“You know, I was thinking,” Uncle Samwell continued, as the family lingered over the remains of their meal. Brevart groaned but even his hostility was muted. “We could have a dinner party now, don’t you think? We have the girl after all, and she does marvels, I’ll grant you that. Be a great catch, that one – for a shopkeeper, that is.”
Tesara and Yvienne exchanged glances but looked away before they could laugh. After Uncle had tried on his usual with Mathilde and had been shot down with efficient brutality, he stayed away from her, slightly frightened. Now he only referred to her as “the girl,” as if calling her by name would invoke her presence.
“No,” Alinesse said. The finality in her voice set the temperature in the dining room plummeting several degrees.
“And who would you ask? Parr? That red-faced chancer backstabbed us enough, don’t you think?” This time Brevart’s voice was quietly bitter.
“I didn’t say Parr,” Uncle said, with difficulty. “I know what you think of me, Brev, but I wouldn’t do that.”
Tesara stood. “My turn to do the dishes,” she said briskly. She began gathering plates. If there was going to be a blow up, then she wanted to escape to the kitchen.
“I’ll help,” Yvienne said, following suit.
“Are you working tonight, Yvienne?” Brevart asked. “I must say, I think one night the TreMondis can let you have. I wonder that you have not given notice yet. It is very tiresome, dear child.”
“I am not working tonight, Papa, and will be happy to sit with you and Mama.”
“I should hope that Mrs TreMondi impresses upon her offspring how lucky they are to have you as a governess,” Alinesse said. “Imagine, asking you to stay over, just to help Nurse care for the children. I know you took a pet when I said it before but I hold to my opinion: Mrs TreMondi is taking advantage.”
Yvienne paused, concentrating on picking up the dinner plates. “I promise, Mama, if Mrs TreMondi seeks to take an undue advantage I’ll be sure to let her know at once.”
Alinesse remained unmollified. “I am sure she’ll be very unpleasant. Those people always are, when they’re faced with their transgressions.”
“Foreigners,” Brevart said. He shook his head at the thought of it. He laid the paper down. “Well, I’ll stay up a bit with you my dear, if you insist, but soon I’m for my bunk,” he said, though it was barely seven o’clock. “I wonder what Mathilde will have for us tomorrow.”
Tesara exchanged glances with Yvienne and could see the worry in her eyes. Brevart went to bed so early and even napped in the afternoons. Her father was fading away, right in front of them. The sooner we get out of here, the better for him, she thought. But even if their plan worked and they were able to restore House Mederos to its former glory, something had gone out of their father. It might be too late.
In the kitchen, they talked in low voices.
“How did it go?” Yvienne asked her.
She gave Yvienne an abbreviated story, omitting the encounter with Trune. “No troubles at all,” she assured her sister. “Managed to hail a cab too – heard the dogs and the to do that must have been the Gentleman Bandit hard at work.”
“Mmmm,” Yvienne said.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Tesara went on. “What happened to your hands?”
Yvienne’s hands were red and raw. And now that Tesara noticed it, her sister’s face was swollen on one side, though it was hard to tell in the low light.
She thought her sister might have delayed her answer for a second longer than usual. But when she spoke, she gave a shrug.
“Oh. Sometimes I help in the kitchen at the TreMondis’ with getting the children’s tea. Cook is so busy, and it’s just easier to do it myself. Don’t tell Mother, since she’ll find it another example of Mrs TreMondi taking advantage. So, are you fixed for the Iderci salon? Do you think you can get in the high-stakes tables?”
Tesara had been about to ask her how she hurt her hands making the children their evening meal, but just then their father called from the sitting room. “Yvienne! Read this article to me, dear, and tell me what you think.”
“Coming, Father!” Yvienne whisked off her apron, gave Tesara a rueful smile, and hurried off to read to Brevart. That was when Tesara noticed a definite limp.
What on earth was Vivi up to?
