Stolen Bloodline

by L G Rollins

  “After you, sir.”

  Tom puffed out his chest and marched through the door, swinging his arms. Jasper smiled to himself; Tom was one of a kind.

  The stage was lined with small girls, all sitting to one side, enraptured by the single dancer on the opposite end.

  The dancer twisted in a delicate, well-controlled spin, then lifted one leg high above her head as her arms spread out in graceful curves. It was Miss Zhi. Jasper’s step slowed and he rested his hands against the back of a nearby chair, leaning heavily on it. He’d never seen anything so beautiful.

  Miss Zhi brought her leg down, but before her foot touched the floor she reached it out in front of her, angling her body around. She stretched her arms over her, then swooped around and skipped several feet across the stage. She was elegant and poised. It was loveliness in motion—an expression of beauty that could only be seen in the now for the next moment, it was gone.

  Miss Zhi spun, bringing her palms together, close to her chest. Jasper had seen beauty many times; beautiful flowers, beautiful poetry, beautiful smiles. But this was far more.

  This was not only an expression of gentle loveliness, this was disciplined art.

  Jasper had heard more women play at recitals than he could count. He’d discussed amateur photographs with Hedgecock many times over. There was one thing he’d found to be true again and again. Those who were disciplined in their art produced something far different than those who were merely gifted. Many people were good at something or another. But when someone chose to dedicate themselves, to spend hours upon hours doing drills or scales or sketches, it showed.

  Jasper could see the dedication in Miss Zhi’s movements. She was gifted at dance, of that he was certain. But far more than that, she had chosen to be disciplined in her art. He could see it in the arc of her arms, the lift of her leg.

  The song, though soft and lilting, showed Jasper she was not merely good at dancing, not simply experienced at dancing, she was passionate about it. She’d pushed herself day after day, doing what was both hard and tedious. She’d elevated herself and her art form.

  There was a unique, rare beauty only found in the diligence of consistent, disciplined practice. Miss Zhi, it seemed, had found such rare beauty.

  The music lifted to an end; Miss Zhi paused with arms high and chin up. The small dancers on the stage broke into applause. Miss Zhi smiled at the students, then curtsied elegantly, sweeping one leg behind her and going completely down to the stage floor.

  Next to him, Tom clapped as well. “Gads, but she’s pretty,” he said.

  “Yes, Tom. She most certainly is.” Jasper stood up straight once more and joined in the clapping. His wide hands made a far deeper noise than the small claps coming from the stage. “Only don’t say ‘gads’. It’s not proper.”

  “You do.”

  Well, Jasper couldn’t argue with that. So he didn’t even try.

  At that moment, Miss Zhi’s head turned his way and he thought that she blushed. Though it could have just been the way the yellow lighting shown down on her. Jasper strode quickly to the stage, not missing that Tom scampered directly after him. The stage floor was only knee high to him, yet he held out his hand to help Miss Zhi down.

  Miss Zhi placed her hand in his and it was like he held a diamond in his grasp—beautiful yet strong. She easily hopped off the stage.

  Jasper had known she was a dancer, but he’d had no idea how good she was. “That was—”

  “Exquisite, Ju.” A man, violin in hand, strode across the stage and jumped down next to her. Miss Zhi let go of Jasper’s hand as the man reached out with open arms, hugging her close to him. “I’d nearly forgotten how much fun it was to do that together.”

  Jasper took half a step back. He wasn’t sure who this man was, but he suddenly very much wanted him gone.

  “It’s too bad Shuang was feeling ill today,” Miss Zhi said, pulling back. “I like it better when you dance with me.”

  Jasper crossed his arms. He was quite sure he wouldn’t have liked it better to see the two of them dancing together. Out of the corner of his eye, Jasper noticed Tom crossing his arms as well. The small show of solidarity, surprisingly, meant a lot to Jasper.

