Shanghai Sparrow

by Gaie Sebold

  Eveline grabbed her bag on the way to the Old Barn. Mr Jackson emerged from his machine long enough to snap at her that he needed that spanner, that one there, stupid girl. He didn’t seem to notice that Beth wasn’t there. She realised that someone – it had to be Mr Jackson – had been poking about among her mother’s mechanisms; some of the levers, she was sure, were standing at different positions, and there were a few small steel balls rolling about the bench that should have been carefully cupped in the grooves made for them. What have you been up to, Jackson? She thought, glaring at his back. She didn’t trust him. The only person she trusted in this place was Beth. What the hell was she going to do about the bloody Sacagawea? She couldn’t exactly push the thing by herself, and she had no idea how to drive it.

  Still thinking about it, she fell asleep in History, and got her fingers rapped so hard she thought that perhaps she had a broken one too, but it was only stiff and sore. She rubbed it, staring sightlessly at the maps. Rescue your mama. Yes. But how?

  In the meantime, she had to keep Holmforth happy. And the only way to do that was to convince him that she knew how to make the machines work.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Eveline dragged herself reluctantly from bed, and got hit with (variously) a ruler, a piece of chalk, a hat and a look of despair for her inability to pay attention.

  A piece of paper was shoved under her hand. She didn’t recognise the writing. Notes, from that morning’s History class. At the bottom, the signature, Treadwell.

  Eveline blinked.

  She gave Treadwell the notes back in between classes, and gestured her into an unused classroom. Treadwell followed, looking wary. “What? I can’t stop.”

  “I need to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “Would you be willing to do me a favour? Another one, I mean.”

  “That depends.”

  “Well, really it’s two favours. One is to keep acting like you don’t like me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I don’t like you either, but it don’t matter. Only, I need for no-one to think you’d do me a favour, right?”

  “Well, that’s easy, just don’t ask me.”

  “Please. Look, if I ask Beth, everyone’ll guess she’s playing along. So it has to be you. Will you do it? Chance for a bit of play-acting and you can faint ever so pretty, if you like. Good practice for when you gotta be all Oh, la, sir, I fear I may swoon, and nicking the secret plans out their pocket while they hold you up.”

  Treadwell snorted. “Tell me what you want. I’m not promising anything.”

  EVELINE WAS SITTING in Retention class when she became vaguely aware of a commotion at one side of the room, as the girls whispered and looked out of the window. “Concentrate!” Miss Fairfield bellowed. “Distraction is the thief of knowledge, girls!”

  She heard the sound of a carriage pulling up.

  A few minutes later one of the girls appeared at the door. “’Scuse me, Miss Fairfield, but Duchen is to come at once.”

  Eveline’s sleepiness disappeared into a wary, overstressed buzz. What was going on now? Had she been discovered? Had someone at Uncle James’s seen her? She followed the girl along the corridor back to Miss Cairngrim’s office, ready to turn tail and bolt like a rabbit the second she spotted a uniform.

  But when the door to Miss Cairngrim’s office opened, it wasn’t a peeler. It was Holmforth.

  THE GIRL GAVE him a coy little curtsey.

  She had washed up well enough – although she had always been neat, despite her circumstances. Her black hair, now it was clean, had a sheen to it, her stance was more confident. Her shoulders were back, not hunched protectively towards her ears.

  She made a curtsey – they had managed to instil some manners into her, it seemed – and stood calmly, hands clasped at her waist and eyes lowered, waiting for him to speak.

  “Well, Duchen. How have you been getting on with your lessons?”

  She shot a glance at Miss Cairngrim. “It’s all been most interesting, sir.”

  “She would get along a great deal better if she concentrated on deportment and attentiveness,” Miss Cairngrim said.

  “Miss Cairngrim, would you be kind enough to let me speak with Miss Duchen alone? I have matters to discuss with her which I regret must remain confidential.”

  Miss Cairngrim cast Eveline a glance in which dislike and anxiety mingled strangely. “Very well. Shall I order tea?”

