Page 14 of Empire of Shadows

“Hai, Sensei!” the women replied in quick harmony.

Many of the twelve students in the dojo had been present at the suffrage demonstration the day before. Two of them sported visible bruises, like Ellie did. The police had not been particularly gentle when removing them from the gates.

“Next Thursday, two o’clock. Good day!” Sensei Tani finished cheerfully after helping the teacher up. He gave his students a nod, which the women answered with a lower dip of their heads.

The class broke up, whereupon the synchronized attention quickly dissolved into a rapid clamor of chatter as the women filed over to the door. Ellie stepped aside to let the crowd pass as a few acquaintances waved her a greeting.

One of the students—a diminutive whirlwind whose thick, glossy black hair and sun-warmed complexion hinted at her Anglo-Indian heritage—caught Ellie in her arms, pulling her aside with a strength that belied her petite size.

“Ellie!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I am so glad you’ve come!”

Constance Tyrrell was one of Ellie’s oldest friends. The pair had met at primary school and quickly became inseparable. Though they had grown a bit more distant when Ellie went to university and Constance was shipped off to a posh ladies’ finishing academy, they had never entirely lost touch.

Three years earlier, Ellie had happily rekindled her friendship with Constance by introducing her to the suffrage movement—which Constance found ‘dreadfully thrilling.’ Ellie still wasn’t certain how much of Constance’s interest in the struggle for women’s rights was inspired by her passion for the cause… and how much lay in the possible illegality and potential for danger.

Constance had a rather terrifying taste for adventure.

Ellie’s friend had been particularly chuffed at the opportunity to join a handful of the other suffragists at Sensei Tani’s jiu jitsu classes.

The sensei had to offer the sessions surreptitiously. His passage to London had been paid for by Mr. Barton-Wright, who had his own martial arts studio for gentlemen on Shaftesbury Avenue. Sensei Tani was meant to teach there and almost certainlyonlythere—but the sensei had become enamored with a certain Miss McKinnon who had joined the suffrage club a year before. Across the barrier of his limited (though rapidly improving) English and her thick Cork accent, Miss McKinnon had convinced the sensei of the suffragists’ urgent need for an effective means of self-defense. He had expressed his willingness to lend aid, and the club had secured lease of this space above the chip shop for the purpose.

Ellie had yet to take advantage of the sensei’s classes as her schedule at the PRO conflicted with the time he had available for the lessons, but Constance had found them quite enlightening.

“I’m glad I caught you,” Ellie said. “I need to speak to you about something urgent.”

Constance flopped onto the bench on the landing. She snapped out her leg and tugged on one of her kid boots. The motion exposed a length of her muscular calf.

“I also have urgent business with you—namely peppering you with a thousand or so questions about what it was like to actually bearrested,” Constance added.

The second kid boot popped into place. Constance leapt back to her feet, then plucked her coat and hat from the rack.

“Let’s nip over to Geraldine’s,” she declared and dashed down the stairs.

Ellie grabbed her fern and hurried after Constance. She snapped open her umbrella, and the two women huddled under it. They hurried across the street in the increasing downpour to duck into the entrance of a cozy little tea shop.

Geraldine’s was decorated with an explosion of potted plants, bold wallpaper, and mismatched chairs. The windows were steamed up against the lingering spring chill. Constance took Ellie by the arm before she’d quite managed to shake off her umbrella, tugging her over to a little nook pressed up against the window.

They settled in—coats, briefcases, umbrellas, and ferns piling up around them. Geraldine herself—a tall, broad-shouldered woman in her forties—strode over a moment later.

“Right, then,” Geraldine rumbled as she dropped a pair of cups onto the small, round table. “Earl Gray, hot, and an Assam with too much cream and sugar. Anything else today?”

“No, Geraldine. That’ll be lovely,” Constance said, tugging the milky Assam over to herself. “Wait—are those eclairs in the pastry case? I’ll take two.” Constance turned her wide brown eyes over to Ellie. “Do you want anything for yourself?”

“I think not. Thank you.” Ellie offered Geraldine a polite nod.

The proprietress answered with a dissatisfied huff, which was as near as Geraldine ever came to general courtesy.

“So!” Constance leaned in closer. “I heard about the demonstration—it’s all anyone has been talking about since yesterday evening. I am devastated to have missed it. How was I to know it would be an honest-to-goodness melee instead of another of those desperately boring standing-about sorts of affairs? You must tell me everything. Did they really have to use bolt cutters to remove you from the gates? What was jail like? Were there rats? Did anybody torture you? Were you interrogated by a dashing police inspector? Threatened with deportation?”

“No!” Ellie exclaimed, a bit alarmed by the idea. “None of those things. It was all rather pedestrian.”

“How dreadfully disappointing,” Constance replied with a sigh. “Perhaps one must be arrested in a less civilized locale in order to have a more interesting experience.”

Ellie halted in the process of stirring her Earl Gray.

“Please tell me you will not try to get yourself arrested when you go to Egypt,” she ordered flatly.

Constance leaned back in her chair, a devilish gleam brightening her pretty features. “I am sure Egyptian jails have rats. Maybe a little torture, too.”

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