Shanghai Sparrow

by Gaie Sebold

  He only smiled and passed her another ball-bearing. “I do wish you wouldn’t look at me as though I intended to bite your head off.”

  “How do I know you don’t? What do you want?”

  “I would like to find out what is going on. The more time I spend around you, the more interesting you are.”

  “I’m sure I should be flattered, but I ain’t. You let me go about my business, and you go about yours.”

  “But perhaps I can help.”

  “Did you have family? Back home?”

  “Not any longer. My mother is dead, and my father considers me disgraced. I do not see him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And you?”

  “My papa’s dead. My sister’s dead. My mother... I thought she was dead, too. Only it turns out she isn’t.”

  “Well that is joyous news.” He looked at her. “Is it not?”

  “Well of course it is, but... it’s complicated.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Why should I trust you?” She wanted to, she realised. Part of her already did... but she couldn’t afford to.

  “Ask me to do something, and if it is in my power to do it, I will do it.”

  She glared at him, thinking rapidly. What could she ask that would help, but wouldn’t give the whole plan away, if he wasn’t to be trusted? There had to be something...

  “All right. Prove you’re not in with Ma. I want Lazy Lou.”

  “Are you insulting me again?”

  “Not you. Lazy Lou. It’s a mannequin she keeps in her house, she hangs clothes on it. She used to try and make it work, but she gave up. Get it here, to a place where it’ll be out of sight, but I can get to it... and I’ll trust you. Maybe. A bit.”

  To her surprise he looked utterly delighted, and gave a short, sharp laugh, almost a yap. “Oh, a challenge! Very well. When would you like her?”

  “Soon’s you can get her here. But if you get caught...”

  “I will not,” he said, “get caught.”

  “Liu? That other thing you said – what’s a ‘mixtus’?”

  “That man, Holmforth. He is a mixtus. One of his parents was Folk.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t know?”

  “No,” Eveline said. “No, I didn’t. Bloody hell.” That explained his looks, then. Explained a few other things too, maybe.

  Bad enough Holmforth was the next best thing to a peeler. Part Folk, too? Well, that was it, then. Any promise he made was probably worth about as much as a dead rat. “Thanks, Liu. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  HOLMFORTH PAUSED OUTSIDE the door of his father’s house, then raised his hand to the knocker.

  The maid was new, but Edleston, the butler, though now shuffling and white-haired, was the same man who had been a silent presence, summoned like a ghost to his father’s side, throughout Holmforth’s childhood.

  “He is expecting you, sir.”

  There was nothing in Edleston’s tone or expression of either approbation or disapproval. His perfectly blank exterior had provided a useful model in Holmforth’s youth. He bowed Holmforth through into the drawing room.

  Everything, including the chill, was the same. A portrait of his grandfather hung over the fireplace, gradually blackening with soot. His father sat hunched over a copy of the Times. Holmforth waited until he should deign to notice his remaining son.

  “Bloody Chinese. Thought your lot were supposed to be sorting them out?” Holmforth the Elder flung the paper onto the table and leaned back.

  Age and disease had ground away almost all of his patrician looks. His eyes were pouched and rheumy, his strong jaws falling to soft folds about the neck.

  “The rebellion will fade,” Thaddeus said. “These things always do.”

  “I suppose you want some tea. I won’t have it in the house. Weaklings forever maudling their insides with tea, no wonder the balance of payments is a mess. So is it money?”

  “No, thank you, I am sufficiently supplied. I simply came to see if there was anything you wanted.”

  “In that case, you can sort out your brother’s grave. That blasted Whitaker woman came visiting, told me it’s getting overgrown. Disgraceful. Vicar should be sacked.”

  “I will see to it.” Holmforth picked up his gloves. “I’m returning to Shanghai shortly.” He waited a moment, but his father said nothing. “Was there anything else you wished done?”

