When the alley ended, she took a breath and ventured out into the main thoroughfare. Once again, she was plunged into the busy street, the pavement crowded with all sorts. She could lose herself here, though she still felt as if everyone was looking at her in her servant’s navy dress.
But they weren’t looking at her. There were plenty of servants and bondservants along this part of the lower Crescent, where the shops all clustered. She hardly stood out. Once she got home she would have to come in through the kitchen, so Alinesse and Brevart wouldn’t see her in the strange dress.
She breathed a little easier and her heart slowed down as her feet turned toward home. She had gotten safely away, and Trune probably never recognized her. She would tell Yvienne who owned the house; her sister would know what it meant. Maybe then they wouldn’t be at such a disadvantage.
She came to the intersection where the lower Crescent met Mercantile Row, also known as the place where “money met cunning” in city parlance, and waited for the carriage traffic to clear to cross for home.
“Good-day, Miss Tesara.”
Hellfire. Why did she have to keep on running into Jone Saint Frey? Did the man have nothing better to do?
She turned with a fixed smile. He was smiling back at her, as if he were admiring her at a ball, rather than in the street in a stolen servant’s dress. She curtseyed, hoping it portrayed every inch of her annoyance.
“Mr Saint Frey, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Please, call me Jone. We’re old friends. Taking the air again, I see,” he said. “I am delighted you’re re-discovering your old haunts.”
By all that was holy… small talk? Here? She managed a repressive smile, hoping that he would take the hint, and turned back to watching the traffic.
He did not. Instead, he fell in beside her, offered her his arm in its finely tailored sleeve with its cream kid glove, and began walking her along the Mercantile as if he assumed that was the way she was going all along, rather than toward Kerwater Street. Tesara breathed out an exasperated sigh. He must have heard that because he said, “I really am quite happy to have run into you. I know you will think me dreadfully impertinent but I don’t have your new address, and I wanted to invite you to the salon my mother is hosting tonight. Such late notice – can you forgive me?”
Jone Saint Frey was inviting her to a party at his mother’s house. She had to stop and stare at him. He just smiled faintly, waiting for a response.
“I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged,” she said.
“Oh, that is too bad. Are you sure? Perhaps you could split your engagement, and come to the party later?”
“No,” she said, curt. Forbidding. Willing him to stop asking.
He made a rueful face and then said, “Tesara, I know you think I’m a fool for keeping up an old friendship, but I truly mean it. I know unfortunate things have happened to your family, but there’s no reason for us to act as if we don’t know one another. And I think you’ll find that there are plenty of your old acquaintances who are still your friends and mean well by you.”
She stopped and disengaged her arm. When she spoke, her voice was shaking with rage.
“How dare you?” she said, and his smile faltered. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I assure you, I have no desire to be any more of a Port Saint Frey laughing-stock than my family already is.”
He stared at her, his mouth open a little. “That isn’t… You aren’t a laughing-stock,” he said at last. She shook her head.
“Mr Saint Frey – Jone – please. If you do care, leave me alone.”
He hesitated, and then he said, “All right. I hoped to be able to convince you–” He stopped when she held up her hand. He bowed and turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd along the Mercantile. She watched him go, feeling a pang, and wondering if she had been wrong to turn him off.
Idiot, she told herself, and made her way toward home.
Chapter Twenty-One
The afternoon shadows had lengthened by the time Tesara opened the kitchen door and slipped inside, holding her breath. When the only sounds came from the parlor, the low rumble of her father’s voice and her mother’s light answers, she let out her breath and closed the door. The back door latch rattled and she knew she had been heard.
“Who’s there?” Brevart called out, his voice tinged with alarm.
“Just me, Papa,” she said. “I’m going upstairs.”
“Tesara, where have you been? Goodness girl, you should tell us when you go out.” The exasperation in her mother’s voice made her wince.
“Sorry, Mama.”
