Chasing Secrets (10 page)

D
o they know what happened to that monkey?
I heard that man say it. I heard it with my own ears. What did he mean?

I'm so upset, it's hard to think straight. My pencil helps me clear my head.

The men tried to hide it.

Uncle Karl denied it.

But I heard the big man

Ask about a monkey plan.

I find the orange cat and attach the message, then wait, hoping the cord will come down. I need to talk to Noah, not just send him messages. Besides, he must be tired of peaches and salami. He needs something warm to eat.

Aunt Hortense is on the telephone in the drawing room, talking about parlor meetings and women getting the right to vote. Why is she on
our
phone? She spends most of the day at her house.

When she gets off, I stare at her. She sees the question in my eyes and turns away.

“I trust you'll keep my business to yourself,” she says.

In his column, Uncle Karl has been poking fun at ladies who are trying to get the vote. Could Aunt Hortense be helping them?

Impossible.

Aunt Hortense rings for Maggy to carry her papers to the Sweeting house. I watch as Maggy follows her across the way. Aunt Hortense has been depending on Maggy more and more. Nettie doesn't like this. Yesterday, Nettie tracked dirt onto Maggy's clean floor and then scolded Maggy for it in front of Aunt Hortense.

With Aunt Hortense gone, Noah's cord comes down, and I head straight upstairs with my basket. In it are pancakes, a roast beef sandwich, jars of water, caramels from Ocean Beach, and the poem I wrote for him. I can't wait to show him his poem.

Noah's eyes light up when he sees me. “Tell me everything,” he says as I settle into my usual chair.

I tell him about the monkey and Uncle Karl's party first. I hope he won't ask too many questions, because I don't have any answers. Do I tell him Uncle Karl said Jing wasn't in the quarantine? Should I say I had to convince Aunt Hortense not to interview for another cook? I dig in the basket for the candy.

When I hand it to him, he looks hard at me. How does he know I'm not telling him everything?

“Uncle Karl couldn't find him,” I whisper.

His eyebrows rise like Jing's. “That doesn't mean he's not there. He's hiding something, Lizzie.”

“What is he hiding?”

“He knows more than he's saying.”

I think about Uncle Karl watching me in the yard as I unwrap a caramel. “What makes you say that?”

“Baba said Uncle Karl meets with the Six Companies sometimes. Baba translates.”

“What are the meetings about?”

“I don't know.”

“The monkey is important. If we figure out about the monkey, we'll know a lot more,” I say.

I tell Noah about the Trotters' motorcar and Astral Dog and how I thought I was going to have to dance in front of everyone.

He chews his caramel thoughtfully. “You don't like dancing?”

“I'm not good at it.”

“Do you practice?”

“Of course not. What a horrible thought.”

“Do you have instructions on how to do these dances?” Noah asks. He unpacks the basket and places it on the shelf with the dishes.

“In my notebook.”

“Bring them. We'll learn together.” There comes that crazy, mischievous smile.

“You and me?” I ask.

My mind flashes on Aunt Hortense and what she'd do if she saw me dancing with a Chinese boy alone in our attic.

“Sure.” He grins. “I've done the lion dance. And that's a lot harder.”

“What's that?”

“I wear a lion costume, and my friend Pu is behind me—he's the back end of the lion, and I'm the front.”

“I wouldn't want to be the back end.”

“Neither does Pu. He says he only got that position because of his name.”

“Poo!” I laugh. “Hey, I wrote you a poem.” I unfold the page for him.

I have a friend in the attic

Who's kind of a book fanatic.

He can't make a sound,

Or else he'll be found,

Which is more than a bit problematic.

He smiles. “It's good. Can I have it?”

No one has ever asked to keep one of my poems. “Sure,” I say.

“Miss Lizzie!” Maggy's voice wafts up from the second floor.

Noah's face falls. “You just got here!”

I grab his hand and squeeze it.

“Lizzie, please stay. It's been four days. I'm going crazy.” He leans in and whispers, “Maybe I should go back.”

“No! Then you'll be caught in the quarantine and I'll be trying to get both of you out.”

Noah's shoulders slide down. He chews his cheek. “Come back as soon as you can.”

I close his door and steal down the servants' stairs, with his words still in my ears.
Lizzie, please stay.

“You have a visitor at the Sweetings',” Maggy tells me.

