Partnership
The RP goodness with Evie continues!
Wednesday, November 13, 1867
Speaker's Corner, Hyde Park, London
11:45 A.M.
Josephine bought a bag of bread crumbs and chose a spot on the fence from which feed the birds. She could see down Hyde Park Place to the left and Oxford Street on the right, with Park Lane behind her. It was the famous Speaker's Corner she'd heard about and today, there was an evangelist in fine fettle, spewing fire and brimstone to the delight, horror, and religious fervor of the onlookers. Josephine paid him little mind, nodding over her bag of crumbs in the guise of a charwoman enjoying her half-day off.
She'd chosen this particular spot for her meeting with a purpose--nothing that was said here and overheard by others would be taken seriously: tradition held that one could speak one's mind without fear of arrest. Josephine felt it would be the perfect place to set up a meeting since London was accustomed to seeing odd sorts come and go on this piece of ground: Chartists, The Reform League, the religious ... they had all spoken and demonstrated here. Surely one cat person and a charwoman down on her luck striking up a conversation would raise no eyebrows.
That's if she shows, Jo. Josephine scattered another handful of crumbs for the pigeons and finches that braved the cold. The wind was low but the air was icy, making Josephine glad of her extra layers of petticoats and patched skirt. Her pelerine was a gem of a find, patched and dyed so many times its original color and style was hard to identify. It was mostly wool and it was warm, and it was shapeless enough to allow Josephine to go armed underneath. A knitted cap covered her head and together with her scuffed work boots and fingerless gloves, she looked the part. She cooed and chucked to the birds and threw her crumbs and from under the floppy brim of her cap, she kept a close eye on the street for Evie's arrival.
This was about the time of year Evie always wished she had warmer clothes. The chill in the air became a cold in the air, leaving Evie rubbing her arms as she headed towards Speaker's Corner. Curse women's fashion, she thought to herself as she made her way through the throngs of people out and about their midday business. I can't bob what don't exist...I need men's clothes in a woman's size. Bloody likely!
She rolled her eyes at the evangelist that was the first to draw her attention as she walked into the Corner. Evie was pretty sure God didn't talk to no one directly, no matter what anyone said. And if He did, it wouldn't be to an addle-coved barmy with more spit than brains. Evie kept herself out of the general crowd of people while she looked for Josephine. It took a minute of stretching her eyes about, but she spotted her on the bench. The disguise was good, really. But it was something in the way she moved. Just didn't play right.
Evie carefully wandered over to the bench and pretending to be paying attention to the religious goings on as she sat down. If Miss Josephine wanted to meet, then she could be the beginning.
"I am so glad you decided to come," Josephine murmured, lower than her cooing at the pigeons, trusting Evie's sharp ears would have no trouble hearing her. She threw another pinch and watched the grey and lavender birds strut and peck. The sparrows were less sedate and scrimmaged for the bounty. "I understand it's something of a risk for you. You don't know me."
"You ain't reading my soul, either, Miss Josephine. Both of us walking the 3rd story rope here. If you're okay without the net, then hell's bells if I'm going to be afraid." A quick breeze blew over them both and Evie shivered. Hopefully she'd be quick to the point, so Evie could find somewhere to get warm. Bobby usually had some coal they could use to start a fire, at least until the constable came by and scattered them.
"Then come with me," Josephine said before giving the birds a final helping. Wadding the paper bag and putting it in her skirt pocket, she tried to rise from the bench and groaned, shaking with the effort. "Gi' us a hand, child?" she asked, her voice reedy with infirmity. Josephine tucked her muffler closer around her face to hide its age and held a hand out to Evie for assistance.
Evie couldn't decide if it was being overplayed but eventually decided not. People didn't notice the subtle. The hopeless berks only noticed what was put right in front of their face.
She extended a hand and said, "Here ya go, miss," as she helped "old" Josephine stand up. She had no idea exactly what any of this had to do with her getting paid. But as long as she did get paid, she supposed it didn't matter. If she got paid enough, maybe she could buy some clothes, although the idea of paying for what she could be taking still didn't sit right with her.
