Chapter 39
Chapter thirty-nine
London
“We’ll get off here,” Miss Wu said at the West India Dock Road, and Penny followed her off the omnibus. Miss Wu took off her suffragette sash and folded it neatly, popping it in her pocket.
“Is this it?” Penny asked, disappointed by the typically dingy East End street they had turned down.
This was the famed Limehouse Causeway, the very heart of the Asiatic Quarter? The home of smugglers, opium dealers, and dark exotic beauties?
“What did you expect? Aladdin’s cave?” Miss Wu asked.
“I don’t know,” replied Penny honestly. “This looks like any other part of London to me.”
“Look closer,” Miss Wu said quietly, preceding her down the foot path.
Penny followed—and looked.
A little card propped in the window opposite was adorned with swooping Chinese characters.
A child looked up at her from playing with a paper pinwheel as a woman called from her doorway in a language that rose and fell like birdcall, and Penny saw the child’s eyes were quite black.
A man with a little cart sizzled what appeared to be dough on sticks over a high flame. They emitted a fragrance that was most pleasing.
There was a jangle of bells, and she saw Miss Wu had pushed open a shop door and now waited for her on the threshold.
“I see it now,” said Penny, in amazement. “It wasn’t what I expected, but I see it.”
“Come in here, then,” Miss Wu offered, with small smile and a jerk of her head towards the interior.
Penny followed, and the door shut behind her with another jangle. A dozen unfamiliar scents hit her.
Above her a hundred colourful paper lanterns rustled gently. Porcelain, bamboo, chopsticks, teapots, dried chillies, cookware, joss sticks, and ink pots vied for her attention.
“Welcome to Aladdin’s cave,” Miss Wu murmured.
“Mae, are you going to introduce me to your friend?” asked the woman behind the counter. She was fair-haired and wore a high Chinese collar, and was presently occupied in measuring peppercorns for an elderly man with cued hair under his bowler.
“This is Miss Fairweather,” said Miss Wu. “This is my mother.”
“How do you do, Mrs Wu?” Penny said politely. It felt very odd to call an Englishwoman by that name.
“Miss Fairweather is a journalist, Mum, investigating anti-foreigner sentiments in London.”
Penny had expected Miss Wu to say something like Penny rescued me but she didn’t. She wondered if it had something to do with the fact that the suffragette ribbon was now tucked away in Mae’s pocket, safely out of sight.
“Well, there are certainly a lot of such sentiments these days. I’m not sure you had to come to Limehouse for that, Miss Fairweather.” Then she spoke in very convincing Chinese to the old man, who handed over some coins. They inclined their heads to each other, palms together.
“Perhaps I might narrow the scope by asking if you’ve heard of some kind of secret society—they call themselves a ‘brotherhood’?” asked Penny, as the customer left.
Mrs Wu heaved a sigh. “Oh. Them.” Mrs Wu spoke to her daughter. “Your father would be the best person to speak to, but he’s at the Mission for another hour. He’ll be stopping to get noodles after.”
Miss Wu turned to Penny. “Hungry?”
“Always,” said Penny. The scent of the fried things outside had erased the crumpets of any meaningful memory.
“Your mother’s English,” said Penny, after Miss Wu had ordered for her in Chinese at the impeccably clean and colourful restaurant Miss Wu had led her to.
Penny, who had been hoping for a den of smugglers and opium addicts, was secretly disappointed, though she was heartened by the fact that the other patrons were mainly Asiatic sailors in flat caps and sober black coats, intent on consuming very long noodles or smoking cigarettes.
A few of them stubbed theirs out on seeing ladies enter, a gallantry that surprised her.
“Actually, mum was born in China,” said Miss Wu.
“Her parents came back to England when she was a child, but she never felt really comfortable among only English people. That’s why she ended up here.
And met Father, fresh off a boat from Shanghai, looking for a Methodist chapel service. They met at the Mission.”
“And which one of them doesn’t approve of your political activities?” Penny asked.
Miss Wu sighed. “That’s my father.”
Penny made a sympathetic sound.
“It’s just because he’s worried about me,” Miss Wu said.
“These men!” Penny exclaimed. “We’d be a lot safer if they’d just stand up with us instead of worrying about us.”
“It’s a bit different for people like us,” Miss Wu said. “Have you heard of Qiu Guijin?”
“I don’t think so, but all your names sound awfully alike to me.”
“She was a Chinese suffragist.”
“Was?”
“She was arrested and tortured, and then she was beheaded—three years ago, by the Qing Imperial Army.”
“Beheaded?“ Penny exclaimed. She knew suffragettes who had been assaulted, and they’d all been harassed. Some came out of prison quite changed. But she didn’t know of any who had died for the Cause!
“Well! That would never happen in England,“ said Penny, sitting up straighter.
“Perhaps, and that’s the reason my father came here. But—it’s still not the same for people like me, Penny, not even in England,” Miss Wu said gently.
“But your mother’s an Englishwoman!” Penny objected.
“And my father’s a Chinaman,” countered Miss Wu.
“That’s why you wear those glasses in public,” said Penny.
“It makes things a little simpler.” She smiled thinly. “Especially if I’m painting a target on myself in purple and green already.”
“You oughtn’t to do that alone, you know,” Penny said. “Are you NUWSS or WSPU? Or WFL?” Seeing irritation spark in her new friend’s eyes, Penny rushed to reassure her. “I don’t think it matters a jot which you join! Only you should come to meetings.”
“Do you think I haven’t tried?” Miss Wu said tightly.
“They peered at my feet and asked if I’d taken off the bindings myself.
Qiu Guijin and her friends were training revolutionaries, Penny—teaching people to make bombs!
The people she trained are changing the world!
Your friends wanted to pat me on the head for my excellent English.
Excuse me if I don’t want to join any of your clubs. ”
“It’s not as if you are the only foreigner!
” protested Penny. She’d been accustomed to thinking of her circle as exquisitely radical, and Miss Wu made it seem rather dull all of a sudden.
“There’s the Princess Sophia Duleep Singh—she’s very vocal for suffrage and shows up practically everywhere. The police don’t touch her!”
Miss Wu made a sound in her throat. “Probably because her godmother was Queen Victoria! Do you think the police would treat me like her, a maharajah’s daughter? Do you think I’d even get the same treatment as Penny Fairweather of Bloomsbury, whose brother works at the Colonial Office?”
“I didn’t ask for special treatment,” Penny replied, stung. Now was definitely not the time to confess to a family member at the War Office as well.
“No, I’m sure you didn’t.” Miss Wu sighed. “And I don’t want to take it from you, Penny. Of course I don’t. Just—use it. Use every last bit of it. And don’t expect those of us who can’t rely on it to take the same risks you do.”
They were interrupted by the arrival of a plate of food for Penny and a steaming cup of black tea for Miss Wu.
The waiter discreetly placed a fork near Penny’s right hand. There was no fork in sight for Miss Wu, she noted.
“What is this, exactly?” Penny asked, after he disappeared again. “It’s quite delicious.”
“Do you want it to be something shocking?”
“Yes, please,” said Penny.
“Then it’s sea slugs with bamboo shoots,” said Miss Wu dryly.
“Perfect!” exclaimed Penny, getting out her notebook.