bring the dishes over to the table, and a few moments later, Mrs Lim came bustling through from the shop to join them for the evening meal.
‘So how did it go this evening?’ she asked, squeezing in between Lil and Mr Lim, adding to the twins: ‘Boys, put those away – it’s time to eat.’
‘Do you know, I really think it might have been our best session yet,’ declared Mr Lim proudly. ‘Some of our young ladies are proving themselves very talented.’
Song chuckled as he took his seat on a stool next to Sophie. ‘Maybe some of them are a bit too talented. I was worried that Miss Clifton was going to do Lil an injury!’
‘Huh – that’s what you think!’ declared Lil, brandishing her fork. ‘I could get the better of Connie any day you like.’
‘And are you girls still telling people that you all belong to a sewing society?’ asked Mrs Lim.
Lil grinned. ‘Of course. We say we’re sewing banners for the suffragettes to carry in their parades. Even Billy and Joe don’t know what we’re really up to.’
‘I still don’t understand why it has to be such a secret,’ said Song.
‘We promised that we’d keep it quiet,’ Sophie explained. ‘Some of the girls are worried that their parents wouldn’t like it. They’d think it improper.’
‘And a sewing society sounds so frightfully innocent,’ said Lil with satisfaction. ‘Not even the most prim mama could possibly object to that!’
Mr Lim frowned. ‘I hope that none of the girls’ parents would have any serious objections to the classes,’ he said in a worried tone. ‘I wouldn’t want any of them to find themselves in trouble at home.’
‘Trouble at home isn’t the half of it!’ exclaimed Lil at once. ‘Why, some of these girls are doing awfully dangerous things – taking part in rowdy protests, and chaining themselves to railings, and goodness knows what else! It’s fearfully important that they can defend themselves properly.’
‘It’s a good thing we’re doing, Dad,’ Song reassured his father.
‘I think so too,’ agreed Mrs Lim decisively. ‘The way I see it, a young girl should know a little about how to defend herself. With any luck, most of them won’t need it – but there’s certainly no harm in being prepared.’
Sophie nodded. It had been her own desire to be prepared that had begun all this. Ever since she had come face to face with the Baron, she had felt frustrated and worried by her own weakness. She knew that if she ever encountered him again, she did not want to feel so vulnerable. She felt certain that if she were prepared, she would be able to sleep more soundly at night.
It was to Song that she had finally confided this. Over the past few months, he had become a particular friend. Sophie enjoyed his company, and admired his ambition of becoming a chef in a big London restaurant one day. She knew she could rely on him for a common-sense perspective. Song was always sensible and practical, and this had been a case in point: he had understood how she had felt, and had come up with a solution. ‘You ought to talk to Dad,’ he had said. ‘Kung fu is exactly what you need. It’s not about being big and strong, but using your opponent’s strength against them. You know Dad learned a bit from the monks, when he was a boy – and he’s been teaching me some, since the summer when we had that run-in with the Baron’s Boys. Maybe he could teach you too?’
As soon as she had heard of Sophie’s plan, Lil had at once said that she wanted to join in too. ‘That sort of thing is tremendously useful for actors. Awfully good for flexibility and posture. Besides, we’ve got ourselves into some tricky situations in the past. In our line of work, I can’t help thinking that it would be a jolly good idea for us to know a bit about how to defend ourselves.’
Of course, Mei wasn’t going to be left out, and next had come Connie Clifton, a friend of Leo’s from art school and a committed suffragette. ‘This is exactly what we need!’ she had exclaimed. ‘We heard that some of the other suffragette groups had been learning ju-jitsu – suffrajitsu, they’re calling it. We’re dying to learn something like that too. Could some of us join your class? We’ll pay, of course. Mrs St James will be thrilled!’
Now their practice sessions had become a weekly event. Mrs St James, the leader of Connie’s group of suffragettes, had arranged for them to have access to the basement of an East End Mission Hall, where Mr Lim, with Song acting as his assistant, could teach a dozen young ladies at a time. She even provided tea and buns for them all afterwards. Each girl paid a little for her lesson, and Mr Lim had been heard to say that at this rate, teaching would soon earn him as much as his grocer’s shop.
Sophie still wasn’t sure that what she had learned would help her if she was to come face to face with the Baron in another dark alleyway – but the sessions certainly made her feel better. She liked the challenge of learning something new, and for once, being small wasn’t necessarily a disadvantage – she might not be as tall or strong as Lil, but in spite of the encumbrance of skirts and petticoats, she was quick and light on her feet. The lessons were fun too: she felt quite certain that the sombre East End Mission Hall had never heard anything like so much giggling and shrieking. Best of all, afterwards, she and Lil would come back to the Lims’, where Song would make them all supper. Now, as Lil told the others about their planned visit to Winter Hall, she sat back and listened, letting their words wash over her and enjoying the familiar sound of their voices.
After supper she went through into the little scullery to help Song clear away the dishes.
‘You’ll be away for Christmas, then?’ he said. ‘We were going to ask whether you’d like to come here.’
‘I’d have loved that,’ said Sophie, as she stacked up the plates beside the sink. ‘But I couldn’t pass up the chance to go to Winter Hall.’ She quickly explained about the letter from Miss Pennyfeather, and Song listened with interest.
‘No wonder you want to go and find out. Well – I suppose we’ll see you after New Year.’
‘You might see me sooner than that,’ said Sophie, with a sudden smile. ‘I’ve got a kind of Christmas present for you. Well, I suppose it’s not exactly a present – it’s really more of an opportunity.’
Song looked at her quizzically as she explained: ‘They’re bringing in lots of extra staff to help with the Sinclair’s New Year’s Eve Ball. Waiters, mainly – but there will be people needed in the kitchens too. I spoke to Mr Betteredge and – well, there’s a place open for you, if you’d like it.’
Song stared at her. ‘Do you mean the kitchens of the Marble Court Restaurant?’ he breathed in awe. It was considered to be one of the best restaurants in London, with its famous head chef, Monsieur Bernard.
‘It would be temporary, of course – just for a few days before the party, and on the evening itself. You’d only be working as a kitchen porter, but it would give you the chance to meet Monsieur Bernard – and for him to see what you can do.’
Song wasn’t the sort of person who got over-excited, but now he looked like he could hardly speak. ‘But . . . but . . . that’s incredible!’ he burst out incoherently. ‘Sophie – thank you – this means so much to me! It’s terrific!’ He took a step towards her, as if he was going to grab her hands, but just then, Lil came bouncing through the door.
‘What are you two gabbling about in here? Sophie, we ought to make tracks. The snow’s coming down awfully fast now. We should get a cab.’
Soon the two girls were sitting cosily in the back of a hansom cab, the horses picking their way carefully along the snowy streets towards home. They were both tired, and even Lil was quiet now, gazing out of the window at the ghostly blur of the snow, illuminated here and there by the glow of the street lamps.
Sophie was thinking how pleased Song had been by the chance of a job at the Marble Court Restaurant. Not so very long ago, it had been a struggle to