"Bless ye, child. Chilblains. Somethin' horrible." Josephine got herself upright and tottered for Oxford Street. "Oh, to be young again." She lowered her voice for Evie's ears alone. "Let's go somewhere warm. God knows it's cold out."
Evie wasn't about to argue that. The chill in her bones had started to get its own chill. And her left shoe had gained a hole unexpectedly, causing the cold of the stones to work its way up her leg with every other step. She let Josephine guide her while making sure it looked like the situation was reversed.
Josephine noted the skill with which the girl maintained the ruse and her estimation of her potential rose. She's a quick study. Better and better. Josephine said no more but tottered and nodded her way to Oxford Street and thence north on Portman Street. The aroma of roasting chestnuts met them halfway to Portman Square and on a seeming whim, Josephine bought a bag from the vendor, counting out the pence from a miser's purse that had more darning stitches than knitted ones. She gave the piping hot bag to Evie.
"Put it down yer, shirt, luv. Keep 'em warm til we get there."
And so they continued through the yellowed grass of the Square to Orchard Street and turned north again.
The bag was toasty warm in her hands and she held it there for a minute to let some feeling flow back in. Her hands were her life's blood. If she treated them right, they wouldn't give her the laugh when she needed them the most. Then she slipped them inside her shirt and the chestnuts sent warmth spiraling from her center to...well, everywhere. Evie admitted to herself that Josephine treated her like someone worth being with. Maybe it was as much an act as the old woman she was pretending to be. But no way to know, except to let it play out.
Josephine noted how the girl held the bag to warm her fingers, despite its blistering heat, and it wasn't long before Evie made it disappear down her shirt. The girl's shoulders lost that huddled sparrow look and her limbs loosened as they warmed. Josephine was rather glad she'd found a way to offer the thief succor without being overt about it. She suspected Evie would have refused it otherwise. When Orchard turned into Baker Street, Josephine nodded across the way to the Bazaar and asked quietly, "Ever been in there? I hear Tussaud's is quite the thing for an evening."
"No, can't say I've had the pleasure." She had heard of it, of course. You'd have to be boggled or blind not to know it. But the price of it was more than she could afford for something that was extra rather than need. You didn't save by spending every time you had a coin in your pocket. Besides, it was a whole world that she didn't belong to. Not yet, anyway.
"I should like to go sometime," Josephine said, watching Evie closely from the corner of her eye. "Perhaps when it's warmer."
Evie nodded curtly, trying to save her energy. The chestnuts were already starting to cool down. "If you're forking the coin, then I ain't worthy of saying no." A smile briefly crossed her face. Miss Josephine was already making Evie think about things that she shouldn't be thinking about. Way ahead of schedule all this was. But maybe, she could find a way to jump ahead, find a shortcut to the end. Shortcuts...tweren't safe, oftentimes lead you astray. But sometimes they led you exactly where you wanted to go.
“Not long now,” Josephine smiled behind her muffler, making her eyes crinkle at the corners. Five minutes later had them turning off Baker Street for her mews on Little York Place. The costermonger who worked the street as his territory was there with his cart and Josephine met him on the way. She pulled her muffler under her chin and hailed him when they drew close and winked.
"How goes it, Jerry? Selling today?"
Jerry tipped his tweed cap and resettled it on his ginger head and shrugged.
"Not so much today, more's the pity. I got sultanas juicier than the grapes they makes them from, I do. Fancy some?" There was a faint Irish lilt to the man's speech though there was little else to mark him as a native of that troubled isle. He opened the burlap bag so Josephine could take a look at the dried fruit and let them fall from his tin scoop enticingly. "Just the thing, a bit of sweet to go with your tea, wouldn't it now?"
"Stop, please.” Josephine laughed. “You've convinced me."
Jerry poured the purchase into a paper cone and twisted it shut with a flourish. Josephine handed over the coin and in a lower voice asked, "Hear anything interesting?"
Jerry made the coin disappear and held up an orange that had clearly seen better days. "Genuine Clementines, Miss. All the way from Spain. Early this year," he said and flicked a look at Evie.