She waited a moment, but that was all. Quickly she unbuttoned her boots and slipped them off, then tiptoed up the stairs to the bedroom. The parlor room was ajar and she was tempted to stay and listen to her parents’ conversation, but if they saw her in this dress… She hurried up the stairs and once in the bedroom, unbuttoned the servant’s dress and put her old day dress back on.
As she hurried into her old dress, she was forced to make a comparison between the two. The servant’s dress was well made, though plain and clearly for a housemaid’s hard work. The hem of her own dress was bedraggled and drooping. It had already been turned, and was faded and stained on both sides. She had meant to mend it but her needle skills were sorely lacking, and it was difficult to wield a needle for fine work. The dress had become too big for her, hanging off her narrow shoulders and draping over her stained and stretched-out stays. Though it buttoned in the back, she was able to slip it on back to front, button up, and then shift it the right way around, with the buttons in back. All dresses should be servant’s dresses, she thought crossly. She folded the housemaid’s dress conscientiously, and stuffed it under the mattress on her side of the bed, where it wouldn’t disturb Yvienne. She could take it back to the crossroads the next day easily enough, and then her little adventure should be over. There was no need to worry Yvienne about her expedition to their family home, she thought, because as far as Guildmaster Trune and Jone Saint Frey were concerned, Tesara Mederos would never cross paths with either of them again.
In the dim light, Tesara brushed and rebraided her hair, pinning it up into sober loops, deft despite her crooked fingers. She tried hard not to feel a pang of disappointment at her decision never to see Jone Saint Frey again.
“Tesara!” her mother called to her from the parlor. “Come down here at once!”
She went down to sit with her parents. They were where she had left them. There had been a fire in the parlor, but it had gone out, and they had wrapped themselves in shawls. She gave her mother a kiss and then her father. With candles being so dear, they were holding off on lighting any for the evening, but the twilight had drawn on so quickly that she knew they could barely see. Brevart had angled his paper so it caught the last fading light from the window, and Alinesse could only be pretending to read.
“Should I make some tea?” Tesara said.
“No, dear. Where were you today?”
“Out walking.”
“Just walking? Yvienne went to the market with the girl,” Alinesse said, glancing up at her and then back down at the front page of yesterday’s Gazette. “She’s keen to learn the marketing. Perhaps you could think about that, the next time you’re out walking.”
Tesara’s back stiffened. Really, Mother? It was yet another example of the ways in which Tesara Didn’t Measure Up. She bit back a snippy reply, knowing it would do no good to argue. She pretended to leaf through another page of news from the previous month, even though the small print was almost invisible. Ships that came in, cargo, advertisements for corsets and patent medicines; it all meant nothing to her. The only thing that kept her attention was the thought of practicing again. Now she thought of it, she had felt something in her old bedroom. That gust of wind hadn’t come out of nowhere. She had called it up.
“–Tesara?” said her mother.
“I’m sorry, Mama, what?”
Her mother gave
a long-suffering sigh. “Can you not at least try to pay attention, Tesara? You’re not a child anymore, you know. I was just saying, if you decide to go out walking again, please let us know when and where. We are entirely friendless in this town, and I don’t trust the constables these days to keep the peace for a good girl, let alone – well, let’s just say we don’t enjoy the protections we once did.” Alinesse threw a meaningful glance at her husband, but it was lost on Brevart.
“Of course, Mama,” she managed. Casting about for another topic, she lit upon, “Where is Uncle?”
This time Brevart looked up and hastily back down at his paper.
“He’s investigating opportunities,” Alinesse said. “Which reminds me, Tesara. He said you were very rude to him.”
Her determination not to rise to her mother’s lures evaporated in an instant.
“I was rude to him!” she cried. She threw down the paper and stood. “Mother, if I told you–”
“I don’t want to know, Tesara!” Alinesse snapped. “I know that you and he haven’t been friends for so long, and yes, he is–” she took a deep breath, “difficult–”
Brevart snorted and snapped his paper, but made no other commentary.