  Miss Zhi held a hand out toward Jasper. “Dapo, may I introduce you to Mr. Wimple. Mr. Wimple,” she said to him, “this is Dapo.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Jasper placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I would like to introduce you both to my friend, Tom. Tom, may I make you known to Miss Zhi ju and her friend, Mr. Dapo.”

  Tom bowed quite like he was born of the upper echelon. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Ju, and Mr. Dapo.”

  Miss Zhi smiled and dropped into an elegant curtsy, while Dapo only rolled his eyes.

  So Dapo thought himself above a small boy? What kind of man thinks himself too good to speak with someone like Tom? A tinge of guilt tingled at the back of Jasper’s neck; after all, he himself had tried to get out of spending the day with Tom. But that was because he thought himself too busy, not because he thought himself above such an outing.

  Jasper shoved the tingling away and dropped to one knee, facing Tom. “Let me explain something to you. In London, a person’s christened name comes first and their surname comes second. But in China, it’s the other way around.”

  “They do it backward?”

  “If you ask them, we do it backward,” Jasper said, standing once more. “So in fact, you would address this beautiful woman as Miss Zhi.”

  Tom nodded, then turned back to her. “I beg your pardon, Miss Zhi.”

  Pride for the boy swelled up in Jasper. Not that he had any right to feel pride over the boy’s sudden ability to be proper—Tom certainly hadn’t learned it from him—but Jasper felt pride for the boy all the same.

  “That is quite all right, Tom. May I call you Tom?” Miss Zhi asked.

  Tom nodded vigorously.

  “Then,” she said. “You may call me Ju.”

  Tom leaned in close to Jasper, dropping his voice to a whisper. “May I?”

  “If a lady gives you permission, then yes, you may.”

  “Provided,” Dapo said, his tone far colder than when he had complimented Miss Zhi moments ago, “you only have the lady’s best interest at heart.” He eyed Jasper up and down, no trace of a smile on his face. “So you’re the man I’ve heard so much about?”

  Had Miss Zhi been talking about him? He kind of liked the idea that she had. Of course, that was assuming she’d been saying positive things about him. “Could be. But I can’t say I’ve heard anything about you.”

  Dapo stuck his chin out, though didn’t say anything.

  Jasper felt a short moment of triumphant. He turned toward Miss Zhi. “I am actually here to speak with your mother. Is she about?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ju stretched the way she’d seen the other dancers do the night of her audition. At least, she attempted as much. It was hard to remember exactly the way the other woman had twisted and bent—especially when she still had no idea why Jasper had wanted to speak with her Mama. Earlier that day, she’d shown him into the office but Wei shu pulled her away and she was unable to hear the conversation between Jasper and Mama.

  When Wei shu finally finished class and told Ju she could go, they both were gone. So was that sweet little boy who had stayed glued to Jasper’s side the entire time. What a little charmer, just like Jasper.

  Ju sunk deeper into her stretch. A zip of pain rushed up her leg. She immediately pulled back out. That didn’t feel right. She tried again, wishing she knew exactly how the women at Ginevra’s had done this.

  The movements hadn’t been quite like the ones she’d learned growing up, and yet just different enough that no one with any experience dancing would believe they were the same.

  Ju righted herself, standing straight once more. The butterflies in her stomach had not eased with the stretching as they normally did. Ju grabbed a bit of fabric and began tying her hair up, then paused. She
let her straight hair fall once more around her shoulders. Gathering it again, she fastened it the way she’d seen the other dancers do so that the bun was further back on her crown and sat not so narrow and tall, but a bit more squat and round instead.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked calm, her clothes and hair all as they ought to be, but still the butterflies refused to settle.

  “Ju, my flower.” Mama’s voice came from the front door.

  Ju kept her posture relaxed as she turned. Mama looked happy. No, more than that. Mama looked nearly radiant.

  Mama tapped her forehead with a single finger the way she always did when she was quite pleased with herself. “I told you I find new position.”

  “Truly?” Ju ran to her mother and threw her arms around her. This would mean they didn’t have to worry about the cost of food rising as autumn rolled in. This would mean they didn’t have to keep the house cold all winter long, only burning bits of coal at night to shield them from the worst frost.