Chapter Fifty
The night of the Iderci ball, the Mederos family, with the exception of Uncle Samwell, was spending a quiet evening in the parlor. It was a cool pleasant night with a calm and peaceful breeze, and the windows were open to the garden. Brevart alternately read and dozed, waking himself with a snort every few minutes, grumbling something. Alinesse did sums over the accounts. Tesara tried to keep her attention on her sewing, pulling out an old embroidery piece she had been working on since she was twelve and started at Madam Callier’s. The rectangle of material was grubby with crooked stitches. She had rather forgotten what it was supposed to be. It was a dreadful way to be marking time until her parents went to bed. They never stay up late anymore, she thought irritably. Why tonight?
Yvienne was, improbably, knitting. She looked domestic and cheerful, as if nothing affected her. In the low light of the whale oil lamps – whale oil! they were rich indeed! – she looked a picture in her shawl and lace cap over her dark curls. Every once in a while, she would address herself to Brevart, and they would converse over something he was reading in the paper between dozes.
In the old days, they never would have sat up together. It was rather nice, Tesara admitted, but it was utterly ridiculous that her parents hadn’t gone to bed.
Finally, Brevart yawned, stretched, and folded the Gazette and laid it next to him on the table. “Well, I’m for the hammock,” he grumbled. “Alinesse?”
“I suppose I will too,” she said, closing the account book and wiping down the pen and stoppering the ink. “Yvienne, make sure you tell Mathilde to stay after lunch tomorrow. I want to speak to her.”
“Of course, Mama. Good night, you two. Sleep well.”
The girls rose and kissed their parents good night and then resumed their domestic pastimes while their parents made their way upstairs. They kept sitting, Tesara stitching aimlessly, Yvienne knitting, until they heard the door close, the bed creak, and the settling sounds of their parents readying themselves for bed.
Silence at last. Tesara set down her sewing. “Let’s go.”
She had hidden her mother’s dress in the kitchen at the back of the pantry, after Mathilde had left for the day. With quick, silent efficiency, she stripped her day dress and got into the delicate silk gown, cleaned and brushed and blotted to remove the wine stain from the Scarlanti’s party. Yvienne helped her dress her hair and draw on her gloves and shawl.
“There. You look lovely.”
Tesara curtseyed with a graceful air. Yvienne snorted, unimpressed. She held her sister’s shoulders for a moment.
“Now listen. You have to lose – until the very end, when you have to win. And then I give you leave to win it all.”
It was the moment she was waiting for, and the butterflies in her stomach intensified alarmingly.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began. “I wonder if I should try to leave – perhaps say that Mama wants me home and I’m already late? Before they’ve lost all their money? Or should I try to win it all, though they won’t believe I’m a scatterwit if I keep winning to the last guilder–”
Yvienne shook her gently. “I promise you, you’ll know the right moment.”
Her sister’s confidence bolstered her own, and Tesara took a deep breath and put on her wrap.
She leaned forward and gave her sister a kiss on the cheek.
“Wait up for me, please,” she whispered.
Yvienne gave a rueful smile. “I will. Now go. Be lucky.”
“Not lucky,” Tesara corrected. “Clever.”
The kitchen door creaked dreadfully, so with bated breath they opened it as quietly as possible, only enough to let Tesara slip
through in her gown. She stood a moment, letting her eyes acclimate to the darkness, and then took a breath and walked up to the Crescent.
She had a fearful moment when she thought she heard footsteps behind hers, but she hurried, afraid to turn around and look, and the sound soon faded. Soon she was among the crowds still thronging the main thoroughfares. Here the oil lamps burned steadily and she could breathe easier. She began the long walk up the Crescent.
All I have to do is win.
Chapter Fifty-One
The grand gallery in the Iderci household gleamed with gilt and mirrors, blazing over the guests as they crossed the threshold so that more than one made their bow to Mrs Iderci with one hand shading their eyes. Tesara couldn’t help but take a long look at the gilded and painted and frescoed ceiling, rising twenty feet overhead and supported by massive veined pillars. She tried not to gawk.
