Wednesday's Child
Andy dreamt up Evie and let her come out and play. Evie's simply stellar, as you will see when you read on--Maer.
Wednesday, 06 Nov 1867
The streets of London
6:00 A.M.
Josephine had planned to spend the day walking London with the goal of learning it. Fresh from a fortnight with Katherine in Yorkshire and returned only yesterday from a less accommodating visit to Birmingham, she’d left her mews at first light, eager to work off the restlessness that hours of rail travel inflicted. One of the costermongers who plied her narrow street had turned corner at the far end and was shouting his wares. She heard him before she saw him: the city was enveloped in a foul yellow-green fog so thick Josephine could not see the pavement under her boots. She had not believed her eyes looking out her window upon rising but stepping outside had not changed the state of affairs. It was truly miserable outside. She’d taken the precaution of donning her harness and wearing her full complement of weapons, including her sword. She checked it now. Yes, her fingers wrapped around its grip easily. Her long leather coat hid it from view, hiding as well as the fisherman’s sweater and jodhpurs she wore, the better to traverse the city on foot. A hat hid her hair, pinned up inside, and with her coat collar turned up, she was armored from the fog and whatever prying eyes could manage to spy on her in the murk. While a clear day might have afforded her a better chance at memorizing the details of the city on sight, a day such as this offered its own challenges and rewards, as well as its dangers, and Josephine was eager to explore them.
After buying apples from the coster for a tuppence, she struck south, toward the Thames. The river would be a fixed point in her navigation and hard to miss in the fog. Going was slow, however, and crossing the streets was dangerous. Cabs and carriages appeared out of nowhere, threatening pedestrians attempting to cross. The fog muffled the noise of their approach, much like snow would, and Josephine had to listen hard as she negotiated her way to the river.
By the time she’d gone a half mile, she’d twice narrowly missed death under a cab’s wheels and her eyes, nose, and throat were burning from the noxious atmosphere. She tasted sulfur on her tongue and surmised that the coal fires of the countless chimneys and smokestacks of London were the cause. Dear God, Father wasn’t exaggerating. It really is damned near impenetrable. All around her the city was waking up and the cries, calls, and shrieks of man and machine alike rose with the sun. The din made it difficult to track the footsteps of her fellow pedestrians with her ears. Josephine had no doubt that such weather would be a boon to the criminal classes. Shop fronts and stalls would be vulnerable to robbery, as would street vendors of any stripe. Cutpurses and footpads would run free this day, robbing those on foot with impunity—after all, one cannot chase down what one cannot see.
Josephine kept a hand on the walls to her right and counted her corners, straining her memory of the alleys and the court entrances, the intersections of the streets and thoroughfares to the utmost. By the time she made it to the Thames, she was sweating and in dire need of a place to rest.
Buck up. Turn left and there should be a tea shop two more crossings beyond.
Farther than that, her rudimentary knowledge of London failed. The stink of the river was sharp in her nostrils, adding its flavor to the bite of the fog and taking her hand off the wall, Josephine faced left and stepped forward to find the curb.
Evie made her way through the streets, the pea soup of London fog slowing down what should have been a quick pace. Her feline-like ears pricked up as she tried to listen for the sounds of pedestrians making their way through the streets, listening for a potentially easy target. But she couldn't make out hardly anything and she felt sorely out of practice. She stumbled a little on an unseen piece of uneven cobblestone and silently cursed herself for her own stubborness.
Eglantine Varney, you've put yourself in a real tight spot. Taken all your advantages away from yourself, you have.
Why was she even out here in this hellish muck? If she waited til night, she'd able to see the poor sods she planned to bob a little jink off of and they'd be as blind as a bat, none the wiser. But all the people with their heavy purses jingling like sweet bells would be out during the working hours and she was going to need the extra coin for some supplies. You could have brought Char and he would've been able to guide you some, she chided herself a little more. But she hadn't wanted to expose Char to this mess. Bad enough that she chose to walk through it. The little dragon deserved better than that. And besides, she had a second story job planned in a couple of days. Char needed to be fresh for that. This was just to put some skills right that she had let rot the last few months.
As she turned the corner, she got a glimpse of someone struggling to make their way through the fog. Dressed in a leather coat, her potential target was short enough to be a woman, but dressed more like a man, at least what she could see. Ain't no matter, she thought. Man or woman, they won't mind giving up the money what's rightfully mine. She might be out of practice but she still knew how to nick a purse off a cutter without getting noticed. She moved up into position and waited for her moment.
