love him.

Perhaps, if he had been a little smarter, he could have won her over. Of course, that would have also meant spending less time in pubs, gambling and drinking; that would have meant growing up, and he was simply not ready for that, especially after the armistice. Most fellows of twenty-five were not, after all, and he’d made it his business to be as carefree as he could to make up for 1917 and 1918. Problem was, he was now forty, and most of people that age were supposed to be settled. Evy was younger than him, and Rick and her had been married for eleven years now. And Tommy and Elizabeth, of all people, had been together for seven years, and he had a picture of her on his desk. Why, they must even have children.

Perhaps Jonathan should have been jealous – but he just couldn’t be. Tommy was a decent fellow, and Elizabeth was a nice girl; they deserved each other. He had had his chance, had messed up, and there was no way to get back what wasn’t anymore. Petty jealousy was simply irrelevant there.

“That’s great news, old boy,” he finally said, with a heartfelt smile. “Congratulations. Wish I could have seen you in a morning suit, though.”

Tommy beamed in return, obviously relieved, and Jonathan felt a pang of annoyance. Did Tommy really think that he was going to be mad at him for that? That was ridiculous.

“Thanks, Jon. You know, that… that means somethin’.”

Dammit. It was still impossible to be thoroughly annoyed with Thomas Ferguson. He may retain his rotten luck, but he still had that innocent look on his broad face that fooled even the most sceptical of all. Even one Jonathan Carnahan.

A somewhat awkward silence passed. Jonathan was glad to end it when he spotted a folder under his chair and bent to take it for a closer look. “Here – wasn’t that the one you were looking for?”

The file was very thick, with a hard cover, and it was held shut by an old belt. On a little bit of yellowish paper was scribbled, ‘Hamunaptra, City of the Dead – Reign of Seti the First, Dynasty XIX.’

Tommy crossed the room in two strides and all but snatched the file from Jonathan’s hands. “That’s it! That’s the one.” His old enthusiasm was back in his voice. “I haven’t looked at it in years, guess it’s been buried under a ton of other things.”

“You can keep it if you want. It’s not that urgent, Evy can wait a bit.”

“No, take it – just be sure to give it back before tonight, someone could ask for it… Though nobody’s asked for it in years, so I can’t see why someone would just now. Except for Hamilton, but even him –”

“Hamilton?”

“Charles Hamilton, my immediate superior. Odd guy, very thorough, very clean. Might be a very likeable fellow if someone took the umbrella off his arse, but that’s just my opinion… Well. Fact is, I’m not really supposed to show that file to anyone, but as it’s you and Dr O’Connell…”

Jonathan couldn’t help but chortle. Tommy looked at him curiously.

“What’re you laughin’ at?”

“Oh, nothing, really – just the whole ‘Doctor O’Connell’ business. Funny thing to hear someone speaking in so high terms about my baby sister… especially you.”

Tommy shrugged and said with a grin, “Well, get used to it. Seriously, mate, I’ve heard of her since I was offered this job at the Research Department, and that was, what – ten years ago or so. Discovering Hamunaptra wasn’t such a big deal, I bet loads of people (poor chaps!) must’ve managed that in centuries past, but –”

Jonathan, whose first sight of the ancient City had been the skeletons and dried-up corpses of previous adventurers, gave a grim smile. Yes, indeed. Loads.

“– But she, her husband and… and you actually got out. Remind me to ask you how you did it someday, ‘cause I still have trouble believing it.”

“I bet you haven’t heard half of the story,” said Jonathan as a sly smile sneaked back on his lips.

“I hope you’ll tell me some time, then. This and that weird stuff with the Scorpion King two years ago.”

Jonathan opened his mouth, quite taken aback. “How d’you know about that, for cripes’ sake?”

“We, Mr Carnahan, know everything,” Tommy said with a mock smug grin, which he then dropped to finish, sounding almost embarrassed, “Well, not quite everything, I guess. In fact there’s still some huge blanks in the story.”

“Blanks you’d like me to fill, eh?” Jonathan chuckled. “I get it, Tommy old chap. I’d tell you the whole story anytime.”

Tommy’s right eyebrow shot up. “Anytime? That would include now?”

