Shanghai Sparrow (24 page)

Lessons with Liu were a bright spot. Eveline started to feel the language with her teeth and tongue and brain, its singing intonations and sliding scales. The speed she learned at, now, was exhilarating. She was getting better at French, too, but slowly.

Miss Cairngrim tended to fling open the door on her Cantonese lessons. Somehow, so far, they had been lucky – whenever it happened, Eveline was sitting at her desk, following Liu’s pronunciation as he read out words he had written on the blackboard. The rest of the time he would be asking her about her life – of which she told him carefully selected portions – or telling her fantastical stories about river-dragons and ghosts and tragic lovers. As the days went on, Eveline realised he was talking more and more in Cantonese, and she was understanding more and more. It happened so smoothly, it was almost like magic.

“You’re ever so good at this,” she said to Liu one day as she was leaving to go on kitchen duty – which she’d got, again. On purpose, this time, although spilling ink on Treadwell had been a bonus. Eveline was sorry for the girl, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t still a right royal pain in the backside. “You could teach at a proper school, if you wanted.”

“I would not be so successful if I did not have such an amenable pupil.”

“You don’t half talk fancy.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I think you’re a flatterer, mister, is what I think.”

“No,” he said. “You do not need flattery. The Folk, now, their rulers need it. Live upon it. Shall I tell you about the Five Gracious Gifts?”

“Is this another of your stories?”

“Of course. You have done very well and have earned a story.”

It was a strange story, of gifts that were not real things, but the shadow of things, the intention of things. It left her feeling strange, disconcerted, and as though her head were no longer quite connected to the rest of her. She sat frowning afterwards.

“You didn’t like it?” Liu said.

“It’s just... odd. I remember people back home leaving out milk for them.”

“Oh, yes. It isn’t the milk – they have everything they could ever want to drink – it is the intention. The fear and worship. And if the milk is hard to spare, all the better. Lacking nothing, they crave the knowledge of lack.”

Something in Liu’s voice made her glance up then, but he was looking away, out of the window, and she could not read his expression.

“How come you know so much about them?”

He turned back, and gave her a smile that was rather thin and sad. “I am very clever, and I study a great deal.”

“Liu, where are you from?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“Well, you’re Chinese, yes, I can see that – but you speak such good English and you spend half your time here – the Brighart Company’s English, too...”

“Spending time in China became... a little difficult for me. I offended someone powerful.”

“Ah. Got a bit too clever, did you?”

“Rather say that I was not quite clever enough. I did something that might be seen as giving advantage to a rival of theirs, so, I joined the rival. Who happened to be from... this part of the world.”

“So do you ever go back?”

“Now and then. Discreetly.” He cocked his head. “The Grim Woman is coming. We should finish the lesson.”

“How’d you
know?
You always know!”

“I have most sharp ears.”

“T
HESE ARE THE
things I need,” Beth said, shoving a piece of paper into Eveline’s apron pocket and picking up a dish of greyish mashed potato. Eveline pulled it out, eyes widening at the list of incomprehensible items.

“Wait. You mean you’ll do it?”

“Yes, I’ll do it. I’ve even worked something out to cover any tracks.”

“But I don’t even know what half these things are!”

“You get the money and I’ll get the materials. How
are
you going to get the money?”

“I don’t know. Yet. I’ll think of something.”

“You’re not going to rob anyone?”

“What, here? No-one’s got anything worth robbing, in this place. You could break up the whole building and it’d be worth about thirty bob down the market. If that. Beth...” But she’d gone, balancing dishes.

There wasn’t another chance for them to talk until supper was over and they were wearily scraping congealed gravy from the plates. The gas mantle hissed overhead, shedding soft greenish light. The cook had taken her sore feet home. Now the oven had gone out, the kitchen was rapidly getting colder.

“Why’d you say yes?” Eveline said.

“Because I called her
Sacagawea,
” Beth said.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Eveline said, regretting the words the moment they were out of her mouth.

“Well I’m not letting
you
take her.”

“Too bloody right – me, drive that thing? I’d blow meself up.”

“No, you’d just stall her and make a mess of the engine.”

“I
meant,
I can find another way to get there.”

“Fast enough and without taking a horse? Besides... I want to.” Beth’s eyes gleamed. “I want to find out how fast she’ll really go.”

“Right,” Eveline said. “Er... how fast do you
think
she might go?

“Let’s see, shall we?”

“Mm, let’s,” Eveline said.
Eveline Duchen, I suspect you’re going to regret this.

I
T WAS AN
overheard conversation between two of the staff that gave Eveline her next move. First, she did a little more late night exploring; she made certain enquiries, and took careful note of the social columns of the newspapers that the staff left lying about. Then, she managed to arrange an extra French lesson alone with Mon Sewer. Once she was certain they weren’t going to be interrupted, she cut across his explanation of the Future Perfect (she didn’t care about Future Perfect, she was more interested in Future Possible).

“I hear you’re leaving us to get married, monsewer,” she said.

“Monsieur. Mon
sieur
. Really, Duchen, I thought your pronunciation had improved.”

“Oh, I dunno, monsewer, I think
sewer
’s just about right for you. Or would you prefer...” she switched to a perfect imitation of his own accent, “Monsieur Merde?”

“What?” He spun around on his shiny, black shoes so fast he skidded and almost fell. “How dare you!”

“I dare ’cos I know all about you, monsewer. And I been wondering if maybe there’s a few other people should know all about you, too.” She slid onto his desk, and sat there, swinging her feet. “About you and Treadwell, maybe.”

His face froze. Eveline could see the pulse beating in his temple.