A lamppost loomed to her left, a solid presence in the fog and two steps forward she could sense the curb. Josephine heard a horse approaching from the right accompanied by the sound of wheels growling on the cobbles. A hansom, she thought, and going slowly. She waited for it to pass and hearing nothing else in the way of traffic, she crossed to the opposite corner as quickly as she dared. A wet splash and the hard line of the pavement’s edge marked the gutter and Josephine avoided stumbling by a cat’s whisker. Safe on the other side, she suppressed a sigh and put her hand out for the building she knew would be waiting for her, listening hard to her environment, picking out the other pedestrians and possible hazards from the din of the city.
Evie shadowed her target as they crossed the road, keeping as close as she dared, her footsteps as quiet as the cat she resembled. When her target almost stumbled on the step right in front of her, Evie decided on her tactic right then and there. She quickly moved forward and then threw herself into the unknown personage, as if she had stumbled on the same curb they had narrowly avoided.
“Excuse me, sir,” she cried out in a overly high pitched voice designed to distract her target while her hands quickly darted over every inch she could reach, looking for the coin to slip in her own pockets.
Her other senses heightened by the deprivation of sight, the whisper of grit grinding under a shoe was Josephine’s only warning before a warm body collided with her. She felt a light touch like a butterfly’s kiss under her jacket and a female voice pierced the air, protesting innocence even as the pickpocket searched her thoroughly and quickly. Understanding flashed through Josephine then and playing the part she’d been given, she lowered her voice, hoarsened it, and grasped the thief’s arms as if offering support.
“S’ere naow, Miss. Wot’cher step.” Nothing up her sleeves. Josephine slid her grip down the other’s arms to hold both hands in greeting, trapping whatever the thief had managed to nick between her palms. As she spoke, Josephine moved forward, forcing the thief to backpedal to avoid falling over. “Tha’ were a fair tip ye took. Are ye ’urt?”
Queen's spit! Sloppy didn't even begin to describe her technique. Never again would she let herself go so long without plying her trade. But now that she'd failed the dive, nothing for it but to find her hatch out. She quickly, in under a second, spun through the possibilities.
Cop to it and plead for mercy? Unlikely to find mercy in anyone tough enough or brain bent to walk in this fog.
Fight and flee? Possible, but she didn't want to draw no blood if there weren't no need.
Play the offended lady, demand to be let go? It'd work....until he got a look at her. Then he'd need to be already deep in his cup not to realize what she was.
That left Evie her old favorite, the Angelface. She had done it often enough that it ought to be second nature by now. That lift was second nature once too, love, her inner voice happily reminded her. She packed the inner voice back down where it belonged and set out to get herself out of this mess she had gotten into.
"Dreadfully sorry, sir." Evie made sure her voice was apologetic enough to satisfy even the most demanding of tyrants. Then she made a show of looking down to where her hands still clasped the man's wallet. "Drop your wallet, sir? Must have juggled loose in the collision." She bumped her language up some. Most people thought those what spoke good certainly wouldn't rob them blind, as if the high ups didn't rob 'em blind everyday without having to lift a finger. Then she looked up and made her best innocent face. The whole plan relied on the mark not wanting to have call the constables over, especially when he had gotten his coinage back. Or if he did call 'em over, being off guard enough to give her the chance to slip them both. She, after all, was faster than any block walker around here.
But the face was the key and she did it better than any cross-trader she knew. She widened her smile a little and waited for her arms to be set free.
The uplifted syntax caught Josephine’s attention and she swept the girl head to toe with a look. Well, as best as I can in this murk. Good thing we’re close. Dropping all pretense, Josephine took back her wallet and slipped it into her waistband under her sweater. Her coin thus secured she folded the girl’s hand in the crook of her left arm while maintaining a grip on it with her right and said in her normal woman’s voice, “Come with me and have a cuppa. There’s a place just ahead that should suit. It would save us dealing with the police, will it not?”
Evie started to get a little pit in her stomach. She had played this wrong the whole way through. The man was a woman, not just that. A woman who had pretended to be a man when she was about to get peeled. Despite what the woman said, Evie couldn't see any path that led out of this without getting the police involved. Who would take care of Char if she got nicked? That irritating little inner voice chimed in again to remind her that she should thought of that before.
