There was more to it. It could not be that simple, because her father was not that easily swayed.
“What are we getting out of it?” she asked directly.
Lord Cai’s response was to start the engine. Slowly, they reversed from the alleyway, merging back into the pandemonium that rumbled ever constant in the hub of the city. Through the open window, the aroma of deep-fried street food wafted in, a decent companion to the frigid cold.
Minutes later, when they stopped at the signal of a police officer running traffic control, Lord Cai said: “Keep them distracted.”
Juliette blinked. A rickshaw halted to a stop outside her window, and from the corner of her eye, she watched the runner of the rickshaw let go of the poles, mop his forehead free of sweat, and eat a whole meat bun—all within seconds.
The officer signaled for them to move. The car crept forward.
“Distracted?” Juliette repeated. You have a spy. One of ours has infiltrated your inner circle. And whoever it is has talked your father into this. “From what?”
But Lord Cai only drove onward, giving a nod to the officer as they passed. It was another bout of silence, entirely typical for her father, before he said, “Some things you do not yet understand. Tīng huà. Do as you’re told.”
Juliette could hardly argue.
Nine
When the last of the maids closed their doors to retire for the night, Juliette slipped out from her bedroom, clutching her basket to her chest. She made good time tiptoeing down the hallway—her mind singularly focused on making it out of the house—only then she passed Rosalind’s bedroom and noted the glow of light underneath the door.
Juliette paused. This was strange. “Rosalind?”
A rustling came from within the room. “Juliette? Is that you? You can come in.”
Juliette set her basket down against the wall and opened Rosalind’s door before her cousin could change her mind, letting the gold light of the bedroom flood out into the hallway. When Juliette remained at the threshold for a long moment, taking in the scene, Rosalind looked up from her desk, her thin brow arching smoothly. Her face was still made up despite the late hour. The curtains of her windows were left undrawn, the half-peeking moon shining through the clouds and upon the bed.
“It’s so late,” Juliette said. “You haven’t retired yet?”
Rosalind set her pen down. “I could say the same to you. Your hair is still done up as neatly as mine.”
“Yes, well . . .” Juliette did not quite know how to finish that sentence. She hardly wanted to say it was because she was on her way out. Instead, she zeroed in on Rosalind’s desk and changed the subject. “What has your attention?”
“What has your curiosity?” Rosalind replied just as quickly.
Juliette folded her arms. Rosalind smiled, indicating her tone to be a joke. The moonlight dimmed, passing entirely behind a cloud, and the room’s lamp bulb seemed to hesitate along with it.
“Your sister wanted me to speak with you, actually.” Juliette inched a few steps into the room, her eyes scanning the desk. She caught sight of flyers from the burlesque club, as well as one or two pieces of notepaper torn from whatever ledger it had come from. “She’s worried about you.”
“About me?” Rosalind echoed. “Whatever for?” She leaned back, eyes wide. As she did so, there was a glint from her collar—metal catching light. A new necklace, Juliette noted. Kathleen always wore her pendant, but Rosalind had never been one for jewelry. She said it was dangerous to wear valuables on the streets of Shanghai. Too many pickpockets, too many eyes.
“No concrete reason; call it intuition.” Whip-quick, Juliette strolled closer, then pinched her fingers around a slip of paper, pulling before Rosalind could stop her. Juliette pivoted on her heel, turning her arms the other way in case Rosalind was to snatch it away, but her cousin only rolled her eyes, letting Juliette look.
Pierre Moreau
Alfred Delaunay
Edmond Lefeuvre
Gervais Carrell
Simon Clair
Juliette scrunched her nose, then turned back, asking without words what the list was.
Rosalind held her hand out. “Patrons at the club I’m to accost for funds. Would you like an in-depth explanation about how I drug their drinks? A chronological order of who pulls out their coins first?”
“Oh, hush,” Juliette chided lightly, returning the slip to Rosalind’s hand. She ran her gaze across the other papers for a brief while before determining that there wasn’t much to scrutinize. Kathleen had been concerned about Rosalind’s involvement with foreigners, but to live in this city was to be involved with foreigners.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting on my case too.”
“Who, me?” Juliette asked innocently. Rosalind’s bed jangled with noise when Juliette plopped onto the mattress for a makeshift seat, all the pearls and feathers from Rosalind’s dance costumes tangling together atop the deep blue sheets. “Whatever about?”
Rosalind rolled her eyes, getting up from her desk. Juliette thought her cousin was coming to join her, but Rosalind pivoted the other way and wandered over to her window instead.
“Kathleen cannot go two seconds without trying to trail me across the city. I’m on neutral territory, not operating on White Flower ground.”
“I think she’s more concerned about the foreigners than the blood feud.”
Rosalind leaned up against the windowsill, propping her chin into her hand.
“The foreigners see this country as an unborn child to keep in line,” she said. “No matter how they threaten us with their tanks, they will not harm us. They watch us split internally like embryos in the womb, twins and triplets eating each other until there is no one left, and they want nothing more than to stop it so we can come out whole for them to sell.”
Juliette was grimacing when Rosalind turned back around. “Okay, first of all, that’s a disgusting metaphor and not how biology works.”
Rosalind jazzed her hands around. “Ooh, look at me. I studied with Americans and I know how biology works.”
“Ooh, look at me,” Juliette imitated, her hands doing the same. “I’m a triplet and yet my French tutors forgot to tell me I can’t eat another sibling in the womb.”
Rosalind couldn’t hold back her laugh. It spluttered out in a short and loud sound, and Juliette grinned too, her shoulders lightening for the first time that week. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.
“My point,” Rosalind said, sobering, “is that the danger in this city is its politics. Forget the foreigners. It’s the Nationalists and the Communists, tearing at each other’s throats then working together for revolution in the same breath. No one should be messing with them. Not you. Not Kathleen.”
If only it were that simple. If only one thing could be to blame. As if they didn’t all ripple off each other like the world’s most cursed game of falling domino tiles. Whether they wanted it or not, revolution would come. Whether they ignored it or not, it would come. And whether they carried on business as usual or shut down every operation before they could be hurt, it would still come.
“Your necklace,” Juliette blurted suddenly, “it’s new.”