"She's with me," Josephine murmured as she took that orange in her fingers, careful not to squeeze it. It was spongy and she quickly gave it back with a shake of her head and raised her voice. "What else you got? Any plums left?"
"Perhaps, perhaps." He rummaged through this bag and that, shifted open boxes of apples, looking. And in a lower voice, he said, "No. Cold's keepin' the gossips in, sorry."
"Another time, then. I got my sultanas. Some soda bread'll be wantin' them. Ta!"
"Ta, Miss, and thankee." Up went the Irishman's cap and down again.
Josephine winked and took her leave. She said nothing until she reached her door and pulled the key from her sleeve. "Don't let that orange fool you," she said to Evie and tripped the lock. "Jerry saves me the good stuff. Won't you come in?"
And with that, she opened the door.
"How many people like me you have, miss?" Evie found herself oddly hurt. She hadn't really thought herself the center of Josephine's world, but it had been nice to let herself pretend she was special. Since Mother had coughed herself to death, Evie hadn't had anyone who had the time to make her feel that way. Soddin' stupid, it was, to let yourself get caught up in it. The coin what's real, nothing else.
Before she stepped in, she did what she normally did and looked at the building with an eye for escapes and entrances from the heights. While she didn't have any plans to peel Miss Josephine, knowing where to run was never wasted time.
"I have no one like you," Josephine said, shutting her door and addressing the light behind Evie's green eyes. "But as to the rest, there's only Jerry. He follows the straight and narrow. He sticks to his route and pampers his customers. He listens to their gossip and takes a pint here and there before going home. He sifts through what he's heard and sends it my way."
Josephine shrugged out of her pelerine and muffler as she spoke, the gentle heat from the radiators making it too warm to wear indoors. Her windows were uncurtained but the height of the buildings blocked the watery sunlight and most of her street stood shadowed. Josephine turned up the gas to light her way to the rear of her digs, trusting Evie to follow her.
"You see," she explained as she dipped up water from her barrel and lit her gas ring for the tea kettle. "I mentioned before I cannot be everywhere at once. Jerry covers quite a bit of ground to feed his family. So I help him with coin toward that goal and he helps me with information toward mine. A mutually beneficial arrangement, don't you think?" Kettle settled on the flame, she overturned a crate for Evie to sit on and fetched another for herself. "As for what he gave me today, there's something he's heard about Spain but he's not sure what it means. It's old information, though, and he really cannot be sure of its value."
Josephine rose as the kettle began to shriek. When she had the tea poured and a plate of bread and hard cheese to go with the beverage, she continued. "That's the nature of intelligence work, Evie. You are given a grab bag of rumors, leads, and lies and your job is to sort through them and pick out the gold from the dross." She shrugged. "Some days, it's more dross than gold. Others, you land something solid. Right now, I'm just getting a feel for things, still forging my alliances. I'm going to need them if I am to succeed in what I want to do. I had hoped you would like to be a part of that. Was I wrong?"
She might not really understand Miss Josephine, but Jerry? Evie understood Jerry. He might walk the righteous path, but he and she tweren't that far apart. Had their goals and did it what it took to put coin towards it. And in the end, that was what was important, wasn't it? If Miss Josephine wanted to pay her a foolish amount of money to listen for things, that was okay by her. But she had a more immediate concern which might upset the whole cart before it even got moving.
"I don't exactly know where Spain is," Evie admitted quietly. "Is that far away?" Evie didn't know exactly what Miss Josephine was searching for but she knew she wouldn't be much good gathering information if she didn't know what it all meant.
Josephine filed the girl's question away with the other facts she'd been gathering about Evie and another puzzle piece slid into place. For all Evie was a cat person, some nuances of body language transcended species--a hitch to the shoulders, a look in the eye, a drawing of the brows, even a curl to the lip--and by them Josephine knew she was treading upon sensitive ground. How to answer Evie without embarrassing her?
Feed her mind. Make it interesting. Show, don’t tell.