  Holmforth the Elder shrugged pettishly. “Unless you can find a cure for what ails me, no. I’ve dealt with the lawyers. There’s nothing for you to do but wait out my death.”

  “Now, Father. New territories are opening up all the time – one never knows what may be discovered.”

  “New territories? Hah. More trouble and expense. They’d have done better leaving well enough alone – look at India! Tell Edleston to bring me my medicine on your way out.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  A TRAIL OF ivy clambered its way up the side of the memorial, digging its tendrils into the stone. Mary Elizabeth Holmforth. Honoured wife.

  Maurice Edgebaston Holmforth. Beloved Son.

  There was room for their father’s name to be added, but no more.

  He did not remember much about his mother, or about the Crepuscular. Sometimes, still, he woke wet-eyed from dreams of music of unspeakable sweetness, and of grass that caressed his bare feet like silk. But that, and a faint, indefinable scent that sometimes caught him unawares, was all he had of it. He did not even remember the moment his mother had handed him into his father’s care. He had learned not to ask questions, but simply to listen, scavenging for every scrap he could find or guess.

  It seemed she had simply grown bored, like a child with a puppy that had grown out of its capacity to amuse.

  It had taken no time at all for the servants, to whose care he was mostly consigned, to realise who he was. He had his father’s eyes and brows, and his mother’s slightness and creamy-gold skin. Such affairs were not unknown, though less common than they used to be; but offspring were rare. Strange, Thaddeus thought, that rarity in other things was valued.

  If Maurice hadn’t broken his neck in a stupid, reckless carriage-race when Thaddeus was seven years old, he would probably have been found some minor post, or paid off.

  But Maurice was dead, and their father was no longer capable of producing offspring – the result of flinging himself into a number of low and, as it turned out, unhealthy liaisons after the departure of Thaddeus’ mother. With his legitimate son dead, Holmforth the Elder had had no choice but to make Thaddeus his heir, or see the estate broken up.

  Thaddeus was removed from the casual care of the servants and transferred from the village school to Eton. Within days, everyone there knew who – and what – he was.

  He learned a great deal. He learned that it was better to take his beatings than to complain and suffer the contempt meted out to tell-tales. He learned how to remain calm in the face of despite. He learned that the Empire was great and noble, that it brought light into darkness and civilisation to savages; that it rewarded loyal service, and that even such as he might have a place in it. He had embraced that possibility with all the passion of an abandoned heart.

  From inside the church a single voice, sweet and clear, began to sing. Other voices rose over the first, building joyful harmonies.

  Holmforth ripped the ivy away from the stone, flung the parasitic stuff into the yew hedge, and left the churchyard.

  BETH STORMED INTO the Old Barn and, ignoring Mr Jackson, said, “I need to talk to you. Now.”

  “What is it?”

  “Outside.”

  Eveline had never seen her look so furious; high colour lit her cheeks and her hair seemed to stand out crackling around her head. She followed her out.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Beth strode away across the lawns, and Eveline followed her.

  “How could you?” Beth burst out. “How could you?”

  “How could I what?”


  “You told someone! You told them about her, and now they’ll give her to Jackson or...”

  “What? No! I en’t told anyone anything!”

  “Then what’s that thing doing in my shed, sitting there?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Beth...”

  “Oh, you don’t, do you? Come look, then.”

  “We’re supposed to be...”

  “When have you cared about what you’re supposed to be doing?”

  Eveline gave in and followed Beth into the trees where the old shed hid.

  They pulled aside the branches that concealed the doorway. The sunlight crept in, and something gleamed in the shadows. Eveline, startled, stepped backwards, tripped over a root and sat down hard.

  She stared, and got up slowly, rubbing her bruised backside. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, you bugger.” Then she began to laugh.

  “I don’t see what’s funny,” Beth said.

  “It’s... it’s all right,” Eveline gasped between giggles. “It’s just Lou. Oh, Ma’s gonna be so furious.”