  This would mean Ju could accept an invitation to join Ginevra’s if one were forthcoming.

  “Not so tight,” Mama squeaked. “I am old china doll. Fragile, though still beautiful.” Mama laughed at her own joke.

  Ju laughed, too. The unease in her stomach lessened a bit. The weight on her shoulders certainly did. She’d almost forgotten what it was to walk around without worrying that eating that day meant she wouldn’t have food to eat later.

  With arms wrapped around each other, the two made their way to the old sofa and collapsed onto it. Mama had another position. In only a few minutes, Ju would walk back to Ginevra’s and learn if she was accepted or not. It seemed life was getting back on track and soon they could both be happy again.

  Ju’s brow creased. Mama would be happy in this new home, wouldn’t she? “Who has employed you, Mama? A family? An elderly couple?” If only it could be a nice, elderly couple. Individuals who didn’t demand too much, were kind to Mama, perhaps even felt a bit of sympathy for Mama’s age. That would be ideal.

  “A young bachelor. One you happen to know.”

  Oh, she had to be teasing. “You aren’t working for Mr. Wimple, are you?”

  “Yes. At first, I wondered that he could get by on his own. Then I saw the state of his house and I realized he doesn’t get by well on his own. He only thinks he does.” She tutted as she shook her head. “There was laundry everywhere.”

  Jasper? As in, her dark angel? That’s who Mama had found work with? Mama seemed to think the situation laughable.

  Ju wasn’t feeling as confident. “Is that what he wanted to speak to you about this afternoon?”

  Mama’s smile faltered, her brow creasing with what looked like concern, perhaps even fear. “We talked about many things.” Then her face settled on calm. “Your father said he was the one. That’s why I returned the following day and cooked him breakfast.” She laughed again, though this time it almost sounded forced. “You should have seen his face. He was so surprised.”

  “Wait—you what? Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  Mama’s nose turned up. “I’m your Mama. Not the other way around.” Then her smile returned, full and sincere. “I wish you had been there. Mr. Wimple was so surprised. A little upset, too. But, you see, I win him over.”

  Ju could do little more than sit there with her mouth open. What were the chances that the man who’d saved her—because he was wandering through a building he never should have been in—was the very man who hired Mama? That was far too coincidental.

  Ju pressed her lips tightly together. Ever since she saw Jasper again at the dancing school, Wei shu’s warning had been ringing around her brainbox. Jasper was a flirt and could not be trusted. But this? This wasn’t about flirting and it clearly was something. If only she knew what he was about.

  Mama turned, angling herself so that she faced Ju more fully. She took Ju’s hands in her own. “Now, you been to Ginevra’s yet?”

  Ju shook her head. Her shoulders still felt light, but her stomach plummeted once more. “I was just about to head over there.” She would have to figure this Jasper out later.

  Mama nodded several times, the hair secured tightly on the very top of her head not coming lose in the least. “You go now. You go find your dream.”

  ***

  Ju stood atop the marble floor in the well-lit hallway and tried to push past all the other dancers in the hopes of also seeing the posted acceptance list.

  Not as many people stared at her this time as they had the last time she’d entered this glorious building, but it still felt like there were over a dozen faces looking at her at all times. Perhaps she should have asked Dapo to come with her. She’d considered it earlier in the day. But he was so busy now with work, and she really ought to be strong enough to face this alone.

  Only, the comfort of a dear friend would have been so nice right now.

  A few people near the front of the group broke off and left, whispering furiously to each other. Ju pushed herself into the spot they’d vacated before others swarmed in and enveloped the opening.

  Now close enough to read, Ju scanned the sheet. With a surname of Zhi, her name was often at the bottom of a list. However, since Europeans always placed their surnames last, instead of first like they did in Chinatown, people sometimes mistook Ju to be her surname.

  Ju looked up and down the list. She wasn’t listed among the ‘Z’s at the bottom, nor with the ‘J’s in the middle.

