602, he sent. I’m thinking of you.
Amelia’s plan unfolded on accident before it happened on purpose.
She had returned by junk, watching the bamboo-covered hills give way to wide waters and then villages, and finally, the splendor of Shanghai. She’d arrived to chaos—a million things needing to be done all at once. There was a training course to develop for Chinese telegraph operators in advance of the line into Shanghai. There was still the question of error correction hanging over her head.
But all that chaos was welcome. She’d found a deeper confidence in herself and who she was. Every day she grew into her own certainty.
And so her plan started with the little things. Walking to the office one morning, Merry sniffing at little blue flowers, with the sun high overhead and the weather not too oppressively humid, Amelia found herself smiling.
You are the closest, most valuable person to my heart, he had said, and she had a handful of numbered telegrams to prove it.
He’d kissed her. They’d shared a night together. But he’d given her more than just those physical moments. She could feel that sense of sunlight he’d imparted to her. The confidence she’d learned, that she could stand on her own two feet and find her happiness. He had given her something important, and she wanted to return the favor.
And so yes, her plan started on accident with a blue flower. Merry sniffed about them; Amelia thought they were rather pretty. She reached down and spontaneously plucked one, humming to herself. When she reached the office, she slid it between two sheets of paper and slipped it in the middle of a heavy book. She thought nothing more of it.
Two days later, she found herself taking a midday meal while Merry sat at her feet, eyes luminous and begging as if she’d had nothing at all to eat in years.
“Goose,” Amelia said, ruffling her fur. “I know the truth.” Still, she’d taken a pencil and paper out and sketched those wanting dog eyes, the yearning face.
When she looked at her little drawing, she thought of Grayson. She’d been uncertain in the beginning, and he’d handed her a sheaf of letters. That memory coalesced idea into action.
Amelia folded the picture of Merry before she could talk herself out of the plan and dropped it into an envelope.
She wrote on the front 1.
The flower, pressed now into desiccated flatness, became envelope 2. 3 was a sketch of an egg tart that she purchased from a street vendor and a description of the smooth custard, the sweetness that lingered on her tongue, the flakiness of the crust. 4 was a clipping from a newspaper about a cage containing hundreds of chickens intended for market. The cart that carried them had jostled on a stone, and the gate had come loose. The chickens had taken over an entire thoroughfare, squawking and fouling up the way. 5 was a tiny sample of tea in a twist of paper—a variety that was dark and oxidized, leaves loose and fragrant with an astringent scent that held hints of caramel. 6 was another newspaper clipping, this time describing the bones of some ancient creature that had been uncovered in Kansas in the United States—something with wings. Amelia stared at the clipping for moments, tapping pencil against paper before drawing her best impression of a winged lizard chasing down a stick figure of herself and Merry. And so on and so on.
She wasn’t supposed to see him again, not for many months. But as the stack of letters grew, so did Amelia’s plan. When she wavered on the possibility, wondering if it would go badly, she pulled out one of the old letters he’d written to reassure her a year earlier.
Trust your instincts, she’d read in his assured handwriting. And she would.
602. 607. 412.
Every time she smiled, she thought of him, and she tried to capture some small thing that had brought her joy in a tiny way. Maybe this way, she could give him some small portion of what he’d given her.
The envelopes in her drawer grew day by day. By the end of the month, there were ninety-seven of them.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Benedict received the telegram from Theresa in Shanghai at the office of the Lord Traders Telegraphic Company on a Wednesday.
The line to Shanghai was at least a year out, so the five-day-old telegram had arrived by courier ship. “Lord,” he muttered to himself. “What now?”
B, read the telegram.
HAVE FOUND HER IN HONG KONG OF ALL PLACES STOP
BOARDING PASSENGER SHIP STOP
ARRIVAL MID-AUGUST STOP
DO NOT COME TO HONG KONG UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES STOP
Benedict let out a snort. There was Theresa for you. No please, no thank you. She’d been telling him what to do since the day he was born.
And as soon as he’d been capable of complying, he’d always done it.
“I’m in Shanghai,” Benedict informed the inert telegram. “I’m liaising. I have work to do. It’s lucky for you that Captain Hunter doesn’t need me at the Hong Kong office.” And so he put the note in his pocket with a shake of his head.
He scarcely thought of Theresa’s desperate missive until the first week of August, when Mrs. Smith popped her head into his office.
“Benedict?”
He jumped up. “Yes, ma’am?”
She tapped her lips. “I’m in need of liaising. I’ve been thinking about the telegraphy instruction in Hong Kong. We’re making instructions here, but it might make sense for me to go in person to talk to the people there.”
“Of course.” He looked at her. “That does make sense.”
“Out of idle curiosity,” she said, “how much longer will Captain Hunter be in Hong Kong? You know his schedule, don’t you?”
“He’s there now,” Benedict said slowly, “but in another week or so, he’ll leave on the Celerity for Myriad Island, where he’ll rendezvous with the Victory to lay cable. There’s time to get a letter to him if you hurry.”
“Excellent,” she said, trying for innocence, as if he might somehow not have noticed the immense quantity of correspondence the two of them were now exchanging. “If there’s a way to have a letter arrive, we can go in person. Could you arrange passage for us immediately?”
That was when Benedict thought of Theresa’s telegram. DO NOT COME TO HONG KONG UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES STOP
He bit his lip.
“I, um.” He grinned uncertainly. “Um.”
DO NOT COME TO HONG KONG UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES STOP
It was instinct, pure and simple, to let Theresa define all the terms. But whyever should he do that? Was he to avoid Hong Kong the entirety of the time Theresa was there? What was the purpose of that?
They’d hashed out their agreement in a hotel in Bombay. If they avoided seeing each other, Captain Hunter would never know that Theresa was not, in fact, missing, and he wouldn’t tell his brother who wouldn’t tell Judith…
But Benedict had already told Judith. She might even have received the letter by now. Her return missive was likely making its way to him.
It was that simple. Benedict didn’t have to listen to Theresa. He could go wherever he wanted—or in this case, wherever Amelia wanted.
“Benedict?” Mrs. Smith asked. “Is there a problem?”
“Not at all. There’s very much not a problem. You would not believe how little of a problem there is.”