“It’s farther than Dover but not so far as Africa. It’s in-between.” Josephine rose and fetched some butcher’s paper she’d saved from her shopping and putting the greased side to the floor, she pulled a pencil from her clothing and sketched a quick map. “I love maps. They can put the entire world into the palm of your hand or show you every street and alleyway for a ten block radius of London. It’s all a matter of scale.”
She sketched a reasonable outline of England and Scotland as she spoke and drew in the coastline of the Continent. She explained as she drew. “Here’s Gravesend and the mouth of the Thames. It empties into the English Channel. The Channel separates us from Europe, which we call the Continent. Here’s Dover,” and she labeled that point on the map. “You can take the ferry to France from there. And across the water here is France.” The pencil scratched as she wrote the name of England’s on-again, off-again enemy, and drew the border of it. Josephine sketched in the Iberian Peninsula and the Moroccan coastline. “Here is Spain, south of France. Here’s Gibraltar and across that narrow straight is Africa. Morocco, to be exact. And here’s London.” Josephine drew the course of the Thames inland from Gravesend and put the great city on the map. She put the pencil down and spoke to the general air of her makeshift kitchen.
“I haven’t been as far as Gibraltar, much less Morocco, but someday I will go. All the stories I’ve heard about it make it too fascinating to pass up.” She turned back to Evie, saying, “The Arab lands have different music, food, religion, even standards for propriety. For instance, they require their women to go covered from head to foot with veils and robes and for the most part to stay behind the walls of their houses. They never go out unless under male escort. Luckily for me, the men go robed to the cuffs and ankles too, and their turbans have scarves to shield their faces from the sun. I should have no problem travelling in that get-up. The punishment if I’m discovered, however, does give me pause.” Josephine shook the thought off, grinned at Evie and tapped the map. “Well, there you are. There’s Spain.”
This she understood. She drew building maps all the time. Bedroom here, hallway here, closet where they thought their goods were safe here...
Evie leaned over the quickly sketched map, trying to let the scale of it sink in but she was having a hard time imagining it. London seemed so small compared to the rest of the map, but she didn't think she'd ever know all of it or even most of it. All these names and places. She suddenly felt wanting, like some berk had offered her a piece of candy then snatched it away. Her little corner of London seemed very tiny and she couldn't decide whether that was scary or exciting. Or maybe both, like dangling from a second story window ledge.
"Have you been many places, miss?" That might be something worth more than a little extra jink, she thought. Well, a lotta extra jink.
A chance to see some place other than London. For so long the house had been her only dream, dominating her thoughts. But suddenly she found there was room up there in her idea box for more than one dream.
“A few.” Draining her cup of tea, Josephine stretched out belly down on the floor and drew in the rest of the map. “France. Belgium. Holland. Baden. Wurttemberg. Bavaria. Switzerland. Parts of Italy, Austria, Hungary and Romania. Mostly Europe, but I saw Sicily once, and Malta. Nearly made it to Greece, but had to turn back.”
She quickly drew the places in on the map. When she finished drawing Europe and the Mediterranean, she drew northern Africa and the Arabian Peninsula. “Down here is the aforementioned Morocco. Algeria. Tunis. Libya. Egypt. The Turks hold most of this area to the east.” She traced the Ottoman Empire with a finger, then sketched it in and added the Black Sea and the Caspian. “You might have heard about the Crimea. That’s here,” she said, drawing in that contentious spit of land. “And north of that is Russia, all the way up to here.” Josephine drew in the rough outline of the monolithic country and added the Baltic Sea.
“On the Baltic coast and Russia’s border are the Kingdoms of Norway and Sweden. I’ve yet to go there, but I’ve met a few from those lands. Their sense of humor is a sneaky one. And here are the Prussians.” She drew the boundaries of the Prussian territory as she could best recall it. Which might very well change tomorrow, she thought privately. They are ambitious. Her recent work against Rembecki might have dealt the Prussians and their allies a major blow, but she wasn’t entirely convinced it was a fatal one. She kept her thoughts from her face, however. They weren’t the point of the current exercise. She frowned at the map and tapped her pencil on her lip.