  Her name wasn’t there at all.

  Cold, heavy disappointment spread across her arms and chest. Ju clasped her hands in front of her and just stood. She hadn’t made it. She hadn’t been accepted, after all. People flowed around her, pushing past then breaking off and walking away. She could hear their chatter, the swell and ebb of conversation. She watched their feet. Some slunk away while others skipped.

  All those years of practice. All those hundreds and hundreds of hours in painful concentration. Stretches. Drills. Working until she was drenched in sweat and her hair hung in long, thick tendrils around her face.

  She had still failed.

  The cold seemed to seep past her skin, deep into her motionless muscles—would they ever care to dance again?—and deeper still until it hit her bones and left them feeling brittle.

  “Madam?”

  Ju glanced up. The hallway was nearly empty, but one man stood not far from her.

  He looked familiar. Her brainbox, working slow from disappointment, suddenly locked on the streak of white in the man’s hair. He had been one of the judges the night she’d auditioned, the night she’d proven herself unequal to these marble halls and grand lights.

  “Sir.” She bobbed a quick curtsy.

  “I’m glad I caught you. I am Ballet Master Chandler. Might we have a word?”

  Was he here to escort her out? To tell her to never come back? Ju nodded her agreement and followed the man further down the hall. Ju had always told herself that if she didn’t get into Ginevra’s the first time, she’d come back every year until she did. But, now, seeing that sheet of paper so clearly devoid of her own name, Ju wasn’t sure if she would be back.

  No—she wouldn’t think that way. She would come back and audition again. She had to.

  Master Chandler opened the door to an empty classroom and motioned with his hand for Ju to go before him. Ju’s stomach clenched. The last time she’d preceded a man into a room alone it had almost ended most horribly. Jasper’s dark face brushed against her memory and she felt the pull he always brought.

  Then she remembered Wei shu’s estimation of him. He was a fickle flirt. Strangest of all, he’d out of the blue hired her mother. Then again, perhaps he’d just felt sorry for her and her Mama after Changchang made such a big deal out of her needing work. Either way, Ju knew she couldn’t trust him and pushed his memory away, turning instead to face the dancing instructor.

  “I shouldn’t be saying this to you,” Master Chandler began, then paused waiting for the d
oor to click shut behind him. He turned and faced her once more. “All the other applicants would have heard. But I wasn’t sure you would have.”

  Standing, just the two of them, in the well-lit room, Ju was able to see him better than she had the night she’d come to be judged. That night had been little more than a wash of nerves and shaky legs. The instructor ran a hand across his chin. He had wrinkles about his eyes and the skin on his chin and neck was leathery—the kind of skin one only got by pushing the body to its limits day after day for decades.

  “Even after a student has been accepted, there’s still a chance they won’t be able to cut it. The regimen expected of dancers here at Ginevra’s is very intensive. In two months’ time, whoever has proven they cannot continue will be asked to leave and possibly as many as two or three new positions will open up in the school.”

  Tingles coursed over her arms. New positions? “Are you saying I could still get in?”

  “I’m not guaranteeing anything.”

  Ju nodded her head. She didn’t need guarantees; another chance that didn’t require twelve months of waiting was more than she could have hoped for. “I understand.”

  “If you’re serious about working hard . . .”

  Of course she was serious about working hard. She had never been more serious in her life. Ju nodded again, only just keeping words from leaping off her tongue. But respect for her elders had been drilled into her along with grace and poise on the dance floor.

  “Come and see me again in six weeks,” Master Chandler said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Ju did bow over her hands this time. It wasn’t terribly ‘European’ of her, but she was too excited to care. “Thank you, sir.”

  The corner of his lips turned up in a half-smile. It brought out the wrinkles across his eyes. If Ju’s father had lived, that was the smile she’d always imagined he’d have.

  Thoughts of her dead father, which had been frequent as of late, stilled the excitement skittering about her. Instead, it left her feeling wishful and unsure.