Shanghai Sparrow by Gaie Sebold

Navigation with Miss Prayne. Lunch is at one. This is followed by languages. Mr Holmforth tells me he wishes you to be instructed in Cantonese. You will be instructed by Mr Wen Hsu. You will take French with Mr Duvalier, and Retention with Miss Fairfield. I don’t suppose you have ever ridden a horse?”
    “Not, so to speak, an actual horse. There was a pony, once.” She hadn’t thought of the pony in years. It belonged to a neighbour child, a nasty, pinching, sneaking sort of girl. Eveline had got on it when no-one was about, mainly to prove she could.
    She had fallen off, and been bitten on the way down.
    It hadn’t stopped her trying again, bribing the pony with stolen apples and surreptitious soothings and pettings. Since she treated it rather better than its own mistress, it had learned to tolerate her, and she had finally succeeded in staying on and even persuaded it over some small jumps.
    Doing so in full view of the neighbouring girl and her parents had been a mistake, of course.
    “A pony?” Miss Cairngrim’s gaze sharpened. “Your people had horses?”
    “No, miss, it wasn’t mine.” And she’d been properly scolded, too. Had her parents had anything to do with it, she’d not have ended up a thief; but then, had they still been alive... Eveline gave herself a mental shake and tried to look attentive and eager.
    “Hah.” Miss Cairngrim nodded with a sort of grim satisfaction. “I didn’t think so. Then we will have to start you at the most basic level. I suppose if you can stay on, it is as much as can be hoped for. You will also receive instruction in disguise and studying the special subject Mr Holmforth has arranged for you.”
    Eveline struggled to hide her excitement at the thought of disguise. She could do a little with Ma’s collection of costumes and wigs, but to actually learn it... now there was something properly useful. As for whatever Holmforth was up to... “Miss Cairngrim? What is the special subject?”
    “Some sort of mechanical studies. I think it ridiculous to encourage such nonsense, but of course, it is not my place to say so.”
    “Mechanical studies?” What the hell had made Holmforth think she had an ‘aptitude’ for mechanisms? She might be interested in the stuff Ma Pether was always messing with, but Eveline had no more idea how they worked than she did of how a bird flew. Had he seen all the stuff Ma kept and somehow thought it was hers?
    Her brain raced to deal with this. It meant Holmforth didn’t know everything, which was good – but it also meant his only reason for interest in her, and for keeping her out of irons, didn’t exist.
    So she’d better develop some aptitude, and fast, if she planned to stay here.
     
     
    T HE OLD MAN’S pointer hit the map with a thwack. Eveline no longer jumped; she just kept an eye on where the pointer was aimed, since it was as likely to be employed on the nearest pupil as it was on the map.
    Mr Clancy turned out to be the man she had seen at breakfast, glaring everyone into cowed silence. The instant dislike she had taken to him proved completely inadequate.
    “Thoroughgood! What is the current position of Baluchistan?”
    Thwack.
    “Lovett! When did Bombay become a Presidency and what does that mean for good government?”
    Thwack.
    “New girl!” Thwack, the pointer hit her desk, sending chalk-dust and splinters into the air. Thwack, it hit the map. “What is this country here?”
    Eveline stared, desperately trying to dredge up her memories of lessons. “France?” she said.
    “Spain.” Thwack, the pointer smacked against her upper arm. “Take this...” He hauled a vast leather-covered book from a shelf and dropped it in front of her with a bang. Dust puffed up, making her cough.
    Thwack, on the back of her hand, leaving a burning sting. “Cover your mouth, you disgusting creature. This is an atlas. Have you heard of an atlas?”
    “Yes.”
    Thwack, on the upper arm this time since she had dropped her hands