“Didn’t you say you had work to do?”

“‘Work to do’? Man, this is what I work on! Gathering pieces of information, I mean. Can I take notes?”

“Yes, sure,” said Jonathan, a little bit dumbfounded. “All right, you’d better take a seat, because this is going to be long…”

.⅋.

“And you told him the whole story of what happened at Ahm Shere?”

“And Hamunaptra, too. He already knew the main lines, anyway.”

Evelyn shook her head. Jonathan could be a wonderful brother at times, but one of his major faults was and always had been his complete inability to keep a secret the way it should remain – secret.

“I can’t believe you did that, Jonathan.”

“Oh, come on Evy, please trust me on this one, will you? Tommy’s reliable. He’s a decent bloke.”

His blue eyes were almost pleading, and Evelyn found her anger ebbing. The only times he had proved so persuasive were when he tried to cover up for one of Alex’s most foolish stunts. Though she could never admit it, such an attitude was very endearing, in a cheeky, annoyingly efficient sort of way.

Then there was this file. She couldn’t decently stay mad at him when he had been thoughtful enough to borrow it for her from this Ferguson fellow. And to tell the truth, she was positively dying to see what it contained. She couldn’t wait to get home to open it.

“Jonathan, it’s very touching to see you standing up for a friend, but you must admit that so far, the people you have entrusted with our, ah – family secrets – haven’t proved very ‘reliable’, have they?”

“Tom is, Evy. I swear. And he works for the British Consulate, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh…” Evelyn sighed, about to give in, “if only this was a guarantee of safety…”

“Just because What’s-his-name of the British Museum woke our mummy again and bollixed things up last time doesn’t mean Tommy’s not ‘safe’, old mum. Please –” and there he stopped her in her tracks and looked at her in the eye, “– believe me.”

Aw, dash it… It was still impossible to remain angry with him. She never could resist this unique mix of fake innocence, thoughtless cheekiness, and sincerity somewhere in the middle.

“All right, all right – quit pestering me, and I won’t bother you about this Mr Ferguson anymore.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, that’s a promise.”

Jonathan’s ‘persuader’ expression turned into a dangerous smile, one that his sister knew only too well. As a rule, it meant trouble was on the way. 

“That’s nice, Evy, because I asked him if he wanted to see the diamond while it’s still here in Cairo –” 

No exception to the rule today, it seemed. Evelyn was flabbergasted, but she said nothing… She had promised, after all. 

“– And we agreed that a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, and it’s still my diamond in a way, a little – I mean, I know I sold it and everything, but I haven’t looked at it in ages and –” 

Evelyn let him talk until he ran out of words and finished on a rather lame, “And, well, I – I was hoping you could intercede on my behalf, you see…” 

“You don’t have to ask me,” she said in a deliberately colder voice. “You’ll have to see the curator for that. I wish you good luck convincing him.” 

Jonathan’s face dropped. 

“Evy, please! You’re my sister! I’ve hardly ever seen this bloke, you’re –” 

“I’m far more gullible, is that what you meant to say?” 

“No, it’s not – that’s – cripes, Evy, all I’m asking for is two words to the curator from you. Consider it payback for Tommy, he might’ve got into trouble lending you this secret file for the afternoon.” 

The file. She’d almost forgotten it. Although Jonathan’s last sentence sounded a little like emotional blackmail, ugly as the word was, Ferguson had indeed seemed pleasant enough the day before. There was a cultured man, with a proper job – something of a change from the dubious company Jonathan usually kept – who respected and admired her work. She hadn’t heard praise such as he’d given her in quite a long time. And he trusted her enough to lend her this file.

“Well,” she said eventually, very slowly and reluctantly, “I suppose I could talk Dr Hakim into letting the two of you in the diamond’s room… Not alone, of course, and only for a few moments. I’ll see tomorrow if –”

She started when her brother kissed her on the cheek, beaming.

“Dear, sweet Evy, you’re the best sister any decent fellow would ever dream of.”

“Oh, come off it,” sighed Evelyn, who couldn’t help but smile all the same. 

