like a butterfly.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to inform Miss Cairngrim,” the blonde girl said. “She doesn’t permit language .”
Eveline opened her mouth to say something about how funny it was that the blonde girl was able to talk, then, and thought better of it. She was going to be in for a slapping as it was.
The other girls returned to dressing, buttoning the pantaloons and stepping into flat boots that laced up the front. Reluctantly, Eveline put on the pantaloons and pulled on the boots.
They fitted. Two pairs of footwear – the button boots she’d been issued with her gown and apron, and these. And both fitted. She’d not owned a pair of shoes that fitted for as long as she could remember, never mind two pairs. Everything else forgotten for the moment, she vowed that whatever happened, she was keeping them.
The bodice, even laced as tight as she could get it, was too loose on her. She wondered if it had been made for someone else. She shuffled into the room after the other girls. At least they all looked as absurd as each other.
“You, new girl, what is your name?” Miss Laperne said.
“Eveline Duchen, miss.”
“Have you heard of Bartitsu?”
“No, miss.”
“Good,” she said. “Then you will have no misconceptions. There are those who consider it inappropriate, or unpleasant, that young women should be taught to fight. You, however, are to be trained servants of the Empire and as such, you will be valuable assets, not to be thrown away because you lacked even the most basic ability to defend yourselves. If you have any objection to being taught to fight, endeavour to rid yourself of it.”
“I got no objection, miss.” Fighting was fine. Fighting she’d done plenty of, one way and another.
“Have you ever been in a situation where you had to defend yourself?”
“Yes, miss.”
The blonde girl gave a quiet snort of derision, which Miss Laperne did not appear to hear.
“Tell me what happened,” Miss Laperne said.
“There was quite a lot of times, miss.”
“Excellent. Describe one.”
Feeling inclined to take the blonde girl down a peg, Eveline described a fight with a man who had made a grab for her outside a pub in Clerkenwell. “I kneed him in the... the trousers, miss. Went down like a felled tree.”
“Can you show me how he approached you?”
“He just reached out and grabbed me, miss.” Eveline held her arms out.
“From in front?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Stand there.” The woman moved behind her.
The hairs on the back of Eveline’s neck shivered, and she almost got away, but the next thing she knew she was flat on her face on the floor, with Miss Laperne’s knee in her back.
“Unfortunately,” Miss Laperne said, her voice absolutely calm, “one’s opponent does not always approach in so convenient a fashion. Nor will they always be vulnerable at the groin, especially if they have the least idea of what they are doing.” The blonde girl giggled; again, Miss Laperne appeared not to notice. She got up. Eveline breathed floor-dust. She wasn’t hurt, but she was humiliated and startled.
“You may stand up, Duchen. Now, I will show you some basic methods for dealing with someone approaching from behind. The rest of you, practise your grapples, as I showed you last week. Oh, and Treadwell?”
“Yes, miss?” said the blonde girl.
“The equipment cupboard is a disgrace. Restore it to order, if you please.”
Treadwell gave Eveline a glare as she passed, keeping it carefully out of Miss Laperne’s sightline. Eveline pretended not to see, and wiped dust from her face.
B Y THE END of the lesson Eveline was panting, sore, and filthy. Miss Laperne looked her over, and gave a single, brisk nod. “You are small, and like many of the class, must rely on quickness where others can use weight. However. Girls? Your attention, please.”
They lined up. Eveline was pleased to see that they all looked as dirty and sweat-streaked as she felt. Miss
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to inform Miss Cairngrim,” the blonde girl said. “She doesn’t permit language .”
Eveline opened her mouth to say something about how funny it was that the blonde girl was able to talk, then, and thought better of it. She was going to be in for a slapping as it was.
The other girls returned to dressing, buttoning the pantaloons and stepping into flat boots that laced up the front. Reluctantly, Eveline put on the pantaloons and pulled on the boots.
They fitted. Two pairs of footwear – the button boots she’d been issued with her gown and apron, and these. And both fitted. She’d not owned a pair of shoes that fitted for as long as she could remember, never mind two pairs. Everything else forgotten for the moment, she vowed that whatever happened, she was keeping them.
The bodice, even laced as tight as she could get it, was too loose on her. She wondered if it had been made for someone else. She shuffled into the room after the other girls. At least they all looked as absurd as each other.
“You, new girl, what is your name?” Miss Laperne said.
“Eveline Duchen, miss.”
“Have you heard of Bartitsu?”
“No, miss.”
“Good,” she said. “Then you will have no misconceptions. There are those who consider it inappropriate, or unpleasant, that young women should be taught to fight. You, however, are to be trained servants of the Empire and as such, you will be valuable assets, not to be thrown away because you lacked even the most basic ability to defend yourselves. If you have any objection to being taught to fight, endeavour to rid yourself of it.”
“I got no objection, miss.” Fighting was fine. Fighting she’d done plenty of, one way and another.
“Have you ever been in a situation where you had to defend yourself?”
“Yes, miss.”
The blonde girl gave a quiet snort of derision, which Miss Laperne did not appear to hear.
“Tell me what happened,” Miss Laperne said.
“There was quite a lot of times, miss.”
“Excellent. Describe one.”
Feeling inclined to take the blonde girl down a peg, Eveline described a fight with a man who had made a grab for her outside a pub in Clerkenwell. “I kneed him in the... the trousers, miss. Went down like a felled tree.”
“Can you show me how he approached you?”
“He just reached out and grabbed me, miss.” Eveline held her arms out.
“From in front?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Stand there.” The woman moved behind her.
The hairs on the back of Eveline’s neck shivered, and she almost got away, but the next thing she knew she was flat on her face on the floor, with Miss Laperne’s knee in her back.
“Unfortunately,” Miss Laperne said, her voice absolutely calm, “one’s opponent does not always approach in so convenient a fashion. Nor will they always be vulnerable at the groin, especially if they have the least idea of what they are doing.” The blonde girl giggled; again, Miss Laperne appeared not to notice. She got up. Eveline breathed floor-dust. She wasn’t hurt, but she was humiliated and startled.
“You may stand up, Duchen. Now, I will show you some basic methods for dealing with someone approaching from behind. The rest of you, practise your grapples, as I showed you last week. Oh, and Treadwell?”
“Yes, miss?” said the blonde girl.
“The equipment cupboard is a disgrace. Restore it to order, if you please.”
Treadwell gave Eveline a glare as she passed, keeping it carefully out of Miss Laperne’s sightline. Eveline pretended not to see, and wiped dust from her face.
B Y THE END of the lesson Eveline was panting, sore, and filthy. Miss Laperne looked her over, and gave a single, brisk nod. “You are small, and like many of the class, must rely on quickness where others can use weight. However. Girls? Your attention, please.”
They lined up. Eveline was pleased to see that they all looked as dirty and sweat-streaked as she felt. Miss
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