Chapter Text
1915
The Sasaki Gallery, New Bond Street, London
There was a young man seated next to Mr Payne when Niko entered her father’s office.
Mr Payne was a frequent (and wealthy) patron of the gallery and a stern, exacting man. He was also prone to outbursts of temper when he could not get exactly what he wanted when he wanted it. Niko enjoyed her work in the gallery assisting her father; Mr Payne’s visits were an exception.
All of this meant the tray of refreshments she held shook in her nervous hands as she walked over, eyes down, to her father’s desk.
Then there was someone in front of her, their hands steady. She lifted her eyes and saw it was the boy. He lifted the tray out of her grasp and set it down on the table, then folded himself back into his chair, all without a word.
She poured tea and she felt the boy’s gaze on her, as if she was the most interesting thing to be found in a gallery full of treasures.
“May I return, Mr Sasaki? Your collection of nanga1-1 is very impressive.” Edwin said as he and Mr Payne left.
Mr Payne said, “Edwin has inherited an interest in Asiatic culture and language. Useful, as I will be sending him to oversee my business interests abroad. Once this war blows over, of course.”
“It would be a pleasure,” Mr Sasaki answered and bowed them out of the gallery.
The boy – Edwin - sketched his own neat, straight-backed bow in response and dashed after his father, who was already striding down the street.
(Edwin had returned and returned and returned, until Niko knew what a friend was.
When Edwin shipped off to France a year later, Niko crawled into her bed and did not leave it for two days.)
1919
Edwin Payne’s flat, London
“You passed the final assessment,” Edwin said and gestured at Niko’s uniform.
“Yes,” Niko said, and tucked the parcel under her arm so Edwin could get the full effect of the row of shined silver buttons on her tunic.
“Come in and tell me all about it. Chop chop.” Edwin opened the door wider and waved Niko into the flat. His hands were ink-stained.
Niko settled herself onto the threadbare chaise next to the fire and placed the parcel under its legs.
“Tea?”
“Yes, please. I’m very cold.”
Edwin poked the banked fire back into life, threw a couple more coals on it and made his way to the kitchenette.
As Edwin shuffled around putting the kettle on to boil, Niko took off her gloves. Whilst trying to rub the circulation back into her fingers, she looked around the flat.
Edwin must have been working when she knocked. There were open books and a ream of paper under a paperweight on the desk. His chair was pushed out as far as it would go in the narrow space between the desk and the only wall with windows. The chair and desk faced out towards the door. Edwin did not leave his back exposed anymore, not even in his flat.
“How’s the translation work going?” Niko asked as Edwin placed the tea tray down on the low table in front of her.
“Interminable and, for the most part, terribly dull. I am glad for the interruption you have provided.” He sighed. “It ensures a steady supply of funds at least.”
It was strange to hear Edwin talk about something as mundane as money. The Edwin she first met had no such concerns. He had been a young gentleman then, with a father whose investments in shipping and trade, though risky and not always aboveboard, were always immensely profitable.
Edwin had not inherited his father’s luck.
Niko picked up the cup on the saucer in front of her to inspect it. It was decorated with a delicate pattern of roses with a thin gold line around the lip of the cup. Edwin’s cup did not match hers and was chipped. The cup was faintly warm to the touch. Edwin had sluiced it with part-boiled water from the kettle. Niko’s mother had always done that, to avoid crazing the delicate glaze of the family tea set.
“I’ll be Mother,” Edwin said, lifted the teapot and began to pour.
Milk next, Edwin’s portion sparing and Niko’s completely absent. No sugar for either of them.
Edwin set the teaspoon down on the tray and before Niko could raise the cup to her lips said, “Will I be expected to refer to you as Constable Sasaki from now on?”
“Woman Police Constable Sasaki of the Metropolitan Police.”
“You would think a mouthful of a title like that would at least give you powers of arrest,” Edwin took a sip of his tea, and in a softer voice said, “This course of action, are you sure? Your father would not--”
“This is the only way. I’ve no connections in London except you. The police, they didn’t do anything. I can be brave. I can do this.”
“I wish I could assist further. But as it stands, my connections are more,” Edwin paused, searching for the correct word, “humble than when we first became acquainted.”
“I mean, those connections may be helpful,” Niko said and passed him the parcel. “Look inside.”
Earlier that morning
Vine Street Metropolitan Police Station
Niko was the last recruit to be called into the Night Matron’s office.
“Why do they call you the Night Matron?” Niko asked as the woman in front of her flicked through her file.
“Shush,” was the only answer as the Night Matron turned another page.