Now her only chance was to wait for a moment to bolt. She'd have to stay alert for her chance. Once she got free, there would be no chasing her down and no more taking stupid chances. But for now, she just put her head down and played the poor ragamuffin who didn't know any better. "Yes, mum, as you say," she let choke out, the fear in her voice only partially faked.
Josephine had felt the tremor run through the girl and knew she’d been poised on the verge of flight before capitulating. She gave the girl’s hand a gentle squeeze, detecting half-fingered gloves through the leather of her own. Something odd about the tips … Focus, Jo. You’ve only one chance. Don’t botch it and frighten her. Aloud, she said. “Yes. I find it is friendlier with two.”
So saying, Josephine struck off for the tea shop she’d spied on previous jaunts through the city. She kept a careful grip on the girl’s hand, not so tight as to make the girl fear being spirited away by slavers but firm enough to keep her from bolting easily.
“Please forgive my appearance. I dressed for practicality rather than convention. I would not wish to be fouled with cumbersome skirts if I had to move out of the way of a cab, for instance. I’ve been clipped by one before and it is not an experience I should wish to repeat.”
Josephine let the girl answer or not as she wished and concentrated on the way ahead. She also kept her ears sharp for any sound of pursuit. It had not slipped her mind that thieves sometimes worked in tandem and this girl might prove no exception. Still, there wasn’t a thief in the world who wanted the police involved, not when caught red-handed plying their trade, and it was rare for any accomplices to follow lest they risk capture. In the immediate moment, Josephine could hold the threat of the law over the girl’s head, but she wanted to try a different tactic first.
The jangling of a bell and the sudden outpouring of raucous speech and clattering dishes warned Josephine she was close to her destination. Ahead, the fog brightened and shadows moved against the glow. The noise muffled just as quickly as it appeared and the glow dimmed—the tea shop door falling shut as customers left. It was enough to guide her steps and Josephine got them there without overshooting her mark.
“Stay close,” she said to the girl and pushed the door open with her booted toe.
Light and warmth and smoke and steam poured over them and Josephine had to step lively to avoid a serving girl carrying a tray stacked high with dishes. The shop was crowded with patrons seeking shelter from the fog, sucking down tea and in some cases, spirits brought along for the occasion, and eating what the shop had on offer. It was more a tavern than tea shop, its menu more substantial than the dainties served in the fashionable sections of London. And that suited Josephine fine. She’d worked up an appetite during her walk and she was certain the girl with her must be hungry. Street folk often were.
Josephine wound through the tables, eyeing the patrons as she passed, alert for trouble. They were drawing some stares. Josephine knew her attire was odd for a woman but for once, she wasn’t the object of scrutiny. The girl with her was. Josephine held her head high, refusing to look. It would only lend substance to the suspicions she knew must be forming around the room. The noise from the patrons certainly grew quieter in their wake. Josephine made for a table in the corner as if she owned the place and sat both of them down with their backs to the wall. If they want to stare, let them. We can stare back.
Speaking of staring …
Josephine let her gaze travel across the room as if looking for service, before letting it rest on her chance-met companion. What she’d mistaken for skin tanned by the weather in the murk she saw now was the finest tan fur and what she’d thought was an exaggerated hair bow were a pair of prominent feline ears. Green eyes glittered back to her from a kittenish face. Her features were more human than feline, as was the rest of her save for her ears, vestigial whiskers, and her fingertips, which Josephine checked in the brighter light of the shop—they had retractable claws and the girl’s half-fingered gloves suddenly made more sense. Overall, the girl was dressed in the clothes of a lower class street urchin aping her middle class betters and everything was tattered from hard use. That much Josephine was able to take in before one of the staff, a matronly woman who must have seen everything the world could throw at her pulled up to take their order. The talk at the tables immediately around them rose in volume and people who had stopped to stare turned around to mind their own business.
“Waddle it be, luv?” the woman said, her voice roughened by hardship and gin.
“Tea, a big pot for the both of us,” Josephine said with her brightest smile and went on to order everything she’d seen on her way to their table. “Two full breakfasts. Extra rasher of bacon. Oat porridge with honey. Sugar and cream, too, if you have it.” Josephine picked up the creamer from the table and handed it to the woman, slipping her a shilling underneath. “This one’s empty.”