“Because that’s the sort of thing a lady who’s getting married might want to know about her beloved husband-to-be, don’t you think? Especially a nice,
rich
lady.”

“What nonsense has the girl been telling you?”

“Treadwell? Oh, she en’t told me nothing, monsewer. She don’t think anyone knows. But I know. And I know she isn’t the only one.” That was a risk, she didn’t know for certain, but she was pretty sure. She knew the type, and given the chance they were like foxes in a hencoop; they couldn’t stop at one. At least a fox didn’t pretend it was doing the chickens a favour. “And since you’re going to be marrying such a lovely, generous lady, I reckon there’ll be some money to spare, don’t you? Five hundred, maybe?” Beth hadn’t asked for nearly that much, but there was no point being skimpy.

Colour flared along his cheekbones. “You... you...
petit salope!
” He made for her, and Evvie slid off the desk and danced out of the way behind it.

“Oh, and don’t think about something happening to Treadwell, or me. There’s letters, all over, I left ’em with a bunch of people. I left one with the man who got me in here. Either of us gets sick or has maybe an accident or something like that, them letters is going to get sent. Sent to your pretty fiancée and her parents. Sent to the
Times
. Sent to the House of Commons. Sent to the Reverend at that nice little church you got set for the wedding. St James’s, eh? Right posh, that is.”

He gripped the edge of the desk. “Who will believe the word of a little street thief?”

“Who says I signed ’em?” she said. “Oh, they may not believe ’em, and even if they did ask, I bet Treadwell won’t say a word. But that’s how rumours get started, isn’t it? Rumours that might make a lady look very carefully at who she’s getting married to, and what she might do about keeping her money in trusts, so Dear Husband don’t have a lot in his pocket for going on the town and getting up to pursuits unsuitable to a married gentleman.”

He lunged around the desk, and the knife she’d concealed up her sleeve shot into her hand, gleaming in the weak afternoon sunlight.

He blinked at it. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Little street thief, you said. Yes, I am. I had to use this more’n once not to get used like you done Treadwell, so don’t think I won’t. Protecting my honour, I am. They’ll believe me about
that
. I found them books and pictures, too. And some of them are still where you hid ’em – but some ain’t.”

He hadn’t even been that careful about hiding the pictures. Maybe the thought of one of the girls finding them and being too shocked and embarrassed to say anything had added to his excitement.

“One more thing,
monsewer
,” she said. He looked at her with a dislike so intense it should have burned her skin like etching-acid. She grinned, but it was a fox-grin, sly and full of teeth. “This place, it’s turned out to be a proper education and no mistake. I’m getting good at doing what we’re taught here. See, I’m like a sparrow, me. I get everywhere. Can’t tell me from a thousand others, once I’m in amongst ’em. And those letters, they’re staying where they are, even once you’re gone from here. But me, I’ll be keeping an eye on you. I think you’d best leave Treadwell alone, don’t you? And any of the other girls. And any maids, and any daughters you have.” He actually managed to look shocked at that, which she ignored. “From now on you’d better be keeping that cock of yours for your wife and her only, and treat her decent, because it seems to me you’re getting far better than you deserve.”

He writhed like a worm on a fishhook, but in the end, he complied. Two days later she had the money in her hand. She’d made an enemy, she knew; but so long as he believed in the letters, she reckoned she was safe.

So she’d probably better write them. At least her penmanship and grammar had improved enough while she was here that they probably wouldn’t read as though they came from a little street thief.

“H
OW DID YOU
... no, don’t tell me,” Beth said, at the same time as Eveline said, “You don’t need to know. So, how long before we get the stuff?”

“Some of it not long; the rest, weeks, probably. I have to get a message to the blacksmith’s son in the village, and he’ll get it for me, and deliver it to the rear gate that no-one uses.”

“Weeks? We can’t wait that long.”

“Well, she’ll run as she is, just not as well. And if it rains, we’ll get wet.”

“I slept out in the rain often enough.”

“Oh, you won’t be sleeping,” Beth said, with a grin. “I’m almost sure of that.”

C
OLLAPSING AGAINST THE
corridor wall between classes, Eveline felt a presence and opened her eyes. Treadwell was standing in the corridor, looking at her.

“I gotta go.” Eveline pushed herself away from the wall.

“You had a French class.” Treadwell had turned away and was looking out of the window.

Eveline looked at her back. She could see the blonde curls trembling slightly. “Yes.” Did Treadwell somehow know, what she’d done to Monsewer?
How?

“He’s... he’s... you have to be
careful
.” Even from behind, the rigidity of Treadwell’s posture was obvious. “He’s a bad man.”

“Oh, listen, ’sall right.”

“No, it isn’t. You don’t
know.
”

“Treadwell, I
know,
all right? I dealt with it.”

“How?” Treadwell’s hands gripped the windowsill.

“I put him off. And I don’t think he’s going to mess with no-one else while he’s here, neither.”

“What? What did you do?”

Eveline wasn’t going to confess to blackmail. “You know what? If it was up to me, wouldn’t just be in here they taught Bartitsu. Most girls I know could do with knowing it. Next time anyone tries it on, maybe a person oughta use some of the moves on them. See if she can give him something to remember her by. ’Specially if maybe she happens to be good at Bartitsu, like you are. I got to go to class.”

“Wait.”

“I’m late.”

T
HE
S
ACAGAWEA
PUTTERED
gently out of its tumbledown shed, shuddering beneath them. Its makeshift engine hummed as quietly as a purring cat, an odd blue-green light flithering over it like marsh-gas. Eveline wondered what the two of them must look like, muffled in cloaks and goggles, her keeping her eyes open for trouble, Beth muttering over her instruments.