Oh no! Aunt Hortense has a hundred and one rules about visiting. I must say the right things, wear the right clothes, visit in the right room, and set my calling card on the correct tray.

I dive into the one dress Aunt Hortense approves of. It flaps on me without the proper petticoats.

I'm still buttoning as I rush across the way, leaping over a dead rat, its black eyes bulging. Orange Tom is at it again.

The drawing room has scarlet chairs and long curtains that puddle on the floor. Gold angels hold up glass sconces, and paintings of racehorses hang on every wall. I'm hardly ever in here. No one visits me.

“Elizabeth,” Aunt Hortense purrs in her important-lady voice. “Do come in, dear.”

Then I see, it's only the Trotters. What a relief! There's Gus, Gemma, and a pudgy lady in a blue hat with jeweled hatpins. All three have freckled skin and strawberry-blond hair.

“Lizzie.” Mrs. Trotter's calling card is on a silver tray on Aunt Hortense's polished zebrawood table. “I'm delighted to meet you.”

I bob awkwardly.

“Gus has asked that we visit.” Mrs. Trotter smiles at Gus, who turns the color of a ripe tomato.

Gemma hides behind her fan.

“I, um, wanted to ask you to the La Jeunesse cotillion,” Gus mumbles.

“Me?” I look around.

Gemma's fan slips down. She has a huge smile on her face. Did she put him up to this?

“Of course you, Elizabeth,” Aunt Hortense chides.

“I'm just…Are you sure?” I whisper, my face as hot as a fire poker.

“Yes,” Gus says.

Aunt Hortense eyes me. She picks up a diamond-studded nutcracker and splits a walnut with a loud crack. “Elizabeth is delighted. It is lovely of you to ask.”

“It is lovely,” I say, and steal a glance at Gus.

He almost smiles.

“He's a quiet one, but still waters run deep,” Mrs. Trotter says, holding one gloved hand with the other.

“Or gather pond scum,” Gemma whispers.

“Shush, Gemma,” Gus mutters.

“Are you sure I can't get you some tea?” Aunt Hortense asks. “Biscuits? Scones? Our Yang Sun's pastries melt in your mouth. You know I stole him from the Poodle Dog.”

Mrs. Trotter stands up. “Oh no, we really must be going. I'm afraid we've overstayed our welcome already.”

“Not at all. I'm just sorry it took us so long to find Elizabeth.”

“Lizzie, where were you?” Gemma whispers.

“I was…um, indisposed,” I say.

“Elizabeth,” Aunt Hortense barks. “Ladies do not speak of such things.”

“I thought that was the polite way to say it.”

Aunt Hortense smiles stiffly at Mrs. Trotter. “As you can see, Elizabeth is still working on her memoirs.”

We follow them down the hall and out into the entryway, with its high ceiling and the electric chandelier bigger than the one in the Grand Opera House.

I stand and wave as the Trotters climb into their carriage.

When the mansion door closes, Aunt Hortense shoots me a look that would kill a small dog. “I will not have my niece acting like a milkmaid at La Jeunesse. Miss Barstow says she heard you discussing warts and boils the other day. It's coarse, Elizabeth. There's a time and place for such things, but the cotillion is not—”

“Do I have to go?” I ask. “Because I'm sure to embarrass you. It's better if I stay home.”

Aunt Hortense crosses her arms. “You'll go, and you'll love every minute.”

I
t's even more difficult to get away from Aunt Hortense now that she has made it her mission to get me fitted for a dress and jacket, petticoats, stockings, a corset, and dancing shoes. Not to mention teaching me how to drink without slurping and take tiny bites of everything. With her watching my every move, I can't take care of the horses. Ho has to do it.

Still, I manage to get the dance instructions onto the collar of Orange Tom, and after school Noah and I have our first lesson. When I sneak my basket of supplies up to Jing's room, Noah is waiting, his arms crossed. “It isn't that hard,” he announces.

“Everyone's gone except Maggy. Maybe we should practice in my room. That way I can crank up the gramophone and we can hear the music.”

Noah considers this. Then he nods slowly, deliberately.

A thrill shoots through me. Noah in my room!

“If I go down to your room, you have to swear you'll try.”

“I do try, and everybody stares, and they make fun of me when I'm not there.”

“How do you know what they do when you're not there?”

