“Is something wrong?” she asked her, as the housemaid got the bucket and her shawl, ready to make the trek to the neighborhood pump.
“No, not at all. Thank you for clearing the dishes, but you know your mother doesn’t like it when you do that when I’m here,” Mathilde said.
“I don’t mind. You seem worried about something to do with my sister.” Tesara knew she sounded a bit pugnacious and tried to soften her words in mid-sentence. Goodness knows, if she gives notice, they’ll never forgive me.
Mathilde turned to look at her, her expression and attitude one of patient forbearance. “Now that you mention it, she seems quieter than usual.”
“She gets like this sometimes, when she is thinking her deep thoughts,” Tesara lied, and Mathilde smiled in relief.
“Yes, she is a smart one,” Mathilde said, and that was that. “Well, I’m off to the pump.”
Tesara watched her go and scraped the plates, wondering. Mathilde had been so wonderful when she first came to work for them. When had it changed? The girl was the same competent miracle worker she had always been, making do on the funds they could give her. Even with the extra they doled out, plus Yvienne’s meager salary from the TreMondis, it wasn’t much, Tesara admitted. She stopped in mid-scrape, mouth open.
There was a limit to creative economy; even she knew that. She knew how much of the first gambling windfall she had left, and she knew how much she had given Mathilde. Even though she herself had never done the marketing, was it really possible for Mathilde to produce three sumptuous meals a day by clever economy on the housekeeping money she was given? Why would Mathilde use her own money to pay for groceries?
She set the dish down. She wasn’t even sure what she meant to do, but her hands tingled in expectation. She thrust them into her apron and ran up the hill to the pump.
There was Mathilde with her bucket, just as she said she would be. Tesara hung back in the shadows of a leaning tenement, hoping the maid wouldn’t turn her way. Mathilde waited her turn at the pump, standing with patient fortitude. And then, out of the crowd, came a man with a checked cap and overgrown reddish-brown curls at his neck. He stood next to Mathilde, but looked the other way. They’re pretending they don’t know each other.
And she remembered the young man the rainy evening she had delivered the servant’s dress. She had thought then he was someone Mathilde knew but Mathilde hadn’t acknowledged the man, so she had discounted her initial assumption.
Tesara watched until Mathilde moved up in the line and reached the pump. Now the two were talking, though she couldn’t hear what they were saying.
With a start, she saw Mathilde lift the pump handle back up and hoist the bucket. Tesara whipped around and ran back to the house, moving faster than the housemaid carrying the heavy bucket. When she got back to the kitchen, she hurried over to the sink and continued scraping, trying to control her breathing. After a few minutes Mathilde came in with the bucket and set it on the stove to heat the water for washing.
“Are you all right?” the housemaid asked. “You look flushed.”
“Quite all right,” Tesara said, as indifferently as she could. She felt as if Mathilde could hear her pounding heart from across the room. “If you like, I can finish up. You should go home.”
There was a silence and she glanced up to see Mathilde fiddling, uncharacteristically, with the dishtowel hanging from the hook by the sink.
“Perhaps I will,” she said at last. “Thank you, Miss Tesara.”
Tesara watched her get her things and leave, and then let out a sigh.
Yvienne, I know you’re angry at me, but we have to talk.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Yvienne was shelving books in the schoolroom when Alve TreMondi knocked at the open door. He smiled when she turned around. Her heart leaped with fear. Yvienne was suddenly, uncomfortably, aware that they were alone at the top of the house. The children were in the garden and Mrs TreMondi and the servants were all busy elsewhere. She cursed herself for forgetting to make sure never to be alone in the house. But she had thought him at his office at House TreMondi. He must have come back specifically to ambush her.
“Always diligent,” he said. “You are a treasure, Miss Mederos, do you know that?”
She said nothing. He waited a moment, then shrugged, still keeping his smug smile.
“The children were disappointed that you were unable to teach them their astronomy lesson after all,” he said. “Perhaps another time this week?”
“Yes, I hope so,” she said.
He had not come farther into the room and she waited, book in hand, tense. Would he try something? She wished she had her pistols.
“I met your uncle – Samwell Balinchard, is it? – down at the coffee house,” he said. “He said you had stayed overnight and it confused me, of course, because you had said your mother needed you and you had to cancel.”