“I really should invest in a good map. Several, actually. They really help you see the bigger picture. A globe, too.” She sighed and looked up at Evie with a wry grin. “I could probably paper my walls floor to ceiling with maps and never understand everything there is in the world. But it would be fun to try.” Josephine rose and dusted herself off and refilled both their cups with tea.
“What about you, Evie? I’d wager good coin you could draw up a few wicked sharp maps of London that even the Ordnance Survey wouldn’t think of.”
How could so many places exist in the world? Evie ran her finger across the map, tracing lines from name to name as Miss Josephine mentioned them. Where her finger crossed pencil, it smudged a little from the oil on her finger. Each spot became a place in her mind, somewhere where she'd visit one day, when she bought her house and was living in comfort away from the grime and filth of the city.
When Miss Josephine asked her about London maps, she nodded in agreement but was still enthralled with the black lines of the quickly sketched pencil map. She wanted to memorize all the names to give herself something to think about tonight when she got back to her kip and curled up in a corner with Char. Then she stopped and listened to herself. What're you saying, you sodding fool? Two visits with this woman, and you're completely losing focus. They're just names and lines, and they're getting in the way of the real goal. She sat up and took a sip of tea. When she was done, the almost girlish smile was gone and she was back to being serious again.
"If you need me to collect a little whisper and breath around London, now that I can do. I know that much, I do."
Josephine took in Evie’s rapt expression as the girl pored over the map, her fingers tracing the lines and names, her lips curled in a little feline smile. In that instant Josephine understood what drove her mother to teach and why her father shared his knowledge with her. It was an epiphany, bright and sharp like pain: it was love, not the same love for her parents or her infatuations with the men she’d encountered in her life, but it was no less intense. A warm glow began to burn in her chest and Josephine set herself to cutting the bread and cheese to give herself time to recover.
Never get emotionally involved, Jo, came her father’s advice from their talks. When recruiting an asset, you must be kind and supportive and loyal but you cannot let sentiment get in the way. These are people whose lives you will risk for the mission and you must be objective to issue the order that will send them to their deaths. You cannot do that if you send off a piece of you with them. There will be nothing of you left.
It may be too late for that, Father, Josephine whispered to his memory. Whether she knows it or not, wise or unwise, I feel she’s already mine.
But she remembered her father’s advice on how to handle a new recruit and resolved to take it slow. It would be easy at this juncture to move too quickly, to smother the girl with attention and obligations of friendship, when Evie needed the assurance her liberty was not at risk. So Josephine took firm hold of her emotions and shoved them into a box and locked them down tight. When she returned with a plate of cheese sandwiches, she had herself in hand again and sat down beside the street thief if they’d been discussing nothing more important than the weather. She realized Evie had said something and pulling it from memory Josephine answered it as if her attention hadn’t been elsewhere.
“Thank you for that. I could use anything you give me, even if it’s the going price for fish in Limehouse. Sometimes random facts lead to other facts until everything falls into place. Like tipping dominoes, all it takes is a little push.”
As she spoke, Josephine noticed a shift in Evie. The light had gone out of her eyes and her smile was gone. What happened? Josephine wondered as an alarm started ringing deep down inside. Careful. Don’t lose her.
“Sandwich?” she asked, offering up the bread and cheese.
Evie nodded and reached forward to grab one of the sandwiches. She was hungry but hadn't wanted to ask for food. It felt too much like begging to her sensibilities. Besides which, she didn't need to owe. If she got to asking for food, then she'd get to expecting food, and that was the squirrely path to ruin, as sure as could be. She munched on the sandwich and the rumbling in her belly slowly ground to a halt.
"So you'll tell me what you want? Or should I just stumble until I figure it out?" She wanted to try and keep it business like. Miss Josephine seemed nice and all, but people often seemed nice before they showed their second face.
“Yes, I will tell you what I need when I know it. I won’t send you out blind, Evie. That would be sheer stupidity. However if you happen to hear anything interesting in the between times, I would be interested in hearing it. As to what constitutes interesting ….” Josephine trailed off as she ate her sandwich, considering it.
It would be best, she decided, to start small. If Evie ever caught on to the fact that the arena Josephine intended to play in was as large as the entire world, the girl would have none of it. Not at this stage.
