by S. E. Smith
“I am fine, bubbeleh,” he stated weakly, “go on.”
Waiting for the coughing fit to end, Emily pretended to examine the notes in front of her. In reality, she observed her uncle like a hawk, noting that in his haste to hide his hankie from her, it slipped down the side of his chair to lie forgotten under the dining table.
“No one has made, sold, or bought such a gun in the last two years.”
“That we know.” Gold’s coughing fit tired him and gave him a frailty Emily didn’t like. “We’ve not heard from contacts out of London. And not all our loyal members have got back to us.”
“Uncle” she chided, “the only Impereye not to return our call is Sue.”
A raised eyebrow and a rubbed stomach were the only indications her uncle heard her. For whatever he was about to say was halted by a knock on the door and the arrival of a fresh-faced, slightly red-cheeked Danny.
“Mum said I should drop this round.” The lad indicated a pudding still wrapped in its muslin. “Ginger.”
“How’re things, Master Bryant?”
Danny went scarlet. “Fine, Mr Gold, sir,” he stammered. “Better than the workhouse. Mum’s enjoying running the café at the end of the road. Quite like old days, being in a bustling kitchen. And she’s got a gentleman caller; quite turned her head.” The lad beamed as he reached the end of his speech. “I’ll just go fetch the custard, Mr Gold, Miss Emily. Couldn’t bring it up the stairs all in one go.” He gave them a grin and hopped from one foot to the other, waiting for instructions.
“Don’t stay too late. We’ll serve ourselves.” Gold’s tone became conspiratorial. “Emily has some thinking to do, and you’ll soon learn that you don’t interrupt her when she’s thinking ...” Danny’s grin vanished and he glanced at Emily from less confident eyes.
“Put the pots in to soak in the kitchen downstairs,” Gold continued, “and when the Ma Char girl arrives in the morning, she can do them.”
Still staring at Emily, the boy gave a slight bow and backed out of the room.
“Uncle, you are incorrigible.” Emily tore her gaze away from the phone and smiled at the old man. “You make the lad frightened of me.”
“Fear is not a bad emotion to engender in the young, Emily. I am an old man, by the time he reaches manhood, I may not be here. It is important – especially after last year – that he doesn’t think of you as a friend.” It was a subtle reminder that her first and only loyalty was to the Impereye.
Point made, Gold changed the subject, or so Emily thought. “You know I’ve been taking time to review the books. Jethro’s were the last. Or so I thought, until this afternoon when I went through everything again.” Gold looked grim. “Guess who’s fobbed off the accountants for the second quarter in a row?”
“Sue.” Emily made the connection as he knew she would.
“In the old days, the apprentice would’ve gone around. Banged a few heads together. Reminded people of the importance of loyalty.”
“This is the Twentieth Century, Uncle.”
“And you are dealing with Nineteenth Century people, who like to see things done properly. Sue needs a lesson in respect.” He subjected Emily to a hard, assessing stare before continuing with, “She has never liked you, bubbeleh. Her loyalties were always with your predecessor. It is time he was removed from my people’s consciousness: completely.” As second rebukes went, it hit home; just as the old man intended.
However, Danny’s return, with a steaming jug of custard, stopped any response Emily might have given. Still, at that gangly age, the lad plopped the jug on the table, and left, with a speed which showed Gold’s earlier words struck a chord.
Emily watched the boy go and smiled. Since giving him the job of delivering and serving their food once a week, a world of possibilities had opened for Danny and his mother. Gold paid on time and encouraged other take out customers to do the same. And it was good the lady had a caller. She was too young, too pretty, to be left alone for long.
Never a great one for dessert, Emily left the ginger pudding intact and pushed some custard around her bowl until it looked as though she’d actually eaten.
“Well, bubbeleh?” Gold asked.
“I just might do that.”
It was clear the first part of the conversation happened in Emily’s head. “Canton Sue’s Den isn’t far from Nanny’s, or Flo’s for that matter ... She’s starting to be a bit of a law unto herself. Like her predecessor, May. Time to remind her who’s in charge around here.”