They found the house empty: Rick had taken Alex to the bazaar downtown. Evelyn quickly sat down on the sofa and carefully put the file on the coffee table in front of her, while Jonathan disappeared into the kitchen. She didn’t wait for him and opened the folder.

It contained mainly sheet after sheet of paper covered in tiny scrawl, and as she ran her eye over them she could tell it was a report of sorts, with dates, names, and more or less precise directions. There were newspaper cuttings, some of them quite old, and also some sepia photographs. She was leafing through them when Jonathan put a cup of tea on the table and sat beside her, a tumbler in his hands.

“So? Have you dug some stuff up already?”

“I guess so, yes… I didn’t know Lord Carnavon had worked on Hamunaptra as well…”

“Good thing he kept it quiet, one curse as cause of death is well enough – didn’t need two,” quipped Jonathan. Evelyn elbowed him and picked up another set of pictures. Her brother’s eyes widened.

“Evy, that’s – that’s us!”

He was right. Though the photographs were old, blurred, and of rather bad quality, the figures on it were unmistakable. They must have been taken shortly after Hamunaptra, because Evelyn saw some shots of Jonathan with his left arm in a sling, and several of herself and Rick, arm in arm, both their faces shining with sun and laughter. She remembered how it was, back then – the slight awkwardness between them, the happiness fluttering in her stomach each time his hand brushed against her, even by accident; it had seemed to her that she was constantly walking on a little cloud, inches above the ground, silly as this comparison may sound.

Of course, she had got down from this cloud long ago – but reality had not been as harsh as her school friends had once told her. Rick was a wonderful husband, and there was never a second of boredom between them. Even after eleven years of marriage, he still took every opportunity to seduce her. Not in the romantic, literary way, with tête-à-têtes and candlelight, but something in the way he looked at her over the table, the twinkle in his eye that was for her and her alone never failed to make her melt. And after all these years, he still managed to make her blush, too. Of course, she protested, saying that it was absolutely ridiculous for a thirty-six year old woman to blush; but he’d just laugh softly, his rich chuckle sending shivers down her spine and making her feel as if she were twenty-five again.

Jonathan often said some people were born lucky. Hers was another kind of luck – she may not have a ‘proper’ social life like acquaintances of hers in London had, but the four men of her life, namely Rick, Alex, Jonathan, and Ardeth – in a very slightly lesser extent, as she saw him fairly rarely – were the four people she loved most, and they were wonderful. Lady Maria Evans and her circle of snobby friends would never know how it felt to die and being brought back to life by her eight-year-old son and her brother. She would never know the overwhelming smell of gunpowder, the ache you get in your shoulder from the recoil, the deafening noise, how it felt to be kissed awake by a three-thousand-years old mummy – but then, had Evelyn been able to, she would have gladly skipped this part. Ew.

“I say, Evy, do you think they’ll mind if we took a couple of photos to put them into frames?”

Jonathan’s voice drew her back from the memories, and she looked at the pictures in her brother’s hands. There was another one or two of Rick and her, one of the three of them – in the streets of Cairo, by the look of it – and a full-length one of Jonathan alone, his hands in his pockets, his nose in the air, and a curious look on his face. There was something funny and rather sweet about this one which matched the involuntary subject’s general attitude: offhand, ironic, foppish, forgetful, but altogether loyal and kind. Evelyn was indeed tempted to keep it, as Jonathan had suggested.

“I agree that some of those would be worth it,” she said, smiling. “But maybe you’d better ask your friend first –”

An odd thought crossed her mind at the mention of Tom Ferguson. When she had met him the day before, he had clearly shown that he didn’t know Jonathan had been a part of the Hamunaptra expedition. But it just would have taken a look at the contents of this file to know that his former schoolmate had been involved – his full name was written in black and white, and the photographs were faithful enough. Besides, Jonathan had not changed that much over the years.

“Jonathan, I’ve just thought of something – Tom knows this file, does he? I mean, you told me he’s been working in the Department for ages, so he must have read it at some point, right?”

“I suppose so, yes. And your point is?”

