A Spy in the House by Y.S. Lee

Author:Y.S. Lee [Lee, Y.S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Europe, Social Issues, Young adult fiction, London (England), Family, Juvenile Fiction, Household employees, Business; Careers; Occupations, Mysteries & Detective Stories, General, Smuggling, Great Britain, Sex role, Orphans & Foster Homes, Historical, Swindlers and swindling, Fiction, Orphans, Mystery and detective stories
ISBN: 9780763640675
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2010-03-09T00:00:00+00:00

“There is no need to be afraid, Ah Mei.” His use of the courtesy title was surprising and compassionate. She hadn’t been called “little sister” since she was a child. “Many young people come here looking for their families.”

She drew a deep breath, suddenly shaky. Her palms and armpits were damp with a perspiration that owed nothing to the weather. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Ah Gor.” “Elder brother” — a term of respect — came back to her without thought, without effort. She didn’t know that bit of her had survived.

“Why did you lie?”

“I was — afraid.” That much was true. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone upstairs.” Also true. Despite her shame at being caught — at being recognized — the truth felt better.

“You are looking for something. Information.”

She nodded cautiously.

He paused and studied her face. “You are half-caste.”

She couldn’t control the heat rising in her throat, the rush of blood scalding her cheeks. “My mother was Irish.”

“And your father was a Chinese sailor.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Belated panic bloomed in her chest, spreading swiftly to her stomach, her suddenly shaky limbs. Her pulse was too rapid, too loud — it drummed in her ears, deafening her to all other sounds. She hadn’t thought about her parents in years. Certainly not that aspect of them . . . and of her own identity.

Mr. Chen was still watching her, his face guarded. He awaited her response. Was it too late to flee? He was old. She was quick — and a coward if she ran away now. Again.

Mary lifted her chin. “Yes.” Shame, relief, a curious sense of both defiance and disgrace, flooded her body. It was, in some ways, liberating to share her secret — to acknowledge her real identity — for the first time since her parents had died. Not even Anne and Felicity knew this. Yet the act of confession was also frightening. Humiliating even.

“Your father is dead?”

It still hurt to think about it. “He died at sea.”

He made a small, elegant gesture. “Tell me.”

It was a simple request, but Mary’s mind went blank. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about her father for years. Now, staring into Mr. Chen’s shrewd eyes, she had no idea how to begin.

“He was a good father?” he asked gently.

She nodded.

“You were quite young when he died?”

“Eight years old. Perhaps seven.”

“So you remember him.”

Mary closed her eyes and her father’s face floated in her memory. A handsome man with a shy smile. “He was kind,” she said. “We used to go for walks by the river and he told me about his boyhood in Canton.” She smiled. “People in Poplar called him Prince, because he looked a bit like Prince Albert.”

Mr. Chen blinked and leaned forward slightly. “Do you know his Chinese name?”

Mary frowned. “No one ever called him by it. Our family name was — is — Lang, but I can’t think of his given names.”

Mr. Chen’s breathing quickened. “Take some time,” he said with determination.

Mary blinked. “But you wouldn’t know anything about him .

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