When it was her turn to be received by Mrs Iderci, she tore her gaze from the ceiling and curtseyed gracefully, gathering up her wrap in one hand.
“Mrs Iderci, thank you so much for inviting me,” she said, holding out her other hand. “Tesara Mederos, if you please, Ma’am.”
Mrs Iderci was a stately woman in her forties, her brown hair and brown eyes and severe mouth handsome rather than beautiful. She had an impressive bust, over which poured a cascade of pearls in an artfully knotted array.
“Miss Mederos,” Mrs Iderci said, nodding markedly less deeply than Tesara. “How delightful to see you. I’m so glad you could join us.”
And then her gaze turned to the person following Tesara, who moved through the line, grateful to have passed the first hurdle. She handed her wrap to the maid and followed her directions into the little chamber where the women freshened up.
After so many invitations, the routine had become familiar. Tesara smiled at the other girls, and sat down in front of one of the mirrors. This time she remembered paint – just a little color on her lips, and a light dusting of rose on her cheeks and her shoulders. Yvienne had plucked her eyebrows into graceful arcs. For this night, Tesara had found more treasures in the old cedar chest. The beautiful pink dress was now adorned with a net of silk roses around the neckline, transforming it into something timeless and lovely. The little ruff managed to draw attention to her shoulders and her bust, simply by covering her.
I think I do look fine, she thought. She had never been all that vain, or at least not more than in the usual way. She looked very pretty, and maybe it was all right that Jone was flirting with her, and she with him, though she had no intention of letting it go very far at all. A Saint Frey and a Mederos could only end badly. Nevertheless, she still wished he would be there.
This night the other girls were not whispering behind their fans. Tesara spoke with one or two, just small talk about the night’s entertainment, and how fine the evening was, and if perhaps there would be too much wind to take a turn about the garden. (In Port Saint Frey, there was always too much wind to take a turn around the garden, she reflected. But girls always hoped.)
Drawing up her evening gloves, she reflected that she had gauntleted herself much as a soldier would have. She felt a flutter of nervousness as she followed the rest of the girls and their mothers out into the grand salon. It was one thing to play on a wing and prayer. It was another to calculatingly plan out the game with a mind not toward luck but toward winning.
The light from the candelabra and lamps in the grand gallery made her wince. Really, who needed this much light? She caught the dour look two of the mamas exchanged with each another, and then both chuckled ruefully. Ah yes – Alinesse had said that sunlight was a woman’s worst enemy, candlelight her best friend.
Not at the Idercis’, apparently. Even the sun would have been kinder. Resisting the temptation to shield her eyes, Tesara took a glass of sparkling Ravenne wine from a white-gloved footman and sipped, just to have something to do. She scanned the room. No one she recognized at the moment. There were tables in one of the small galleries off the main hall, where the gaming was to be set up, all the tables set for four with the green baize covers swept and brushed on top. She could hear the musicians tuning up in the ballroom, and she walked over there to peek in. It was almost entirely deserted save the musicians and a few couples waiting to dance. It was so tiresome to be alone at a party, she thought. She wished she had someone to talk to.
And there was Elenor Sansieri. They saw each other at the same time. Tesara felt a rush of heat in her face. For a long moment they looked at each other and then Elenor smiled a genuine smile and came over, gloved hands outstretched.
“Tesara! It’s so wonderful to see you,” she said. She was as lovely, if not lovelier, than when they were children, her fair hair and white and rose complexion like that of a porcelain doll. They clasped hands and embraced, but lightly, so lightly. Elenor was red too, but she kept her hand in Tesara’s, as if determined that she not cut her. Tesara almost felt sorry for her, she was trying so hard to be kind. “Oh, Elenor,” she said softly, and Elenor bit her lip.
“How are you? And Yvienne? And – your Mama and Papa?”
“They’re well, thank you. Yvienne will be so sorry she missed you.”
Elenor said, almost defiantly, “You both must come to tea this week then, after service. I’ll speak to Mama.” She raised her voice as if to challenge any disagreement.
“How are your Mama and Papa? And Lily and the others? Goodness, Marley must be almost grown.”
