Shanghai Sparrow by Gaie Sebold

worth it. Small stuff. She had bigger plans, like Ma. Ma was forever talking about one final big scheme, something that would set her up for life, so she could retire, but somehow it never happened. And even if Ma happened on such a thing, Evvie didn’t think she’d tell her – though she should. Ma was clever, yes. But Eveline knew that when it came to a proper scam, though she had less practice, she was better at seeing how things went together, and where they might fall apart. Maybe it was all the reading that had done it. Who knew?
    Finally she spotted a prosperous-looking clergyman, his black coat straining at its buttons, his whiskers a-bristle with self-satisfaction, bustling through the crowd, fussing at his pockets. His hair shone with pomade, and his side-whiskers were so gleamingly black that they appeared to cast a faint shadow on his skin. Eveline knew that shadow for what it was – dye. Oh, ho, she thought. She felt in her purse. Yes, she had it. Now, she needed to think. Again she was dressed like a maidservant, neat and unobtrusive.
    She pulled her mouth down, put a handkerchief to her eyes and worked her way towards the clergyman until she bumped into him. “Oh, I’m so dreadfully sorry!”
    “Quite my fault,” the clergyman said. “Are you all right, my dear?” He laid a thick white hand on her arm.
    Eveline looked up at him and gave a quivering smile. “Yes, only... my mistress is going to be so dreadfully angry!” Rounded vowels and a faint burr on the consonants, a country lass not long in town.
    “What, because you bumped into someone? Surely she couldn’t be so unkind.”
    “No, it’s... oh, I shouldn’t trouble a gentleman with this. You’re of the clergy, sir, ain’t you? Be so good as to offer a prayer for a poor girl, for if I get turned out, I shan’t know what to do, and can only hope the angels are watching me!” She gave a small gasp as though she were fighting tears. She didn’t let herself actually cry – some girls could do it and look pretty, but it turned Evvie into a gargoyle of swollen eyes and snot.
    “Hush, hush,” the clergyman said. “I’m sure it’s not so bad as all that. Why don’t you sit down with me and tell me all about it?” He put a heavy arm around her shoulders and guided her to a nearby bench. He smelled of Macassar oil and snuff.
    “The thing of it is, sir,” she said, between sobs, “my mistress sent me to... oh, I shouldn’t say it... but she’s not had an easy time, sir. And she gave me her dead husband’s stick-pin to take to the dolly-shop, to get some money, saying we should get it back when her investments come good. Only they told me it’s worth nothing, being only brass and glass, and they wouldn’t advance me but a few pence for it. And he was smiling so.”
    “Well, well, that’s hard, but surely your mistress won’t blame you?”
    “I think she will, sir. And as I was leaving, he said, ‘Come back when you’re less proud,’ and I’m not proud, sir, only afraid I shall be turned out.”
    “He sounds like less than a gentleman. I think your mistress should better have sent someone else to deal with him.”
    “There was no-one else to send, sir, apart from the boot-boy, and he’s a good boy, but simple. But why would my mistress’ husband have had a cheap pin? He was always a well-dressed gentleman, like yourself. And a gentleman like you is sure to know. Do you think this is nothing but a gimcrack?” Eveline took out of her purse the stick-pin she had been carrying for just such an occasion. It was a very fine stick-pin, in gold, with a gleaming diamond set in its head; she had lifted it from the cravat of a swell cove in the Strand only days before.
    “Well, it certainly looks fine enough,” he said, judiciously, feeling its weight in his hand, then holding it up to the light. “And you know, I think I see a hallmark. Yes, look, see that mark there?”
    Eveline widened her eyes. “Yes, sir. What does it