Gold suppressed a smile. “Take Akio,” he said gruffly. “He’s complaining of being cooped up.”
Swooping quickly before her uncle could change his mind, Emily dropped to her knees and kissed his hand. “I’ll pop to me lodgings first and change into something more suitable.”
Gold took her homage gracefully and in solemn tones gave his blessing. “Take my ring. You’ll find it in the top drawer of my desk. Wear it over gloves. Middle finger. Beak out. It stays on better. One day of course, you’ll have it sized to fit you.”
Shocked both by the order and the implication of his final words, Emily rushed to retrieve the bronze crow’s skull ring from its home in a large jeweller’s box. “Are you sure, Uncle?”
“Oh yes,” he said with no hint of humour. “Now, go in. Hit hard and remind her clientele what loyalty to the Impereye entails.”
Waiting only for the door to close behind her, Gold sprung from his chair. Kneeling he looked under his seat; grinning as he noticed the absence of his hankie. His delight didn’t last long. A wave of pain, sharp and stabbing – like gripes – forced him to clutch at his stomach and fall to the floor in agony.
From the Testimony of Peter Watkins, Driver to Lord Byrd.
Getting nowhere, we traded jobs. Sober-sides did the dosshouses, I went to the pubs. Even so, it took three nights to find a man who could get me into Canton Sue’s place.
Judging by all the palaver to get through the door, you would have thought it some high-class house. But it was just one of those seedy gaming joints, where the stakes were high, the odds rigged, and the drinks watered. Still, as I wasn’t payin’, it didn’t bother me – much – that I got fleeced by nearly everyone who worked there.
Rumour had it, Canton Sue’s mother was a common trollop who serviced sailors straight off the China boats. Another said she was born in the Orient and sold to a ship’s captain for a bit of company on the way home. Whatever the truth - Sue spoke enough of the lingo to be a success.
On my first night, I discovered the madam didn’t approve of the pawnbroker’s apprentice. Rather than admiring Miss Emily, Sue saw her as an interloper – not true Impereye –and the more Emily took control of Gold’s world; the more defiant Sue became.
Not that the woman spoke revolution.
Far too clever for that, was Canton Sue.
I gathered by the second night that she didn’t exactly tell the truth about the den’s takings either. Nor did she pay the appropriate amount of protection. From what the staff let slip, there was nothing to worry about. Miss Emily was a lightskirt. Old man Gold didn’t care, and Sue had made an alliance with a name I pretended to know nothing about.
From Reports. Canton Sue’s Place, Shoreditch
Upstairs a lodging house, respectable and clean. A home from home to the Chinese sailors who worked the docks. Below stairs – behind heavy doors – was the den. Guarded by an old, wizened man, whose slight appearance belied an agility more common to someone half his age. He stared at Emily and greeted her tersely. Equally brusque she returned the greeting, causing him to smile and bow. “Your accent Miss Emily is still appalling.”
“I don’t get enough practice, Mr Zuan.”
Zuan widened his arms in invitation. “You must come for a game of chess.”
Emily bit her lip. “After tonight I may not be able to show my face for a while. Sue doesn’t like me at the best of times.”
The old man shook his head. “She does not like you at all, Miss
Emily. But I’m an old man, and I miss your company.” He nodded in the direction of the door. “They’re all idiots down there.”
Emily nodded and stared at the staircase that led to the floor below. She shuddered, remembering the first time she’d seen Uncle’s ruthlessness first hand. A callousness she had an awful feeling would be necessary once more.
China May’s Den - Nine Years Earlier
Standing behind her uncle and unsure what to expect from her first glimpse inside an opium den, Emily looked on curiously as the crowds parted before Gold with their customary quickness.
“You brought your whore with you,” May said with only a trace of an accent.
Gold didn’t blink. “I brought the apprentice with me.”
“I do not observe him.”
“Then you are blind as well as disloyal.” Without breaking eye contact, he pointed in her direction, and Emily saw not only the glitter of her uncle’s ring as he spoke but the contempt dancing in the other woman’s eyes.