  The Sacagawea had been returned to her place, and seated on her bench was Lazy Lou. Her metal limbs were neatly arranged, one jointed hand resting on the wheel, the other – as though she were travelling at speed – clasping to her head at the most rakish of angles Ma Pether’s huge, befeathered, purple silk Sunday hat.

  “Who put it there?” Beth said.

  “Liu, my Chinese teacher. I asked him for a favour. He’s alright, he won’t peach on us.”

  “You told him about Sacagawea!”

  “I didn’t. He must have found her himself. Look, it’s fine. If he’d meant to tell someone, he’da done it already.”

  Beth closed her eyes. “You’d better be right. All right. I’m probably going to wish I hadn’t asked but... why has he brought you an automaton?”

  “I got a plan.”

  “I should have known.”

  “YOU SHOULD BE in Bedlam,” Beth said.

  “Don’t.”

  “Eveline, it’s just not possible. It isn’t. I’m sorry. Not after last time. I felt that dog’s breath on my leg.”

  “You don’t have to come with me. All you got to do is watch out for her when she arrives and help me hide her once she’s here.”

  “But you’ll get caught.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Then I will! And then what’ll happen to your mama? Eveline, please. There must be something else – you could talk to Holmforth, apply to have her released...”

  “No. No. Everyone thinks she’s dead. I don’t want him knowing she ain’t. ”

  “Why not? He’s got far more power than either of us, Evvie, he could do something.”

  “Yes. He could say, ‘Here, Eveline Duchen, I’ve got your mama and unless you do what I say I’ll hurt her.’ That’s what he could do.”

  “That’s horrible. You really think he’d do that?” Beth looked genuinely shocked.

  Eveline sighed. “You ain’t half led a sheltered life. Look, I know what he sees when he looks at me, Beth. He sees something that can either help the Empire or get in its way. And that’s all he sees. I don’t mean no more to him than a shovel or a lock-pick. The rest of you in here, someone cared enough to see you were set up even if you were, you know, born the wrong side of the blankets. Point is, you all mean at least that much to someone. I don’t mean nothing to Holmforth; he got me in here because he wants to use me. And I ain’t going to take a wager he won’t see Mama just the same way.”

  “So what’s the poor lady supposed to do? Live in the stables?”

  “I was thinking a boarding house somewhere near, but then I won’t be able to see her. It’ll have to be the rooms in the East Wing. I had a look. A couple of them are all right.”

  “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “The only time to give up is when going on will lose you more than it’ll get you.”

  “And you’re so sure it won’t.”

  “No. No, I ain’t. But it’s my mother, Beth. She’s been in that place for all these years, like being sent to prison when she ain’t even done nothing wrong, just because that bastard Uncle James wanted her out the way. I got to try, at least.”

  Beth was quiet for a long time, turning a spanner over and over in her hands. “That could have been me,” she said at last. “Couldn’t it?”

  “I didn’t think. I suppose.”

  “I was inconvenient, and a nuisance, and if I hadn’t come here, that’s where I’d be, or somewhere like it. At least here I get a chance to learn something. If I’d been sent to Bedlam, I don’t know what sort of state I’d be in. Your poor mama. I wonder how she’s managed.”

  “Oh, Mama always could make a lot with a little,” Eveline said. “If it hadn’t been for Uncle James... she’ll have managed, she always did.” Eveline smiled and leaned against the wall in the sun, imagining how Mama would open her arms and pick Evvie up and hug her, and Evvie would do whatever it was Holmforth wanted, for however long it was. She would have somewhere for Mama to stay, an apartment and an allowance, and she could look after Mama and keep her safe. And one day there would be that pension, and she would make damn sure it didn’t disappear like Papa’s had.

  Charlotte. The smile dropped away, the sun chilled. How would she ever tell Mama about what had happened to Charlotte? What would she say?

  “NIHAO, LADY SPARROW.”