“But we’re all doing the best we can with the situation we’re in. Yvienne has found us Mathilde; she is learning the marketing; and soon – well, enough for that. But this is our new life and we must make the best of it, and some day things will get better. Fighting with Samwell isn’t helping.”
The kitchen door rattled again and she was both ashamed and relieved for the interruption. Brevart alerted like a hunting dog. “Is it them? Have they come home?”
“Yvienne, is that you?” Alinesse called out.
There was an odd croaking, and then Mathilde and Yvienne came in, with a rush of cold and wet air.
“We got everything, ma’am, and more,” Mathilde said. “It was very successful.” She came over with her basket, and her parents exclaimed over the bounty it held.
Tesara rolled her eyes. Seriously? Her parents were ridiculously fawning where Mathilde was concerned. She felt like telling them about reading Yvienne’s letter, if she thought they would believe her. Instead she stood aside as Mathilde showed her parents the purchases, explaining how she was going to cook all of it. Brevart made approving noises as if he understood dredging anything other than a canal, and Alinesse made comments, and it was all tiresome. Then Yvienne spoke up, croaking in an almost unintelligible way that she had a sore throat and was going straight to bed.
“I have sandwiches for tea,” Mathilde announced, deflecting the parents’ concern for Yvienne. “And I’ll make an oyster soup with barley.”
She had tea on the table in fifteen minutes, and then wrapped up in her shawl, she took herself off home. With suspicious timing, Uncle came in the front door just as the sandwiches and soup landed on the table.
“Sandwiches and oyster soup!” he exclaimed, helping himself to an entire sandwich before Alinesse could even sit down. “The perfect topper to a successful day.”
“Plotting again?” Brevart muttered.
Samwell gave a little “maybe” shrug. “I wouldn’t call it plotting, Brev. A bit of dealing, a bit of charm, you know how that is.”
“Oh, yes,” Brevart said, with deep sarcasm.
“At any rate, the only important thing is that it’s going well. Very well indeed.” He bit deep into the pâté. Tesara lifted her eyes heavenward but caught Alinesse looking at her, and focused on her soup. Samwell said through a full mouth, “You’ll want to know about it, Tes.”
“I doubt it,” Tesara said, with deep reserve.
“Nothing is set yet,” Alinesse said, her voice like ice. It set off alarm bells. Tesara glanced at her mother. What did she know?
Her brother snorted. “Trap’s baited. At least the Colonel is intrigued.” He threw another glance at Tesara. She gave him a level gaze back and blew on her soup, affecting disinterest. “It’s about time some people around here pulled their weight.”
“Yes, as opposed to drinking down at the docks,” Tesara snapped.
“Tesara! Both of you,” Alinesse said. She put down her spoon. “That’s enough, Samwell. Leave it.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t told her,” Samwell said. He gave a disgusted laugh. “Alinesse, we’ve talked about this. I can hardly keep him interested without some encouragement.”
“Told me what?” Tesara said, her heart sinking. To be involved in one of Uncle’s schemes was bad enough, but Alinesse had clearly considered it.
“Nothing,” Alinesse said at the same time that Uncle said, “Colonel Talios has expressed interest in marrying into the family.”
Her mouth dropped. So here it was. Uncle had taken it upon himself to find a suitor for her, despite her evident unsuitability. She laughed.
“I thought I was too useless and plain to attract a suitor,” she said acidly.
Uncle Samwell shrugged. “He’s quite an admirer of yours. Of course, he hasn’t actually met you. Try to keep your pertness to yourself until after the wedding.”
“Mother!” Aghast, Tesara looked at Alinesse. “You can’t be serious.”
But they were serious. They had discussed this behind her back and then Uncle had gone forward and offered her to one of his cronies. It would have been different if they were still rich. Then an arranged marriage would be a marriage of equals. Merchants married merchants and kept the money in the family. But this was not the conventional marriage mart. This was beastly. If she had nothing to offer a man except for her youth, what sort of man would take that kind of bargain?
