to her lap, cradling the hurt one in the other. “You will address me as sir ,” he said. He opened the book and slapped the pointer onto the page, which showed a version of the same map that adorned the wall. “By your next lesson, in two days’ time, you will have learned basic manners and the names of all the countries marked in pink, their position, and their most important contributions to the Empire. If, that is, you can read. Can you read?”
“Yes. Sir.”
“That is a relief. Now concentrate and do not disturb the other pupils.”
“Yes, sir,” Eveline said, meekly, mentally calling him every filthy name she could come up with and some she had just invented. If this was education, she thought, glaring at the many, many countries coloured pink and the tiny print that swarmed over the pages like frantic ants, she could do without it.
But it was a book. And she’d seen so few proper books in the last few years. Although she’d rather have one with stories in it than this, with its stupid countries she’d never heard of and the world squashed out flat in big circles, as though it was all stamped on a pair of giant coins.
There was England, a funny-shaped little squiggle a little like a dog sitting up to beg. Somehow it was much smaller than she had thought – on this map, she couldn’t even see London, never mind Limehouse. How much of England did London cover? She moved her finger across the map. Madeira – Madeira was a place? She thought it was a drink. She wondered if there were places called Gin and Beer... how odd. She tried to find China, where Liu came from. But though she could find the China Sea it lay between somewhere called Hainan, the Philippine Islands and North Borneo, none of which she had ever heard of. Then she pieced together the black letters marching boldly across the map. CHINESE EMPIRE , they said. She stretched her eyes, then looked back at England. The Chinese Empire was huge. And arching over a vast portion of the map, the Russian Empire was even bigger.
The British Empire wasn’t even marked. But if all the countries in pink were the British Empire... that was strange, too. Why was the British Empire all about the place, when the Chinese and Russian ones were one big chunk each? She glanced up at the teacher. He was holding his pointer as though he couldn’t wait to smack someone with it. She’d rather find out on her own. Can you read, indeed. She’d show him.
She studied the map until her eyes ached. So many strange names, so many countries in pink. The Cameroons sounded like something to eat. She was starting to get hungry again. But she’d spent most of her last few years hungry; she ignored it.
By the time the Bartitsu lesson started she had a head full of names, and felt as though they were all pushing at the sides of her skull, trying to get out.
Miss Laperne was the small woman with tight curls who had also been at breakfast. “Get into your gear and pair up. You, new girl, these are yours.”
The ‘gear’ Eveline received proved to be a sort of high-necked, stiffened bodice with long padded sleeves and a pair of... “What are these things?” she said, holding them up.
“Pantaloons,” one of the girls whispered. “Take your things off and put those on over your underwear.”
“But they are underwear! What sort of lesson needs underwear?” Eveline backed into a corner, staring, holding the absurd garment up in front of her. “If we’re getting taught whoring, I ain’t doing it.”
Someone yelped with laughter and several girls stopped in the middle of changing and looked at her, wide-eyed, one leg in and one leg out, or an arm halfway down a sleeve.
“Well!” the blonde girl said, shaking her curls out of the collar of the bodice. “ Somebody was brought up in a pigsty.”
“Didn’t think respectable girls knew what such a word meant,” Eveline said.
The blonde girl flushed and fixed Eveline with a glare that should have pinned her
“Yes. Sir.”
“That is a relief. Now concentrate and do not disturb the other pupils.”
“Yes, sir,” Eveline said, meekly, mentally calling him every filthy name she could come up with and some she had just invented. If this was education, she thought, glaring at the many, many countries coloured pink and the tiny print that swarmed over the pages like frantic ants, she could do without it.
But it was a book. And she’d seen so few proper books in the last few years. Although she’d rather have one with stories in it than this, with its stupid countries she’d never heard of and the world squashed out flat in big circles, as though it was all stamped on a pair of giant coins.
There was England, a funny-shaped little squiggle a little like a dog sitting up to beg. Somehow it was much smaller than she had thought – on this map, she couldn’t even see London, never mind Limehouse. How much of England did London cover? She moved her finger across the map. Madeira – Madeira was a place? She thought it was a drink. She wondered if there were places called Gin and Beer... how odd. She tried to find China, where Liu came from. But though she could find the China Sea it lay between somewhere called Hainan, the Philippine Islands and North Borneo, none of which she had ever heard of. Then she pieced together the black letters marching boldly across the map. CHINESE EMPIRE , they said. She stretched her eyes, then looked back at England. The Chinese Empire was huge. And arching over a vast portion of the map, the Russian Empire was even bigger.
The British Empire wasn’t even marked. But if all the countries in pink were the British Empire... that was strange, too. Why was the British Empire all about the place, when the Chinese and Russian ones were one big chunk each? She glanced up at the teacher. He was holding his pointer as though he couldn’t wait to smack someone with it. She’d rather find out on her own. Can you read, indeed. She’d show him.
She studied the map until her eyes ached. So many strange names, so many countries in pink. The Cameroons sounded like something to eat. She was starting to get hungry again. But she’d spent most of her last few years hungry; she ignored it.
By the time the Bartitsu lesson started she had a head full of names, and felt as though they were all pushing at the sides of her skull, trying to get out.
Miss Laperne was the small woman with tight curls who had also been at breakfast. “Get into your gear and pair up. You, new girl, these are yours.”
The ‘gear’ Eveline received proved to be a sort of high-necked, stiffened bodice with long padded sleeves and a pair of... “What are these things?” she said, holding them up.
“Pantaloons,” one of the girls whispered. “Take your things off and put those on over your underwear.”
“But they are underwear! What sort of lesson needs underwear?” Eveline backed into a corner, staring, holding the absurd garment up in front of her. “If we’re getting taught whoring, I ain’t doing it.”
Someone yelped with laughter and several girls stopped in the middle of changing and looked at her, wide-eyed, one leg in and one leg out, or an arm halfway down a sleeve.
“Well!” the blonde girl said, shaking her curls out of the collar of the bodice. “ Somebody was brought up in a pigsty.”
“Didn’t think respectable girls knew what such a word meant,” Eveline said.
The blonde girl flushed and fixed Eveline with a glare that should have pinned her
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