Li Bic and the Golden Dawn

By Lesley Arrowsmith

From the music halls of London, by airship to Alexandria, down the Nile on a tour of the ancient sites and deep into parts of Africa unknown to Victorian adventurers - Li Bic takes it all in her stride. Now a fully qualified member of the British Secret Service, Bic needs quick wits and adaptability to fulfill her mission – to find out what members of the Order of the Golden Dawn are plotting, and stop it if she can....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lesley Arrowsmith
• Release date: Sep 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463411612

Lesley Arrowsmith

I work in a bookshop in Hay-on-Wye, the Town of secondhand Books, but I was trained as an archaeologist, and worked mainly in medieval archaeology. More recently, I've become interested in the world of Steampunk.

Book preview

From the music halls of London, by airship to Alexandria, down the Nile on a tour of the ancient sites and deep into parts of Africa unknown to Victorian adventurers - Li Bic takes it all in her stride. Now a fully qualified member of the British Secret Service, Bic needs quick wits and adaptability to fulfill her mission – to find out what members of the Order of the Golden Dawn are plotting....

Li Bic and the Golden Dawn

by

Lesley Arrowsmith

words

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 Lesley Arrowsmith

Smashwords edition, Licence Notes

This ebook is licenced for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your own use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

*****

Part One - The Music Hall

I've been wondering what I can do with you, Miss Li, Mr Falcon said, and I think we have found a use for your unique status as our only Chinese agent here in London, Mr Falcon said.

Bic sat across the desk from him in his office at Ashley Mansions, in only her second meeting with the head of the Secret Service in London, and she was still trying to take in the knowledge that he hadn't decided to fire her for her first ever report to him.

The project I have in mind is a little more complex than I would normally entrust to an agent at the beginning of their career, he went on, so I'm going to put you in the capable hands of one of our more experienced agents this time. He paused to push his round spectacles further up his nose. Tell me, as an American, what do you know about music hall theatre?

Um, just about nothing, sir? Bic said.

I hope you're a quick study, then. I'm sending you to the Royal Theatre. Here's a file about the case, and I'll let Larry fill you in on the details when you rendezvous with him at this address. He glanced at his pocket watch. You've got about an hour to find it - do try not to get lost on the Underground again, won't you?

It took some concentration to navigate to the right Underground station, but Bic did it with time to spare. She felt rather pleased with herself. That comment of Mr Falcon's had stung – but the Underground system was large, and confusing, and she'd only got lost because it was the first time she'd ever used it. She was quite sure Mr Falcon wouldn't be able to navigate the San Francisco trolley bus system flawlessly on the first try. She consulted the map Mr Falcon had given her, and set off confidently along the crowded sidewalk.

The rendezvous proved to be a backstreet Italian cafe called Luigi's, full of steam and the scent of - could that be actual, drinkable coffee she could smell? She ordered a cup, and looked round for somewhere to sit down. Over in the back corner, with a good view of the door, was a tall man wearing a brightly coloured cravat and checked jacket. Not an office worker - not wearing a jacket like that.

He waved her to come over, as if he'd been expecting her. Well, you're a dowdy little songbird, aren't you, dearie? he said, as she sat down. Still, I think I can do something about that.

You're Mr Dray, I presume? Bic said.

Call me Larry, dearie. He sketched a vague bow, the best he could do while sitting at the small table. And you are that famous mistress of Oriental magic, Madam Ming.

I guess, Bic said dubiously. She held out a gloved hand across the table, and he raised it to his lips and kissed the air slightly above it.

He raised his coffee cup in salute, and drank while he looked her up and down. Bic sipped her coffee, too - and sighed with pleasure. At last! Drinkable coffee in England!

She indicated the satchel they had found for her at Ashley Mansions, her purse being far too small to accommodate a foolscap sized file. Listen, I've been glancing over the file they gave me, and I've got a few problems with what exactly I'm supposed to be doing?

Hmm - I've seen it, too. Won't work, dear, not as written. We'll have to work something better out between us. However, the outline is sound - you are, as I said, the famous mistress of Oriental magic, come to make your fortune in the music halls of Old England, the purpose being to catch the eye of a certain gentleman up in the balcony, who will be very interested in the content of your act.

Yeah, about that, Bic said. Whoever wrote this doesn't know much about Chinese culture, do they?

I imagine they've wandered round the Oriental exhibitions of the British Museum, or possibly the V&A, and fancy themselves experts on account of that, Larry said. I dare say they came across a Ming vase or two, and that's where the name came from. Possibly they have also attended a music hall, when they considered themselves a wild undergraduate. We, however, know better, don't we?

I sure hope so, Bic said.

I know the theatre, and what the public wants to see, and you know how to make that as close to something truly Chinese as we can manage. I'm afraid we're stuck with the stereotype to a certain extent - silk robes, big hair, fans, that sort of thing - but our mark really is an expert China hand, and he knows the good stuff when he sees it. We want to make sure that there's enough good stuff in the act to tempt him to make your acquaintence.

Bic looked down into the depths of her coffee cup. There we have a problem, she said. I don't know what the good stuff is.

But I presume you know the fake when you see it, Larry pointed out, and so will our mark.

She looked up. So what we need is someone who knows the good stuff.