  “That would be most pleasant. Thank you.”

  As soon as she had gone, Holmforth motioned Eveline to a chair. “Well, that is more comfortable,” he said, taking another.

  It wasn’t actually comfortable at all, he found, as a spring was making itself insistently felt through the upholstery, but he was not going to fidget in front of this chit. “Now, I hope you have been making progress, Miss Duchen?”

  “I’ve learned some things, Mr Holmforth.”

  “I am glad to hear it. And the Etheric mechanisms?”

  “I only just got started on those,” she said. “That Jackson’s...” She paused. “Well, he doesn’t seem to know much about it.”

  “No, he does not. There is no earthly reason why he should. You say you have just got started. Why don’t we walk over to the Old Barn and you can show me what you have managed so far.”

  He caught the flicker of a glance she gave him. She was good, but not that good – her posture stiffened and he heard her breathing quicken.

  “There isn’t much,” she said. “Not yet.”

  “That disappoints me, Miss Duchen,” he said. “That is a severe disappointment, in fact. Having been given this opportunity, I really thought you might manage to make something of it. Are you telling me that you have made no progress?”

  “I have made progress! I’ve done well in Languages, Disguise and Retention. I can get through an hour of Bartitsu without spending all of it getting up off the floor. And as for the history of the Empire – well, there’s a lot of it, and it’s...” She tailed off. “I’m trying,” she repeated.

  “Then let us see how well you have done. We will need a subject, of course.”

  “Oh, I s’pose we will... I could ask my friend Beth...”

  “No. I think I will let Miss Cairngrim pick. One shouldn’t rely overmuch on friendships,” he said. “The Empire is your only true friend, Miss Duchen.”

  The girl Miss Cairngrim picked was a pretty little thing with a neat curtsey and a refined manner. She greeted him politely, and without simpering, and apart from one brief glance that simmered with dislike, she refused to look at Duchen at all. Perfect. Her name, apparently, was Treadwell.

  Once they were in the barn, the Duchen girl gained a certain confidence, moving swiftly among the machines, turning a lever here, placing a ball-bearing there.

  Dials glowed, and needles flickered.

  “What happens now?” the Treadwell girl said.

  “You’d best sit down,” Duchen said.

  Treadwell looked at the one available chair – obviously banished from the house as being too shabby even for school use – with distaste, and brushed it with her handkerchief before lowering herself gingerly onto the seat.

  The first machine began to make a hissing cry. Not an unpleasant sound, but not particularly effective either.

  “It won’t do much yet, you got to have the sound of two or three to get it right,” Eveline said. “Here.” She held out her hand to Holmforth. “Earplugs.” Small lumps of wax mixed with cotton lay on her palm.

  “Thank you, I have my own.” Holmforth took out some rather more expensive plugs, and inserted them in his ears. Duchen shrugged and put in her plugs, and made a note.

  He could no longer hear, but could see Duchen watching the machines, frowning, taking notes. The Treadwell girl began to smile, then grin foolishly, swaying from side to side as though listening to music.

  Duchen made an adjustment to one of the machines. Even through his earplugs, Holmforth was aware of a rising, persiste
nt note. Then, with startling suddenness, Treadwell’s head rocked back and she slid bonelessly from the chair, landing in the straw with a puff of hay-dust.

  Holmforth waved at Eveline to turn off the machines. She did so. He extracted his earplugs, and examined the girl. She seemed unharmed.

  “Well,” he said.

  “It worked!” Duchen grinned broadly at him. He found himself smiling back. “I didn’t know if it would! I mean, I wasn’t sure.” She went to the collapsed girl and knelt beside her, patting her cheek.

  Treadwell’s eyes fluttered open. “What... why am I on the floor? Oh, look at this...” She stood up, shrugging Eveline aside, and began brushing at her skirt.

  “You appear to have fainted,” Holmforth said. “What do you remember?”