Unwilling to let Gold down, Emily straightened her back, watching with interest as he took up a position to the den owner’s left.
Realising why, Emily smiled. His strongest side, and the woman’s weakest, if the slight difference in May’s muscle tone was anything to go by.
She didn’t need to hear the conversation to realise her uncle soon tired of the woman’s disloyalty and muttered protestations of innocence. But even she was surprised by the speed and brutality of his response. With a seamless gesture, Gold caught China May’s hand in his own vice-like grip, twisting her until her temple was level with the point of the crow’s beak. Then he struck. A vicious, clean blow that made Sue the new madam.
1901.
Returning to the present and the raucous sounds of music and laughter wafting from the floor below, Emily found herself the centre of a thoughtful examination. “I was remembering the first time I was here,” Emily told the man truthfully.
Zuan’s face contorted, “Should I be concerned, Miss Emily?”
“Not unless you side with Sue against the Impereye?” Emily’s smile was tight. “And if that were the case, I’m sure Mr Akio and myself would not be alive to discuss such things. You would have dispatched us already.”
His concern intensified. “I’m not sure I should play chess against you now, Miss Emily. You truly are the woman Mr Gold wanted you to become.”
“I am sure you’ll still teach me new tricks.” She bowed.
“You honour me, Miss Emily,” he said returning the gesture. “But I think not. Till death, I am your loyal slave.” He then held out his hands and they went through the ritual of turning them over each other; squashing her fears of his loyalty as they did so. And as Zuan opened the door, Emily – no longer fifteen and in her uncle’s shadow – entered the den.
With Akio behind her and dressed as she was – in her crow button coat – Emily knew she made a dramatic entrance. Card players paused mid-discard, and the bar fell silent as the pianist struck a discordant note. Instantly wary, Emily stopped and surveyed the scene. As a child, she was seduced by the riot of colours and the hedonistic aura the club gave off. Now, made of sterner stuff, Emily eyed the business with a professional air.
Having seen Sue’s ledgers from last year, Emily immediately realised the depths of the woman’s perfidy. Her uncle had been conned, quite royally. This was a gold mine. Not an empty seat at the roulette wheel, blackjack or poker tables. Nor were the willing lovelies left high and dry. Even allowing for a moment’s generosity, Sue robbed the Impereye blind.
Emily’s spine stiffened; her eyes became her uncle’s as she raked the room, picking out faces she knew - working out whether they fought with her or against. Clocking strangers – not on the Impereye payroll – already reaching for their weapons.
She sighed. So much for Uncle’s hope that this was a simple case of banging heads together. Good job she and Akio carried knives. Good job she wore the ring.
Slowly, her face a mask of studied indifference, Emily descended into the den.
Unlike China May, who’d ruled her world from the bar, Canton Sue sat by the piano, cigarette holder in hand, the epitome of chic and sophistication. Behind Sue, a couple of tables nestled in a slight dip between the instrument and the bar. These were now empty, but judging by the still smouldering cigarette, this was a recent occurrence.
“Emily.” The woman didn’t bother to get up, nor did she offer her bejewelled hand in greeting. “How delightful to see you.” A pause. “What brings the Impereye to my humble door?”
When Emily didn’t answer, the woman turned to the crowd. “Please ladies and gentlemen, don’t let Emily’s arrival disturb you. Be seated, be merry.”
As the crowd hurried to do Sue’s bidding, Emily bided her time. Waiting until the room settled before answering as politely as possible, in a tone that indicated there had been no interruption and no insult offered.
“Business. Uncle asked for information. We didn’t hear from you. He sent me to ascertain all was well.”
The older woman sneered. “A man should not send his whore to do his work. Though you’re not exclusively his now, are you? I hear you turned toffer, just like your mother.”
“Rather a whore than disloyal to the Impereye!” Emily replied as a slight, inconsequential movement caught her eye. Recognising Watkins in the mirror, Emily allowed her mind to blink as she reassessed the situation. Then she recognised the message in his gaze. No judgement, no condemnation. Just a question. Did she want ... need ... help?