“Tesara, for goodness sakes, don’t be so dramatic!” Alinesse said. She was livid. Tesara had a moment of bitter understanding that both she and Samwell were letting Alinesse down. Again. “When I was your age I had half a dozen suitors. He’s just asked to speak with you. And you don’t have to promise anything. It’s just a fact that if you have one suitor, then others do tend to gather round. It doesn’t have to be Colonel Talios. It could be any number of men who might overlook…”
“What, Mother? My poverty? My lack of accomplishments? This?”
She raised her broken hand. Alinesse’s breath caught in her throat and she looked away. Her father winced, and Uncle Samwell pursed his lips in a silent whistle.
“Tesara, it’s not your hands that will drive off a suitor, though if you continue to be bitter about it, it won’t help,” Alinesse said.
“Bitter? I shouldn’t be bitter?” Tesara felt the words tumble out, bound up in tears. “You left us there!”
“All you had to do was be a good girl, but no, you couldn’t even manage that! Always had to cause trouble!”
Tesara took great breaths to stop her sobbing. Peripherally she was aware of her father and uncle getting up and leaving the two women to fight. In the dim candlelight, her mother was a rigid shape, her eyes glaring.
“How dare you blame me,” Tesara choked out.
“How dare you blame me,” Alinesse threw back in her face. “We sent you girls away to safety. You had Michelina.”
Tesara struggled to tell her that Michelina had never liked her, and had not even cared for Yvienne. Michelina had watched Madam Callier cripple her and made no outcry. Instead, she was too overwhelmed to speak. Alinesse stood in righteous splendor, and when Tesara couldn’t find the words, she shook her head.
“It’s never your fault, is it, Tesara. You always manage to blame someone else for your mishaps. Well, it’s time you grew up. We’re in dire straits, and everyone must pull their weight.” She paused, and then she threw the words that Tesara had heard throughout her life.
“If you cannot be an asset, you must at least not be a liability.”
The words rang out in the parlor. Tesara said nothing, bowing under the weight of her mother’s anger. Alinesse started to say something else, and then turned on her heel and left Tesara in the dimly lit room.
She was right. Tesara had to acknowled
ge the stark truth of it. She was a liability now, and had been six years ago. She struggled to close her crippled hand, and with difficulty managed a claw rather than a fist. Her power had brought her nothing but grief, but it was all she had. It was time to turn a liability into an asset. It was time to regain her magic and restore her family.
But she would never forgive her mother for abandoning them to Madam Callier.
Mindful that Yvienne was sick, Tesara knocked gently on the door and then let herself in. I hope she wasn’t disturbed by our fight, she thought, but evidently not. In the dimness of the early evening, she could just make out a form in the bed, the covers pulled over her head. Poor thing, she thought. The cold harbor air could do that if you weren’t bundled up against the constant wind and salt air.
“Sorry,” she whispered. She sat down quietly with her back to the door, knees drawn up, resting her cheek on top of them.
As a child she had dreamed about running away, often making up a story about taking her pony Daisy and wrapping up food from the kitchen in a bundle, and then riding off for adventures. Even then she knew it was nothing but a fantasy. Now, at eighteen, she knew even better what was in store for her were she to run. Being sold to the highest bidder – or the only bidder – was preferable to finding herself a woman alone in Port Saint Frey, or any other city for that matter. Her family was her only protection, though it didn’t seem as if they liked the idea any more than she did.
She flexed her fingers to try her powers again when she remembered her sister tucked into bed. Then her eyes narrowed, and she looked closer at the bed with its still form.
Wait a minute…
Tesara jumped to her feet and with a great swoop threw back the covers. As she suspected, since it finally occurred to her she hadn’t heard breathing, her sister was not in the bed at all!
A bit of paper fluttered down to the floor and she picked it up. It was too dim in the room to read and she opened the shutters to let in the last fading light of the evening.
The Sisters Mederos Page 9