“Well, perhaps I’m just being silly, but how come he didn’t know you were at Hamunaptra? Your name and your face are all over these papers, look…”

Jonathan frowned slightly, and bent to look at the sheet she held out for him. There was an account of that night so long ago in the Sultan’s Casbah that had started it all, and it was just as Rick had told her when she had asked how her sticky-fingered brother had managed to steal his puzzle box.

“Whoa, Evy… there’s a fair amount of details in there.” She saw his eyes dart from the top to the bottom of the sheet; then he exclaimed, “Oh, of course! That Casbah barman, what’s his name again… Oh yes, Musa. I bet he was the one who gave them such a precise account. Can’t believe he still held that grudge after –” he looked at the top of the sheet again “– two years. Resentful git. It was only a little fight.”

Evelyn didn’t know what made her insist, but she ignored his last remark and continued. “You see? He could hardly miss you. And yet he seemed to ignore completely your part in the trip to and from Hamunaptra. By the way, my name was Carnahan at the time, not O’Connell. I don’t understand why he looked so surprised to see that his famous Dr O’Connell and your bossy little sister were in fact one single person – it’s just not logical.”

There was a short silence, during which Jonathan seemed to ponder her words. Then he turned to face her, and to her surprise, there was something like anger in his voice when he said, “You’re really something, you know, Evy. Stubborn as a mule, I’d say. I told you Tommy was a decent fellow, I mean – you met him, he’s not some sort of conman or something!”

“I’m not saying he is, Jonathan,” Evelyn said gently; she had not expected this kind of resistance at all. “I’m merely pointing out a fact. You must admit that it does look a bit odd, doesn’t it?”

“Well, don’t point. Fact is, you can’t admit that I know someone that you don’t, who’s smart, trustworthy, who works in the same stuff as you, and who also happens to be a damn good fellow to drink with.”

Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“Just what I’ve said. Leave him alone. I don’t understand why you’re nagging about him. Besides, Tommy adores you – you should hear the way he praises you to the skies.”

“I’m not nagging. Honestly, Jonathan, from the little I’ve seen of him, I like him well enough – he seems to be good company, a funny, cultured, clever fellow. And I’m flattered to hear that he thinks so highly of me. But rationally and logically speaking, there are some tiny details that bother me.”

She had spoken and chosen her words carefully, not wanting to start a row. She hated being at odds with her brother when he wasn’t the one who had started it – it made her feel uneasy and oddly guilty. He had been her only family for a long time, after all, and neither was likely to forget it. They shared something special.

Anger faded from the bright blue eyes, and Jonathan’s expression turned into something that looked remarkably like a pout.

“Can’t you just leave these out for me?”

Evelyn almost laughed. “I won’t say I’ll forget it, but I won’t pester you about it anymore. Just – I know I’ll sound silly again, but don’t be angry with me for that. I don’t like it at all when you are.”

This time, the usual smile was back on her brother’s face, and he sank back into the sofa, his half-empty glass still in his hands. “Ah, come on, Evy – that was silly indeed… You sounded like a kid. Don’t worry, I’m not angry with you… I’m just annoyed that the one time I haven’t done anything, and I mean anything, you still find a way to be suspicious.”

Of course, when you put it that way… Evelyn could understand Jonathan’s touchiness, and respected his faith in his friend, but still. It was only a few minor things, but the logical, scientific part of her mind was puzzled. Of course, it could just be that Tom Ferguson had a bad memory – she had never seen a folder so dusty, so she supposed he really hadn’t opened it in a long time… She’d find a way to chat about it with him some time. Casually, of course, in passing.

Maybe it was her instinct. Or maybe it was just her curiosity. That particular trait had been said many times to run in the family, and Evelyn was forced to recognise that it had proved true in many occasions.

Especially when it came to herself.

.⅋.

(I have a lot of fun writing scenes with Evy and Jonathan. I absolutely love their interaction in TM, and it was something I missed slightly when I watched TMR. When I write them I can’t help writing with my memories of TM in mind. It’s also fun to imagine Evy, having grown from the girl she is in TM into the self-assured, brilliant woman, wife, and mother, inches from running the British Museum in TMR, being childish enough to bicker with her brother. Both Carnahan siblings are big goofs in their own way, Evy just hides it better :P)