  “I remember those things” – she nodded at the machines – “making funny noises, then they started to sound nice, like... I don’t know, not music, really, but like the idea of music.” She frowned. “And I felt happy. As though...”

  “As though?”

  “Just happy,” Treadwell muttered, looking down. “Better.”

  “I see,” Holmforth said. He felt immensely cheered. He had been wondering if the girl had any idea at all what she was doing, but now it was obvious he had been right all along. “I am very pleased, Miss Duchen. Very pleased indeed. Now, girls, back to the building before your teacher wonders what’s become of us all.”

  As he ushered them back to the school, Holmforth felt lighter, looser, than he had in years. Vindicated! He imagined Forbes-Cresswell’s face, the warmth of his handshake.

  He sent Treadwell off with a smile – he must commend her to Miss Cairngrim. “Now,” he said to Duchen, “you have been taking Chinese?”

  “Yes, of course, you said I was to.”

  “I want you to concentrate on that, and on the Etherics. Nothing else for now. I will speak to Miss Cairngrim, and return in, oh, ten days. And then you will be travelling with me to Shanghai, where your skills will be put to good use.”

  “Shanghai?”

  “Yes. In the Orient.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I would have hoped your lessons would have covered it,” he said.

  “There’s been a bit about China with my lessons,” she said. “But that’s mostly... folktales, and things.” She was not looking at him. Perhaps the Chinese lessons were going poorly, and she was afraid to admit it. “In ten days?”

  “I said so, Miss Duchen. I hope you are paying more attention in your lessons,” he said in Chinese.

  “Yes, sir, I am attending,” she said. In Chinese, without a blink; as though she had barely noticed the transition from one language to another.

  “Good,” he said. He wasn’t going to give her excessive praise, she was arrogant enough without encouraging her to get above herself.

  “Mr Holmforth? Can you tell me what it is you want me to do?”

  “You will discover that when we arrive.”

  “In ten days.”

  “Well, slightly more than that, the journey itself will take a little time. There’s no need to look disturbed, I’ve travelled by zeppelin many times, it’s perfectly safe.”

  “Before we go... there’s things I need,” she said. “If you want me to do something with the Etherics, I oughta practise, and know as much as possible, shouldn’t I, before I go?”

  “What do you need?”

  “Equipment. I can probably only get it in London.”

  “Then furnish me with a list and I will see it is provided.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” she said, and there was a convincing fervour in her voice. “The machines... they... oh, it’ll sound so foolish, Mr Holmforth, I know it will.”

  “Tell me.”

  “’Slike they talk to me.” She was frowning, trying to get the words right. “I get a sense of the shapes, of the parts... it ain’t like I even know the names, see, I just get a feel for what they need. I gotta see the things, and then I’ll know, you see.”

  It confirmed his understanding of Etheric-so-called-science; a matter of intuition, of primitive responses. Useful, in its way – that meant it would be easier to guide its application into the desired channels. However... “You expect me to allow you to travel to London?” Was the tiresome girl simply trying to give him the slip?

  “Not by myself! That old woman, Ma Pether... I don’t want her catching me again. I was sorta hoping you might consider taking me yourself. I go into a shop looking for things, they’ll laugh me out of the place. And besides, I got no money. If I got you with me... I can feel them, getting ready to sing, Mr Holmforth. I wanta make ’em sing again.” She tilted her head up, and he could see the glow in her eyes.

  “I will arrange an overnight stay. You may bring one small bag.”

  “When?”

  “Impatient? Let us say three days.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr Holmforth! Will we be staying at an hotel?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Ooh, I’ve never stayed in a proper hotel. What’s it called?”

  “It will be the Ship Inn, in Westminster.”

  She looked down at herself, then up at him, anxiously. “Is it very respectable? Only...”

  “You will be provided with a decent outfit.” He gathered up his things and said, “Tell Miss Cairngrim I’ll see myself out.”

  “Don’t you need the door unlocked?”