Her hand moved in a negative gesture, and she waited for his nod of acceptance before continuing. “There was a suicide. An old lady by the name of Long. A lupara was used.”
“You’d waste my time with this, Emily Davies?” the madam scoffed. “Run back to your uncle and tell him that if he wants information, he comes himself.” Sue lifted her cigarette holder to her lips and waited.
Emily stood her ground - neither cowed nor outwardly angered by Sue’s behaviour. A few titters from some of the girls wafted across the stillness. She ignored them.
“What, not gone yet?” Sue derided.
“Alas, no. Not until I’ve tied up loose ends.”
“Oh, for goodness sake! Old ladies die. Sometimes they choose the manner of their death.” Sue took a drag of her cigarette, blowing the resulting smoke into Emily’s face.
Emily ignored the insult and, smiling serenely, continued as if nothing untoward had happened. “The lupara - is missing. Tell me what you know about it, and I will inform Uncle of your co-operation.”
The crossroads reached; the olive branch offered. A choice to be made. If the proprietress of the den had any sense, she would have stalled for time; said men were out investigating; that she would get word to the Impereye the moment she heard. And Emily would have taken it, lie though it was.
“The police took it,” Sue spat. Then without warning, her hand connected with Emily’s face.
The sound reverberated through the silence.
Emily saw Watkins face contort with anger and he stepped forward. Again she stopped him with a small wave as, unfazed by Sue’s violence, Emily continued her conversation with the Madam. “The police don’t have the gun which is why I’m here - asking you.” Emily sounded almost apologetic and took a step backwards, slipping her hands into the deep pockets of her coat as she spoke.
“And I don’t intend to answer you.” Sue blew more smoke at Emily’s eyes. “Go back to the pawnbroker and spread your legs for him, while you can. My sources tell me he’s ill. Possibly dying. And if that’s so, your time’s limited.” A sneer accompanied her next pronouncement. “You’ll not survive the cull when the true apprentice returns.”
From somewhere in the crowd came a sharp intake of breath. Sue heard its warning. But before she could react, there was a flash of steel, and two knives appeared seemingly from nowhere.
The first – a stiletto – rested at Sue’s throat, and drew a pinprick of blood where it met th
e skin. The second – a tanto – waited at the ready in Emily’s left hand. “I will give you one last chance,” Emily purred. “The shotgun? What became of it?”
Sue wasn’t finished with her insults. “That’s not your ring,” she taunted, desperate to get the crowd back onside. “It doesn’t fit. You’re just a spoilt child playing at the big time. So, put them away, little girl; you don’t have the balls to kill me.”
The knife at Sue’s throat bit deeper, and the pinprick became a trickle of blood.
From the Testimony of Peter Watkins, Driver to Lord Byrd.
Well, what could I do? Let her handle it alone?
From Reports.
Emily wasn’t sure who noticed Canton Sue’s accomplice first. Her, Akio, or Watkins? Certainly, as Watkins disappeared in the crowd, Akio came down a couple of the stairs, the blade of his own weapon glistening in the gaslight. All Emily knew was that she needed to distract everyone from their activities.
“Yours is a lovely neck,” Emily said as Watkins edged his way towards a bullet-shaped man approaching from behind. “It would be a shame to have to cover it.” Her smile made her intention clear. “What happened to the gun?”
Canton Sue tossed her hair. “I heard you were cleverer than Leonardo da Vinci but, like a parrot, you only repeat yourself! Now piss off little girl! Your uncle’s turned by a pretty face. And I’ll tell him when he comes for your body. I don’t recognise you as the apprentice.” Said coldly in Cantonese, it was a throwaway line to the crowd. It should have resulted in adulation - cheers even. But in the stunned silence that followed the utterance, it became the moment Sue realised she lost.
“Oh dear,” Emily shook her head. “That was ... stupid ... Mentioning my predecessor that many times can only be interpreted as an insult.” She shifted her centre of gravity, “It didn’t have to be this way, Sue, and for that I’m sorry.” Appearing not to consider the danger from behind, the stiletto scratched across the woman’s throat.