There’s trouble in the wind, my boys; there’s trouble in the wind.
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys; there’s trouble in the wind.Rudyard Kipling
Mary Windrush curtseyed, aware that half the room’s occupants were watching her and wishing her shoes were not so tight. She straightened up and faced the Khedive of Egypt, who smiled at her from under his red fez.
“Mrs Colonel Windrush,” Mohamed Tewfik Pasha, the Khedive of Egypt and the Sudan, was plainly dressed in contrast to the glorious full-dress uniforms of most men present. He greeted Mary with a courteous bow. “I am delighted you could honour us with your presence.”
“The honour is entirely mine, your Highness,” Mary said.
“Your husband did great things in Colonel Arabi’s late rebellion,” the Khedive continued, with his eyes roam