Elenor giggled, almost like the old Elenor. “If you can call a spotty twelve year-old almost grown. He thinks so, however.”
A lanky young man joined them. He glanced inquiringly at Tesara and then Elenor.
“Oh,” Elenor said a little breathless. “Jax Charvante, may I present Tesara Mederos. An old friend.”
He bowed, a lock of hair falling into his eyes, but he didn’t mouth any pleasantries. “Elenor, there is someone I would have you meet.”
Tesara couldn’t help it; she raised an eyebrow.
“Jax, you are too abrupt,” Elenor said, and the rebuke tipped Tesara off. They had an understanding. She glanced sidelong at the young man who had captured the belle of Port Saint Frey. He wore a blue uniform coat with three small medals across the left shoulder. So, he was an ensign in the Port Saint Frey navy, and clearly full of himself.
“I’ll let you be,” Tesara said, all amiability. “It was lovely to see you, Elenor.”
As Jax led her away, Elenor said over her shoulder, “This Sunday, Tesara. You and your sister.”
Jax said something to Elenor and Tesara could hear her say back, “Don’t be silly. The girls are old friends, and they’ve done nothing wrong.”
She sipped again at her sparkling wine and wandered away. The room began filling up with couples and she pretended to be absorbed in observing people, keeping a little smile on her face. A stir caught her attention, a rising hum of conversation filled with surprise and shock. Tesara turned around, but could see nothing. Curious, she followed everyone out to the main gallery.
At the entrance, having just greeted Mrs Iderci, was the cause of the attention. A large florid gentleman, resplendent in a uniform that dripped with medals (so would Jax Charvante in twenty years’ time, Tesara thought snidely), stood with the beautiful woman Tesara first saw at the Scarlantis’ gambling salon.
The mysterious creature surveyed the crowd regally, an amused smile curving her painted red lips. As before she wore paint – her eyes were almond-shaped and outlined like a cat’s. Ruby earrings draped down to her collar points.
When that strange gaze fell on Tesara, she felt heat rise from her shoulders to her temple, but she couldn’t look away. The woman recognized her and nodded with an amused smile, then turned away.
Tesara turned to the girl next to her. “Who is that?” she demanded, forgetting that she was still here on sufferance.
“Mrs Fayres,” the girl said. She was so excited to be able to tell someone something new, that she clutched Tesara’s wrist.
“She’s the talk of Milias and Ravenne, and has trod the boards at the opera house in Florin. She’s ever so scandalous,” she added. She glanced at the grand couple, who were now being addressed by a crowd of elder guests, although none of the respectable families, Tesara noted. Her informant lowered her voice. “They say she’s Colonel Talios’s mistress.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
The party had grown suddenly livelier. Everyone now had something else to talk about, and in every corner there were whispers and laughter and speculation, with guests falling to a sudden silence whenever Colonel Talios and Mrs Fayres took a turn around the room. Elenor and her beau came up to Tesara, at Elenor’s instigation, she surmised, and requested that she dance with their set, and so she did. She regretted it almost immediately.
“Tesara Mederos,” said a young merchant son. “Well, look at you.”
“Amos Kerrill,” she said, frostily. He had grown tall and had filled out, but Jone was right – he had the same smirking, bullying expression that he had when they were children.
She had rather not dance with him, but just at that moment the music struck up and he took her hand. The set would be a couple short if she stood him up, so with a shudder of disgust she let herself be drawn into the figure, holding herself as far away from his as possible. At least it wasn’t a waltz as she had danced with Jone.
“So, where have you been all these years?” he said, when the dance figures brought them together. As he knew perfectly well, she could only assume that his bullying had matured along with him, which was to say, not at all.
“School,” she said.
“School. Yes, I had heard something about the schooling the Mederos family got. I hope they taught you to play by the rules.”
It was one of those times, Tesara thought, where she would have given anything for a proper send-down. Unfortunately, she knew from experience she would only think of one in the middle of the night a fortnight hence.
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