It wasn’t, but it made for a polite fiction. And the coin was welcome. She could see it in the woman’s eyes. Josephine waited until the woman left before stretching her legs under the table and leaning back in her chair. She shifted to leave her sword ready to hand and tugged her cuffs to check her knives. Everything is where it should be. On to the puzzle.
“I apologize for dragging you off the street without a by-your-leave, but I confess I wanted a hot drink and you looked as if you could stand a hot meal.” Josephine said, keeping her voice low for privacy. Activity in the tea shop picked up and the patrons went back to eating and drinking, apparently satisfied that they were no threat. She held out her hand. “I’m Josephine. Pleased to meet you.”
Evie kept her mouth shut on the way to the tea shop. So far she hadn't any luck and she didn't see any reason to push it any farther by opening her gob and letting whatever was rolling around in her brain box come tumbling out. She couldn't put a finger on what this woman wanted out of her. She had her money back but she didn't seem to want the police. She tweren't nobility but she also wasn't wanting - her well maintained clothing contrasted sharply with Evie's well worn pants and shirt. Her pants alone had multiple patches and it was only because Old Woman Francine had a hankering for fixing things that they even had those instead of holes. This woman confused Evie and she didn't like being confused. And the longer they walked, the more unsettled she became.
When they entered the tea shop, the woman told her to stay close, but she needn't have bothered. Evie was used to the disdain and the hate in people's eyes for what she was. Like they were any better. Ugly on the inside, she thought and the idea of it calmed her down. Those normal folks might look at her like she was the devil himself, but when she glared back at them, she was on comfortable ground again.
Then the woman sat them with their backs to the wall (which Evie approved of) and ordered them breakfast. Her stomach rumbled at the words being spoken. She ate better than most of her competitors, simply because she was better than them. But eating better than them wasn't eating as much as she'd like. And it certainly wasn't eating enough to avoid being hungry all the time. The thought of bacon made her mouth water. But it quickly dried up when she tried to figure why her mark (former mark, you sloppy girl, the helpful inner voice spoke up) was trying to bribe her with food. A lot of thoughts ran through her head, none of them pleasant. She'd rather die or rot in a cage than be forced to sell her body for someone else's profit.
And then she caught eye of the sword and the glint of metal from the woman's cuffs. This woman had more blades than most of the knife men she knew, and they scribed people for a living. Evie didn't have any more clue who this woman was, but she knew the time for pretending was over. This woman knew what she was, no doubts. It actually relieved Evie a little. She was right good at pretending to be someone she wasn't. But that didn't mean she had to like it. So when the woman introduced herself as Josephine, she decided to not sugar coat what she felt.
She took the extended hand and shook it firmly. "I don't know you, Miss Josephine, so you can call me Evie. And the pleasure is all yours, I'm sure."
“It needn’t be all mine,” Josephine said before she could stop herself, stung. But did you really expect any different, Jo? Look at her, for heaven’s sake, perched in that chair as if it might eat her any minute, looking at the room as if it’s a den full of lions … the room looking at her as if she were an abomination. The tea arrived and Josephine busied herself with pouring two cups. She pushed the cream and sugar closer to the girl and took her tea plain. Watching Evie closely, Josephine reviewed the girl’s response to her introduction and decided to reply in kind. “I can see you’d rather deal plainly. So I’ll make this plain. I think you could help me and that I could help you. If you’d like, I can tell you more while we eat and if you’re not interested in my offer, you can leave. I won’t tell the police what happened. You’ll simply go your way and I’ll go mine. Does that sound fair?”
Josephine settled back in her chair and blew on her tea. She hoped she’d said just enough to pique Evie’s interest and not so much as to frighten the girl away. She thought back to the summer she’d spent watching her father in the bierhallen and taverns of southern Germany, sounding people out, coaxing information out of them while appearing to be nothing more than a chance-met drinking companion. Tea isn’t beer and London isn’t Germany, Jo. Neither is Evie an innocent. Trust won’t be easy for her. Go slowly. So she crossed her ankles and let loose a long sigh, her shoulders sagging as she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. If Evie was inclined to bolt, now would be a good opportunity and Josephine listened intently to see what the girl would do.