  She eyed Liu. He was a trickster like her, she felt it in her bones. So why did she also feel in her bones that she could trust him? It didn’t make sense, and she knew it. Still...

  “Thank you,” she said. “I never asked for the hat, though.”

  “It will suit you a great deal better than it suited Ma Pether.”

  “’Sif I’d ever dare wear it. What if she saw me?”

  “Perhaps you can wear it somewhere other than London? There are other cities in the world.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m going to one.”

  “Really?” he said, but she got the feeling he already knew.

  “Wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

  “I am. I have. You interest me. I think, perhaps, we are not unalike, Lady Sparrow. Scavengers at the edges, both, yes?”

  “I don’t know what a scavenger is.”

  “Collectors of crumbs, and other interesting and useful items discarded by the careless. You need another task performed.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Come, let us be honest with each other.” He whisked his feet, shod in soft black shoes, up underneath him and sat neatly perched on the desk, with his legs crossed, propped his elbows on his thighs and looked at her over his linked hands. “You are testing me.”

  “And if I am?”

  “Then I admire both your caution – and your daring. What is it you want?”

  “Can you get to London?”

  “Oh, you would be surprised at the places I can get to.”

  “Then I need something organised. Someone got out of the way.”

  His narrow slanted brows drew up, and his mouth down. “I see,” he said. “How has this unfortunate person offended you?”

  “What? I don’t mean got rid of! What sort of girl do you think I am?”

  “I am glad to find that you are not that sort of girl.”

  “Would you do it?” she said. “If I asked?”

  He shook his head at her, not as though he were saying no, but as though he were disappointed.

  “I’m not gonna ask,” she said.

  “Making statements like that is risky,” he said.

  “Who’s listening?”

  “Well, I am.”

  She felt as though he were dancing with her, somehow, and while it was interesting, it wasn’t getting her anywhere. “Are you going to help me or not?”

  “And my reward?”

  Now she felt on more familiar ground. “That depends on what you want.”

  “Wouldn’t money be usual?”

  “Yes. But I en’t got a
ny – well, not much – and you’re not usual.”

  He grinned, pleased. “A favour, then. A favour of equal worth and equal risk, no more.”

  Eveline chewed her lip, looking at him. “What’s risk to me ain’t the same as what’s risk to you,” she said. “If I get chucked out of here, I can’t walk into a good-paying job like you can.”

  “Are you sure?” He said. “Very well. I am a good evaluator of risk, and of fairness. But if you think what I ask of you is unfairly balanced with what you ask of me, then I will withdraw it. Fair?”

  “Fair.”

  Eveline left the room still smiling. Something about dealing with Liu was like a sharp breeze. He made her feel more awake.

  EVELINE CLUTCHED THE edges of her cloak so hard her fingers cramped, waiting for Holmforth’s coach to appear.

  She wore a dress of black silk with a modest crinoline, which, while uncomfortable and inconvenient, provided a remarkable amount of storage, so long as one arranged things properly. Miss Cairngrim had provided it, with many frowning reminders that it did not belong to her, but to the school. Eveline, thinking of Ma Pether and her store of costumes, wondered what it would be like to have smart clothes that were actually her own.

  She had also been provided with a Gladstone bag that smelled of damp. It held food for the journey, a change of under-things and, under a false bottom that she had installed, some things that were too delicate to risk hanging under the crinoline.

  The carriage clopped and crunched up the drive, and Holmforth stepped out. He tipped his hat to Miss Cairngrim, who was standing on the steps, took Eveline’s bag and handed her into the carriage.

  She sat herself opposite him, arranging her skirts carefully, and watched as he opened the bag and examined the contents, presumably checking to see if she’d packed enough to run away with. She considered making a remark about gentlemen who showed so much interest in ladies’ underwear, but didn’t. She needed to seem as compliant as possible today.

  “I think we can do rather better for luncheon than – let me see – what appears to be a rather stale currant bun and an apple that has been badly stored. Were you afraid I wouldn’t feed you?”