Niko folded her hands behind her back and tried not to show her discomfort. Her feet hurt from standing so long and her new uniform itched. The navy woollen skirt was heavy, and the matching high-collared tunic rubbed against the underside of her jaw with every breath she took. The baton belted to her waist was an unfamiliar weight against her hip.
After a prolonged silence, the Night Matron looked up and said, “I am the matron of this station, and I work overnight. The title is self-explanatory. You may refer to me as Matron Nurse.”
Niko opened her mouth but closed it at Matron Nurse’s withering glare.
“Yes, what an interesting coincidence my surname is Nurse. It is not at all something I have had my attention drawn to a thousand times before.”
Matron Nurse snapped Niko’s file shut and placed it on top of a tray crammed with similar files. “Now, Miss Sasaki. It is rapidly approaching noon. I would like to get some sleep before I return to this madhouse. Please listen.
“As Matron I am responsible for the care of the detained ladies and children in this station. As if this was not enough work for me to be getting on with, now you little girl constables are also my responsibility. Your employment within the Metropolitan Police is an experiment, Miss Sasaki. A greater one in your case than for many of these girls. The training officers feel that as …” Matron Nurse paused and cleared her throat, “an Oriental, you have certain advantages, and you have been tasked with a specific role. Whilst your colleagues patrol the streets of Soho to assist the loose women they find there you will descend into the unlicensed bars beneath it.”
The policeman who assessed their self-defence skills had called Niko the chinky when he first told her to come forward to fight. After she stamped on his foot and knocked him to the ground, she corrected him.
He called her the yellow hellcat after that. Each time he did, Niko curled her hands into fists until her nails bit into the tender skin of her palms and thought of her father. His calm voice. His collection of silk socks. His prone body when she found him dead in his office.
Whatever word Matron Nurse had seen written in her file it wasn’t ‘Oriental’.
“Soho has always been a cesspit of vice,” Matron Nurse continued. “However, there have been questions in Parliament following the death of Billie Carleton. So, you will attend these nightclubs and ingratiate yourself where you can. If you can find employment in such a place, even better. You will find out which nightclubs are dealing dope. You will find out who is supplying these nightclubs so the Metropolitan Police may arrest them and remove their corrupting influence. Do you understand, Miss Sasaki?”
“Yes, but--”
“Please advise me now if this is not something of which you are capable. The Metropolitan Police will give you until tomorrow morning to vacate the accommodation we have so far arranged. Well?” Matron Nurse said.
“I can do it.”
“Excellent. Alternative clothing has been provided for you.” Matron Nurse pointed to a brown-paper wrapped parcel under the coat stand. “Please take it on your way out. You will report to me at eight o’clock sharp each evening beginning two days hence.”
Niko turned to pick up the parcel. Curious, she began to pull apart the string tying it together.
“Spit spot,” Matron Nurse said. “You can try the clothes on in your rooms.”
As Niko put her hand on the knob to open the door, Matron Nurse said, “Welcome to the Metropolitan Police, Constable Sasaki.”
Edwin’s flat
A change of clothing later
“The dress will perhaps suffice if we say you are a very recent transplant to these shores. One with an affliction of the vision,” Edwin said.
Niko turned back to the mirror and smoothed down the slubbed, bone-coloured silk of the dress as if the problem was that it needed pressing when this was the smallest issue. The dress was woefully out of style and too large on her frame.
“I think Matron wants me to fail. There would be less paperwork that way. I look like a sad, jilted bride,” Niko said. “A sad, jilted child bride.”
“I agree. A modern-day Miss Havisham.”
Niko giggled, then sobered as she looked again at the dress. She picked at the loose silver beading scattered across the bodice. “A tailor or seamstress, they could take it in …” She trailed off.
Niko would still look like death. White was the colour of death. She had worn white after her father’s death and never wanted to wear it again.
Niko watched Edwin raise his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and close his eyes as if fending off a headache. He said, “He will be insufferably smug, and I shall owe him a favour. But needs must. We are going out.”
“Where?”
“To obtain a suitable outfit from Mr King.”
Edwin picked his coat from off the hook, and after deliberating between two scarves, wrapped the navy check around his neck. He held the green paisley out to Niko.
“Put this on. It is a travesty you do not have one of your own. I am sure the weather in Birmingham was no balmier than London. There is a coat on my bed you may wear. Where we are going you cannot be seen in unform.”
1-1 Japanese, translation 'southern painting'. A school of Japanese painting from the Late Edo period inspired by traditional Chinese art.return to text ↩