It was the first opportunity she had been given to run and her instincts were screaming at her to take it. But she forced herself to look around and evaluate the situation. All the people sitting at their tables, eating their food, living their normal life....if she bolted, one of them would do their duty and try and stop the filthy criminal beastie. She might escape but she might have the police called in. And then she really would be scragged.
And then there was this Josephine. Evie looked over at her, leaning back with her eyes closed, like this was something she did every day. For all you know, Eglantine Varney, she does do this every day. And what kind of woman carried that kind of sharp with her in the daylight? She might have her eyes closed, but Evie was betting that this woman would know the minute Evie tried to make a break for it. And then Evie'd be writ into the dead book for sure.
She eyed the tea and Josephine again and then made a decision. If she was going to have her name scribed in the black pages, she didn't want to be hungry when it happened. She picked up the cream and poured a hefty dollop into her tea. She then extended her claws and stabbed three lumps of sugar and dropped them in her cup. Let 'em look, she thought defiantly. I am what I am and I ain't ashamed of it. And then she stabbed a fourth cube furtively and dropped it in before stirring it up and taking a long sip. It was all she could do not to melt there in her chair. She couldn't remember the last time she had good tea.
Evie then put her cup down with a loud clatter to make sure Josephine was paying attention. "I'll eat your food," she confirmed grudgingly. It didn't cost her any jink out of her pocket to listen. And just because she ate the food in front of her didn't mean she couldn't stay peery about the whole deal. She took another gulp of tea and waited for the woman to make her pitch.
Josephine heard the liquid plop! of the sugar hitting Evie’s tea and victory sang in her veins like sunshine. She kept all indication of it from her face, however, and Evie’s comment proved her instincts had been right. She still had to convince the girl she meant her no harm.
No harm? How harmless is the work you want her to do, Jo? Grown men, never mind children, die doing it, her inner critic whispered. Just like your father did …
And I’m sure he had this conversation with himself whenever he recruited someone, too. Josephine silently snarled back. Shut up!
She kept her expression smooth and listened to the room instead of her inner demons and opened her eyes at the sound of footsteps approaching their table. It was the unflappable woman who had taken their order. She drew some looks from the other patrons, those who divined the destination for all that food and were curious to see what happened to it. Josephine let them look. It was a public place, after all, and looking cost no one their dignity. And that only if you let it.
“Thank you,” Josephine beamed at the woman, then pulled Evie’s plate closer to the girl. The full breakfast at this establishment apparently lived up to its name. The plate was heavy with eggs (scrambled), sausage both blood and meat, bacon, toast sliced thick and golden brown with butter. Wonder of wonders, there was even a slice of tomato, hot and sizzling, tucked in the corner. Breathing deeply over her own plate, Josephine picked up her fork and said with a grin, “Dig in.”
Evie wouldn't say she had never seen that much food in her life, but it was definitely the most food she had seen at one time. Her stomach begged her to start shoveling it in a handful at a time, but she was better than that. She had more control than that. If she could wait for hours for a guard to go on break, then she could make herself eat the heaping pile one bite at a time. She picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite, the crispy slice crumbling into bits of flavor in her mouth. It was just like she remembered it tasting. The bacon alone was almost the end of her willpower, but she forced herself to pick up the fork next to her plate and use it to stab various pieces. First, the eggs, then the sausage, then the tomato. After about 5 or 6 bites, each bite tasting better than the last, her pace had gone from measured to near frantic, but she prided herself on making sure she used the fork for everything except for the bacon and toast. She even managed to force herself to stop for a sip of tea every so often.
As she ate, she decided that the food had at least bought the woman where Evie's boundaries were. After swallowing another bite of eggs, she stated firmly, "I ain't going to turn stag on fellow knights of the cross-trade and I ain't no penceskirt. Even if I was, it wouldn't be with the ladies." The woman didn't look like the type to play the curves instead of handling the stick, but Evie knew appearances were made to deceive. She started to put a bit of sausage in her mouth then realized she had forgotten something. Still holding the fork in the air, she continued, "And I won't be killin' nobody unless its me or them. God says it's wrong." That about covered it, she thought as she put the bite in her mouth and waited for the woman to tell Evie what she wanted.
Josephine took her time pouring cream and sugar on her porridge before taking it up, thinking how best to explain what she wanted. Evie had stated her boundaries and they were pretty much where Josephine expected: the girl had integrity and of a sort she knew she could work with.