It’s a seduction, Jo, her father said many years ago when she finally found him in Bavaria. You dangle the idea in front of them like a fish before a cat and convince them they are doing something good. Either for their country as patriots or against their country as spies, it’s still the same—you are using people to pry into secrets for you. Some will do it out of love for their homeland, some out of bitterness or greed. Find their weakness, exploit it, and they will be yours … but only if they believe it was their own idea first.
After a moment she asked, “Have you ever wondered sometimes how some people always seem to know when the next big thing has arrived and they always seem poised to capitalize on it? Or how news of something scandalous that was held in secret somehow always makes its way out? It always starts with something that someone let slip and it takes on a life of its own. I suppose I want to be the one who catches that slip. Only the things I’m looking for aren’t your usual money-making schemes or bedroom peccadilloes. I’m looking for things that could head off events that could hurt this city and the people in it. People like me … and you.”
The way Miss Josephine phrased it, doing what she wanted would be just like watching her own back, except helping Josephine watch her back would be helping a whole lot of other people at the same time. It struck Evie that Miss Josephine was asking her to be a hero. Of sorts. She tried the idea on for size and found she didn't mind the feel of it. If she could help people AND herself and get a small pile of jink along the way, she'd have to be a bleeding fool not to take advantage.
"It'll be like picking people's pockets, but for information instead of jink, the way I see it."
“Absolutely,” Josephine said, saluting Evie with her teacup, that warm feeling back again despite her efforts to banish it. “Information takes many forms and likewise requires many methods to obtain it. After all, a composer does not write a symphony for a single instrument. He employs a variety of them, each suited to the play the part as needed. So, some information can be had for mere money. Some must be culled from public sources like the newspapers or books. Some of it can be gleaned through skillful conversation. And some of it must be stolen—usually by a third party and usually for money though sometimes there are other reasons—or acquired by blackmail. The high-ups do it all the time. They call it politics.”
Governments do it, too. They call it espionage. But it was too soon to tell her that. If Evie showed the promise Josephine suspected she possessed, then and only then would she show the girl her hand. The class warfare card should be sufficient for the nonce and Josephine would watch her carefully to see how far she would go on it.
"Well, I'll be like a shadow in the wind, Miss Josephine. As long you're handing out the coin, I'll be listening," she said in-between bites of sandwich. Then something Miss Josephine said tugged at the back of her head, bringing up old memories of her mother's stories.
"Have you ever heard one?" Evie asked, curiosity tingeing her voice. "A symphony, I mean. My mother said it was like glory straight to your soul."
“Yes,” Josephine said, her eyes going distant. “Once or twice, here and there. I caught part of a choir once, during a cathedral service in France. It was … transcendent.” She closed her eyes and recalled how the notes soared and reverberated through the nave, lifting the listener closer to heaven. Even now, years later, it had the power to make her heart ache. She breathed deeply against it and opened her eyes. “Your mother is right. It is glorious.”
"Was right, miss," Evie corrected with a little hitch in her throat. It had been eight years, six months and three days now since the morning where she had woke up and her mama hadn't. Sometimes she had a hard time remembering exactly what she was like; the color of her eyes, the feel of her hands, the sound of her voice. Evie had gotten it in her head that it would make it easier if she couldn't remember. Somehow, it only made it harder.
She thought about her mother standing in their little room, singing in the sunbeam that would occasionally peek in through the window. It would catch her fur in just the right way and it was like she was shining. "She did love her music, she did."
“I’m sorry, Evie. It’s never an easy thing to lose someone you love.” It was an overture of solidarity and though ill-advised at this point in their association, Josephine could not help but respond to Evie’s pain. The loss of her own mother had been devastating and her father’s unknown status among living still tormented her when she allowed herself to dwell on it.
"What don't kill us, right?" Evie forced herself to shrug and take the final bite of sandwich, even though it went down her throat like lead. Miss Josephine was nice or seemed that way, but she didn't really know Evie, did she? And spilling her guts now would be like picking any sod's house to burgle - pile of risk without nearly enough prospects of shine at the end.