“I just do.”

“But isn't Gemma your friend now?”

“I guess.”

“You don't sound sure.”

I shrug.

He considers this. “Fen pretends to be my friend so I will help him with his arithmetic.”

“You're good with numbers.”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” I say, and imitate his swagger.

He squints at me. “Why would I say I'm not good at something?”

“Girls are supposed to pretend they're lousy at everything.”

“Maybe because they are.”

“No!” I stamp my foot.

He laughs. “If you're good at something, you should say it.”

“It's easier to do that if you're a boy.”

“I'll take your word for it. Now let's work on the dancing. Where's Maggy?”

“She's doing the floors downstairs.”

“That takes all afternoon?”

“The way Maggy waxes, it does. Our kitchen floor is shinier than the Sweetings', and Aunt Hortense has five maids to clean hers. If it's all clear, I'll whistle.”

“Whistle? You don't whistle. You thunder down the stairs. You holler to Billy. You drop things in your room.”

“I don't drop things.”

“You're always banging something against the floor.”

“My boots. I kick them off.”

“Kick your boots off; then I'll know to come down. That will seem like you.”

“Okay. I'll go check on Maggy.” I grab the empty water pitchers and slip out the door and down the stairs. Maggy is on her hands and knees with a scrub brush. The soap smell stings my nose and makes my eyes water. After she scrubs the floor, she waxes it. She'll be busy for a good two hours.

Back in my room, I pull the shades down, unlace my boots, and kick them off. They fly against the wall with a satisfying
thunk.
Then I open the door and wait for Noah.

My ears strain to hear his footsteps. Even when I see him creep down the hall, I can't hear him.

He slips in. I close the door and slide the lock.

He's here! So real, it's as if I'd just imagined him before. He looks around my room, his eyes lighting on the windowsill.

“Baba gave these to you.” He picks up a tiny chair Jing carved out of wood. “I helped him make this one. He said you don't feel like you fit in. He said he made you a chair
so you would know there's always a place for you at the table.”

I stare at him. I've always loved that little chair, but I didn't know that was why he'd given it to me.

Noah's face relaxes into a smile, and he bows, one hand behind his back.

He takes my arm, and my neck gets hot. His palm feels strange on my back, like the skin is too aware of his hand. I'm sweating where I hold him.

Together we muddle through a simple waltz step. Noah doesn't know how to do this any better than I do. I'm not the only one stepping on the wrong foot.

I'm taller than Noah, but even that isn't important here.

I'm wearing my ordinary clothes, but my skirt feels lighter.

My plan was to crank up the gramophone, but it's too dangerous. What if Aunt Hortense came home early? How would I explain the loud music?

So I hum. The longer we dance, the more it seems like there is music. I like the way his hand feels in mine. I like standing so near to him.

A barrel rolls across the cobblestones. Outside, the light has shifted. How long has it been?

“Lizzie?” Noah whispers. He looks at me hard, and then his eyes skitter away.

“What?”

“I can't stay up there alone much longer. Where is my father?”

We stop dancing. “I don't know, but I'll find him.” My words seem full of hot air. I don't know what to do next.

He gazes at the blind. Then sighs. “Here, let me show you the lion dance.” He crouches down and hops on one foot like an animal on the prowl. I mimic him. His head pops up, his hands like paws. I hop when he hops and stay still when he does.

I fall over, and we try not to laugh.

He jumps and leaps, his legs like springs.

Then Billy drives Juliet through the Sweeting entrance. Noah must get back to his room before Billy comes up.

I put one finger over my mouth; with the other I point upstairs. Noah nods, then tiptoes to the door. “Lizzie, you'll tell me if you find out something about Baba.” His eyes shift.

“Of course! But I've told you everything I know.”

“No matter what happens, you'll tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Swear you won't tell anybody about me. Nobody. Ever. Swear it,” he whispers.

“I haven't told anyone.”

“I know that. Wait!” He takes a needle out of his sleeve and stabs his thumb with it. We watch the drop of blood appear, a bright spot of red on his brown skin.

I look into his eyes, dark eyes, true eyes…the eyes of a friend who knows more about me than anyone else.

“I swear.”

I push my thumb toward him. He pokes it, one quick jab, glancing up as if he hopes he didn't hurt me. Our thumbs touch. Blood to blood.