“True.” Josephine tested a spoonful of porridge, found it just right and downed a few before continuing. “You could have knifed me on that street corner and I would never have seen it coming. You could have robbed me blind and left me to die, but you didn’t. When I caught you, you could have fought me or screamed bloody murder to make me let you go, but you sized up the situation and played along until the odds were better. That tells me something about you. Something important.” She finished her porridge and set it aside and started in on her eggs. A sip of tea washed them down and Josephine pushed her plate away.
“As you probably know, everything and everyone in the world comes to London. All roads lead to it, everyone passes through it. It has countless riches changing hands, countless deals going on in backrooms and alleys—as much as anything done in Parliament. But more than money or power, this city runs on information and I need to know this city, Evie. I need to know it like the back of my hand. I can’t chase everything down on my own. I can’t be everywhere at once. It’s too big. I need help. I need extra eyes and ears. And that is where you come in. If I am to help people, I need to work smarter instead of simply harder.”
Josephine propped her elbows on the table, sipped her tea, and watched Evie over the rim of her cup as the words sank in. Now’s the moment, Jo. You either have her or you don’t.
Evie mulled over what Josephine had said, closing her eyes as she thought . A lot of her words were pointless praise designed to soften Evie up, but she knew better than to pay attention to that. No, the real meat to tear into was after that.
"Helping who and helping how? Lots of people say they're helpers but they ain't out for nobody but themselves when it comes to it. And that's fine, world keeps moving, but I got things to do. Got big plans and ain't going to throw them on the heap for someone that's going to use me to line their own pockets." What would come out of it for Evie would be the next question to ask, but all in good time. She still wasn't sure why she was even thinking about this. Only two things she could trust on: herself and the Lord. And she didn't put it past God to be doubledealing her.
She’s got plans. What kind? How big? Can I use that? Josephine felt a tingle of excitement but remained calm and focused. It would never do to appear too eager.
“That’s a good question and a smart one. I want to help those no one else will, because they have no one to speak for them. I’m sure you know who I mean. The woman sacked from her position on false accusations of stealing but is too poor to hire a solicitor to hear her case. The man forced to pay his last copper toward protection money when he needs it to feed his family. The girls who get beaten because they can’t sell themselves fast enough to make a nightly quota in coin.”
Josephine knew she was treading dangerous ground. Those in the cross-trade were as much the perpetrators as they were victims of the crimes she mentioned and Evie had already said she wouldn’t turn evidence on her fellow cross-traders. But her personal injunction against wanton killing made Josephine hopeful that Evie might yet make the distinction between victimizer and victim.
“I am interested in justice, Evie. Information is key to that.” Information was key to quite a lot of things outside strict jurisprudence and Josephine was interested in those too. But it is best to start small and work your way up. “Information is leverage and with the right lever, you can move the world.”
Justice was nice and all, Evie supposed. After all, her mother coulda used some justice back when. But that was the past and this was the now and justice didn't put food on her plate. Then she looked down at the remains of breakfast on her plate and wondered if maybe it did. If she had known she coulda gotten regular meals out of it, she might have gotten into the justice business a while back. But she needed to know more. She wouldn't climb in a 3rd floor window without knowing the dark of what waited for her on the other side. This weren't no different.
"A lot of blabber about information, but you ain't handing much of it out. What kind of information? How I am supposed to get it? And more down to it, what's it worth to me?" Her whiskers twitched as she stared at Josephine. She probably expected Evie to work out of the goodness, but that couldn't fly. If that was the case, she'd stand up and see if this justice woman valued her word as much as she did information.
Good. Not easily swayed by pretty words.
“Money,” Josephine said without hesitation. “It may be the root of a lot of evil, but it also facilitates a lot of good. As for how you’d earn it, I need you to keep your ears and eyes open for any funny business. Funny business being anything that is out of place, that doesn’t fit. Just listen and remember where you heard it and who said it. Or if it’s something you’ve seen, commit it to memory and describe it to me later. More often than not, I will be looking for something and you can lend me your eyes and ears. But not your hands. On no account should you go digging on your own. That’s my job.” Josephine leaned in, her voice steely. “You’re not to risk your life, Evie. You’re too valuable for that.”