"So when do I start, miss? I'm anxious to be earning my coin." And seeing whether Miss Josephine was really interested in giving it out.
“As soon as you’d like. Is it possible to report back to me once a week? Say, this time Wednesday next? Even if you don’t have anything, I would like to know how you’re getting on.” Josephine knew such solicitude might put the wind up Evie’s back but as her handler, she was responsible for her welfare. Based on everything she’d observed so far, she knew the girl would never to ask for anything on her behalf, no matter how pressing her need, and any aid she accepted aside from coin would have to be offered by Josephine first. Speaking of coin …. Josephine pulled a shilling from an inner pocket and held it out to her. “This should help toward expenses until then.”
Evie snatched the coin away away from her hand and started to slip into one of her many inner pockets when she forced herself to stop. Just because you ain't sure about Miss Josephine's intentions, Eglantine Varney, that's no soddin' excuse for acting like an ungrateful berk. She held the coin tightly in front of her with two hands (what, someone's going to nab it from the thief?) and looked up at Miss Josephine. "Thank you, miss," she said in a firm voice. "I don't want you getting any ideas that I don't have thanks in me for what you're doing. Just been a long time since I needed to say it."
Josephine had been expecting something of the sort, so she didn’t blink when Evie snatched the coin. The girl had that feral look to her, that relentless caution that came of being loved and then abandoned. It took Josephine a long time to forgive her mother for dying without warning and she intimately understood the heartbreak Evie endured. She could see the marks. All Evie had for armor against it was her touchy adolescent pride.
“You’re welcome. If you need to get in touch with me before then …,” Josephine trailed off as she rummaged through an old tea tin she kept on the shelf. “Where is that thing? Ha!” she crowed and held up a stub of something blue in her fingers. “Here, take this with you.”
Evie now slipped the coin into a pocket and leaned forward trying to figure out exactly what Miss Josephine had in her hand. It was small and it was blue but that was about all she could make out. Her curiosity started to rise. She bleeding hated that curiosity killed the cat thing, but she had to admit it was probably true for her. There had probably been a handful of houses she had snuck into just to look closer at some prized possession that would catch Evie's attention through a window. "What is that?" she asked.
“It’s a greasepaint stick. It’s used on the stage for make-up.” Josephine mimed applying it to her face. “It’s also waterproof, making it just the thing for outdoor use. If I’m not here when you come by, mark my doorknob like this ….” She demonstrated on the knob of her office door, a small dash centered at the top. “For instance, that’s for twelve o’clock, when you made the mark. That way I’ll know when you came by. Now, where would be a good place for me to meet you when I see that mark?”
Evie had to think for a minute or so about what might work for a clandestine meeting. And then it came to her and she nodded to herself. "How about the sixes a couple of blocks over? The dead don't shiver you, right?" It was quiet among the grounds, with plenty of places to hide and be secreted. Plus, so many people just didn't like being with the dead. But Evie didn't mind. The dead listened better than the living and if you wanted to know the dark of it, they were probably nicer. Evie wouldn't want to make her kip there, but it'd be perfect for a meeting in the shadows.
“That’s by the workhouse.” It took Josephine a second to decipher the jargon. “I know it. Don’t wait for me there for more than an hour. Pull back and try again the following day if I don’t show inside that time, all right?”
Evie nodded emphatically. "Not like I want to spend more than that waiting on anyone." She reached out for the grease paint stick and when she took it, she rubbed it between her fingers to get the feel of it. One of these would be handy to mark houses for nighttime forays. In fact, this one could be handy for that. Evie smiled a little and slipped it into another pocket. "So, 1:45 every Wednesday on the dot of it?"
“Deal,” Josephine said and stuck out her hand.
Evie nodded and shook Miss Josephine's hand. "Until the road ends," she confirmed as a small smile crossed her face.
“Until it ends,” Josephine echoed. “Partner.”
When Miss Josephine called her partner, the small smile on Evie's face briefly became a big one before she reined it in. "Partner then, Miss Josephine."
Evie thought maybe that word was one she could get used to hearing.
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