  “I suppose I must. How terribly like a gaol. Oh, and Miss Duchen?”

  “Yes, Mr Holmforth?”

  “Do not attempt to escape my supervision in London. Or you will shortly discover that a real gaol is far more unpleasant than this.” He gave her a hard look. She seemed tamed, even inclined to be cooperative, but she was, after all, female, and though she had been born respectable, her time among the lower orders had tainted her. It wouldn’t do to let her think he had relaxed his vigilance.

  “I won’t, Mr Holmforth. I don’t want to go back to that.”

  “Now go back to your lessons.”

  “Yes, Mr Holmforth.”

  A girl came in with the tea tray as he was leaving, followed by Miss Cairngrim. “You won’t stay, Mr Holmforth?”

  “I regret I have another appointment.”

  “Was everything satisfactory?”

  “It will do. I require that Duchen be provided with respectable clothing; she will be travelling as my ward. Nothing fancy, but I don’t wish her to look as though she has come from the poorhouse.”

  “Yes, Mr Holmforth.”

  EVELINE LEANED AGAINST the wall of the corridor and closed her eyes. Well, that was one part. Of course, she didn’t know how the other parts were to fall together yet, and there wasn’t anything like enough time, but she would do it. Somehow, she would do it.

  “I DON’T KNOW what happens to all the paper,” Cook grumbled. “Barely enough to get a decent fire started.”

  Eveline ducked her head. She was swiping as many of the newspapers as she could get hold of, searching for any information on Bedlam. She’d have to remember just to whisk away the pages she wanted and put the rest back, otherwise someone would notice. Bedlam did make the occasional appearance, though it was some time before she realised that it and the Bethlehem Hospital were the same place.

  There wasn’t much. But there was enough for her to work out where it was and make the beginnings of a plan.

  “WELL, YOU HAVE been a busy little bird.”

  “Liu! Don’t creep up on a girl like that!” Eveline spilled a ball-bearing onto the floor and got down on her knees, cursing, to look for it.

  “Apologies, my Lady Sparrow. Is something troubling you?” Liu bent down, and, irritatingly, immediately found the tiny silver ball and handed it to her.

  “Apart from heathen Chinese sneaking up on me?” she grumbled, getting to her feet.

  He shook his head mournfully. “You don’t trust me.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I am Chinese?”

  �
��What’s that got to do with anything? I don’t trust you ’cos you’re here.”

  “And there I thought that going to all this trouble would be a certain proof of my friendship.”

  “Really?”

  He sighed. “Naïve, I suppose.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means that perhaps I should have known better.”

  “So who did send you? Holmforth? Or...”

  “Ma Pether?” He held out his hands placatingly as she swore. “Oh, Lady Sparrow, of course I know about Ma Pether, but I have no dealings with her! She has no idea I exist.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

  “Trust me,” he said, “if I do not want someone to be aware of my existence... they remain in ignorance.”

  “I think you’re the arrogantest person I ever met.”

  “You certainly trust me enough to insult me. Not that there is any such word as arrogantest in either English or Chinese.”

  “You already know everything about me,” she said, shrugging. “What’s to lose by throwing an insult or two?”

  “Oh,” he said, “that’s certainly not true. I don’t, for example, know why Mr Duvalier looks at you with such dislike. Really, he is very bad at concealing his less-attractive emotions.”

  “I found out something about him, something bad he was doing.”

  “Ah. That can be a dangerous path to tread.”

  “Is that what you did? When you offended someone?”

  “Something not unlike that, perhaps. See? Now you know something more about me. Still I don’t know what you were doing off the grounds the other night, and I don’t know what the other – the mixtus’s – interest is in you. And what it is you’re planning.”

  Eveline backed against the bench, grateful for its solidity against her back. “Leave the grounds? I en’t never left the grounds, I don’t want one of them dogs taking my hand off, thank you. And the only thing I’m planning is trying to get these machines working, like I’m supposed to, so if you don’t mind letting me get on...”