"I ain't valuable to no one but myself, miss, but you can trust I got no desire to be blooded." She was happy to pocket some extra jink for keeping her eyes open. And if Josephine didn't want to use Evie's hands, her loss. Evie was going to be the best there was at what she did, if she wasn't already. There were second story men with more experience, but there weren't none with her patience and skill.
She pointed at the glint of metal in Josephine's cuffs and then at the sword under her coat. "You got the steel, you can spill the blood. Fine by me."
"I won't unless I have to. But you're a woman and it's a man's world and I'm sure you understand the score." Josephine refreshed her tea and judged it was time to back off on her pitch.
“If you’re still interested, meet me next week.” Josephine tugged her cuffs down and palmed the shilling she’d stashed in her sheath straps. She hid it under one of her newly minted business cards and slid both under the lip of Evie’s plate. “Address is on the back, with the time.”
Josephine lifted the pot and nodded to Evie’s cup.
“More tea?”
She nodded to the offer of more tea as she picked up the business card to look at it. The shilling underneath quickly got pocketed. A shilling for eating breakfast and not shutting my ears? Either Miss Josephine had more money than she had sense or she was as barmy as they came. Either way, Evie was going to be cautious with her...but not so cautious that she wouldn't take her coin. Money spent the same way no matter where it came from. Besides, her fund wasn't going to grow if she got in the habit of turning down shillings.
With the shilling safely tucked away, Evie took a closer look at the business card, which was deep blue with the outline of an animal that ought not to be on the front. Head of a bird with what looked to be the body of a lion or some other big cat. When she flipped it over, she saw an address she recognized. Certainly not in her normal haunts, but if she was invited, people wouldn't be able to turn her away.
The card vanished into her clothes as deftly and quickly as the shilling before it. Then Evie tilted her head questioningly as she looked at this strange woman so interested in justice. "I got a question for ya, Miss Josephine. Why?" She plowed right on explaining before Josephine could have a chance to answer. "Why get all in a fuss about things that are the way they are? You got money and clothes and a life? What do you get out of worrying about justice?"
Evie had never had a job before but she was pretty sure that only blinkin' addle-coves talked to their boss that way. Easy come, easy go. She wanted to know. To understand.
“God gave you brains and spirit and two good hands,” Josephine said. “But thanks to the class system that rules the civilized world, you have been kept down because of who you are or where you came from. That’s wrong, Evie. I believe people should succeed or fail on their own merits without the privileged few denying everyone what they reserve for themselves. It’s hypocrisy and I loathe it. Too many in this city have been ruined by it. So I’m fighting it. One person at a time.”
Perhaps a bit over the top, but heartfelt nonetheless. So much of the abject poverty in London stemmed from what she loathed.
Evie just nodded. She understood that feeling, that need to prove that she was just as good as everyone else, although she wouldn't have called it justice. But she guessed it was pride when you felt it for yourself and justice when you felt it for someone else. But to Josephine, she simply said, "Am I your battleground, then, miss, or your blade?"
“Neither. I am looking for a partner.” Stop. You’ve told her too much too soon. So went the voice of caution. Josephine ignored it—the girl’s answer told her everything she needed to know about the girl’s potential. “Are you up for it?”
She really was barmy. "You can't have a beastie as a partner, miss." Or want one, her inner critic said. She's just going to use you. But Evie thought it might be okay to get used. If Miss Josephine wanted to use her, then Evie could use her right back. And if she didn't want to use her...
"But if you could, what then?" Evie narrowed her eyes as she gave a suspicious glare across the table.
“Why not, Evie? I’ve worked with cat people, ogres, gnomes, even Belgian Hobbits. What matters to me is your character, not your lineage.” It appalled her that Evie felt she had to discount herself on the basis of something so trivial. For most of the world it isn’t trivial, Jo. It is destiny. “But as to what then, I would treat you as I would treat anyone. With respect.”
Evie wasn't sure exactly what a Belgian Hobbit was, but she did get the idea that Miss Josephine was serious about the whole thing. She still wasn't exactly clear on what exactly being a partner meant Evie would be doing, but the what was never the important. The why and how were the things to wrap around your wrist and look at in the dark of the night when you couldn't sleep. Evie nodded and said, "I'll hold your fingers to the flame on that, Miss Josephine. But I'll be your partner, as long as you ain't forcing me to tread the straight and narrow."
“No,” Josephine chuckled quietly. “I like you just the way you are.”
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