Larry looked thoughtful. I know someone who trades in the Orient - he might have a few ideas where we can look. I know a lot of people in London, but Chinatown is something of a closed book to me.

So, assuming we can find the good stuff, and he takes the bait, then I get invited to his secret society? Bic said.

Ooh, you're a quick study, dearie, Larry said. And that's where the real work starts. While he thinks he's getting all your juicy occult secrets, you'll be getting all the secrets you can out of him.

They didn't linger over the coffee. Pretty soon Larry was pushing his chair back and pulling his overcoat on.

And now, m'dear, Larry said, settling his slouch hat on his head, it's time to get you some more suitable accommodation.

What's wrong with the boarding house in Vauxhall? Bic asked. That guy at Ashley Mansions said it was very suitable.

For a respectable young lady, maybe, Larry said dismissively. For the Amazing Madam Ming, certainly not. You need theatrical digs, m'dear, and I know just the thing.

So they descended into the Underground again. First, they went back to Vauxhall, where Bic packed up her carpet bags and settled the bill at the boarding house. She took care to keep the reciept safe.

With Larry assisting, they went down the station steps once more - and when they emerged back to street level, Bic had no idea where she was. It was like being a mole, popping her head up from the tunnels here and there with no idea what lay in between. It was all very confusing.

Larry, of course, took it all in his long stride - she had to scurry to keep up with him as he led her along a busy street. There were a couple of quick turns, left and right, into a quieter residential side street, and then he was loping up the front steps of one of the near-identical row houses.

The woman - neat, middle-aged, plump - who opened the door was clearly expecting him, and led Bic up the stairs to show her the room.

What do you think? Larry asked. He was leaning against the door frame, watching her dump her bags on the bed.

She tested the mattress, looked around at the faded wallpaper, the old-fashioned wash stand, the cheap deal furniture.

I think this will be adequate, she said, hoping to give the impression that it was rather beneath the standards she was used to - which, in fact, it was.

Mrs. Doyle is the soul of discretion, Larry assured her, smiling down at the landlady.

Mrs. Doyle winked at him. There are some things that I could tell you have gone on in these rooms, she said, but, my lips are sealed! She smiled at Bic. Here's your front door key, Miss Lee, and this one's the room key - and you may be assured that this is a safe house.

The way she said it made it sound more like a bank vault than a boarding house. Bic assumed from this that she was not the first member of the Service that Larry had brought here, and that previous guests might have been lying low for various reasons.

Thank you, Mrs Doyle, she said. I'm sure I'll be very comfortable here.

The rest of the day was spent unpacking, finding a nearby cafe where she had lunch, and working out where in London she was with the aid of an A-Z map book that Mrs Doyle lent her.

Larry returned early in the evening, to find Bic in the guest sitting room, reading the Evening Standard and sipping tea. It was, sadly, what she had come to expect from English tea, but it was at least hot and wet.

Care for a libation? Larry asked.

That's beer, right? Bic asked cautiously.

Or any other intoxicating liquor of choice, he confirmed. Dame Fortuna has smiled upon us, he continued. I may have found someone who can assist us with our Chinese conundrum. Come along, and don't worry - I'm buying.

He took her along Oxford St - where there were a considerable number of very interesting shop windows that Larry resolutely marched her past without allowing her more than a cursory glance at the displays.

Too late in the day for shopping, dearie, he said. Let's focus on the matter in hand, shall we?

Bic sighed, and tried not to be so distracted. At length, they turned off into a side street, and stopped outside a modern public house, with elaborately etched glass windows, brightly lit by gas mantles. Ornate golden cupids leaned out above the door.

Larry opened the door for her and she stepped into a bright oasis of polished wood and shining brass. The walls were almost entirely mirrored, with elaborate etching. Over there to the snug, m'dear, Larry murmured. I'll just be at the bar - what's your pleasure?

Um - a drink, you mean? Bic glanced over the bewildering array of bottles behind the bar, and spotted the hand pumps with some relief. At least she knew what they were. A half of mild, please? she asked.

Get you, blending in with the natives, he said. She got the vague feeling that he approved.

She turned towards the snug. At the end of the bar, a staircase led up to the next floor, the bannisters wrought iron painted black and gold. Hidden behind the stairs was the snug.

She couldn't get close to the bar, which was mostly hidden behind behind a row of men in a variety of overcoats and hats. Every one of them had a pint glass in his hand, and most of them were smoking pipes, with a scattering of cigars. The gas light was filtered through a miasma of tobacco smoke.

She entered the back room, which was lined with leather upholstered benches, with small tables set out along the length of them. A thick set man was sitting alone at the table with the best view of the door. He had his bowler hat pulled low over his brow, and his head down over a pint glass, half full of dark beer. The light was dimmer here than in the main bar, and he wore a dark coat with a half cape, which helped him to merge into the shadows.

Even so, he looked awfully familiar.

Good evening, Mr Conway, Bic said, sliding onto the bench seat beside him. Fancy meeting you here!

Cutter Conway pushed his bowler hat up with one finger. Well, if it isn't Miss Li, he said. When Larry said there was a Chinese agent he wanted me to meet, I should have known it was you.

Larry chose that moment to step into