Yvienne’s expression remained unchanged, but inside she was seething. Damn. Blast. Hell. “Uncle doesn’t always follow the conversation at home. I expect he knew I was meant to stay over, but didn’t hear about the cancellation.”
“No doubt.” Now he came in, looking around as if he had never been in the schoolroom before. He ran a hand over the table, flicking away invisible dust. “I know you are a good girl, you see, and you wouldn’t lie to Mrs TreMondi or your mother about staying out all night.”
Now he was in front of her. The schoolroom door was still open, but he reached out and slid the back of his hand down the side of her face, and she flinched, because it was where she was still bruised. She had dressed her hair particularly to hide it, but he had seen it.
“You see,” he said, “I know good girls. I know girls who don’t sneak out of their parents’ house, and don’t lie to their employers. I know bad girls too, and I know girls who get hurt when they act – indecorously. I would hate it if you fall into the latter category, Miss Mederos.”
When she was fourteen and got a kiss from the gardener’s boy, she had been enthusiastic and kissed him back. Now she was rigid with disgust, revolted by Mr TreMondi’s advance. She glared at him. “Don’t touch me,” she said.
“Or what? You’ll tell my wife? I’ll tell her you lied about the astronomy lesson. I’ll tell her you’ve been sneaking out and made your advances to me. Whom do you think she’ll believe?” He let his hand fall. “Believe it or not, Yvienne, I have your best wishes at heart. You can ill-afford to transgress any further. Your family is in disgrace. Don’t you think the last thing they need is another wayward daughter? Your sister is bad enough.”
She swallowed hard against the disgust. “Mr TreMondi, the only reason I don’t walk out of this house this instant, never to return, is because I genuinely care for your children and your wife. Believe me, sir, you don’t deserve them. But if you ever even think to touch me again, I’ll leave, and I’ll make sure that your wife knows exactly why.”
He was furious, thin-lipped and pale except for two points of color high on his cheeks. He looked like a dramatically painted tin soldier, she thought. He grimaced a smile, as if he were trying to laugh.
“Are you threatening me, Miss Mederos?”
“I am promising you, Mr TreMondi. Your wife comes from a very disapproving family, sir. I wonder that you have the courage to make your advances.”
Her shot hit home. He paled, and then walked off, stiff-legged, as if he were forcing himself not to run. She would revel in her triumph except that it was only one battle, not the war.
Enough of this, she thought. She and Tesara had to talk. It was time to plan the final gambit.
Chapter Sixty
When Alinesse found out they had been invited to tea at the Sansieris, her reaction was one of disgust and contempt. The Mederoses and the Sansieris had been business partners many years before the Mederos downfall, and the girls had been friends. Then the families had a falling out, and after that, Alinesse had always referred to the Sansieri family with a superior air.
Mathilde had worked wonders with their dresses, and re-hemmed and mended and blotted and pressed their everyday frocks. Yvienne’s had a small burn mark on the hem where the iron had gotten too hot, and Mathilde had to darn a few holes along the side seam on Tesara’s, but otherwise, they were almost presentable.
Tesara was in the parlor, where the morning light was the best, sewing a few loose buttons that Mathilde had missed. The work was calming. Her fingers were biddable, even her crippled hand. She hummed a little at her work. She was so absorbed, that when her mother came in the room and spoke to her, she jumped a little.
“A very pretty picture you make, Tesara,” her mother said. Alinesse carried in a sheaf of tall day lilies, and set them on the table to cut the ends and arrange the flowers for the dining table.
Tesara snipped the end of the thread with her teeth. “Thank you, Mama,” she said. She stood and shook out the dress. It was faded but in the light the delicate stripes stood out.
Alinesse kept her back to her, arranging and re-arranging her flowers. “Your fingers – do they still pain you?”
Tesara’s eyebrows shot up with surprise. “Not so much any more, Mama,” she said.
“Good.” Alinesse turned. Her chin was up and her voice tight. “Perhaps more needlework or gentle arts will help restore their usage.”
“Perhaps,” Tesara agreed. It would do no good to become angry. Alinesse would always be Alinesse.
“Samwell,” Alinesse jerked out, entirely unexpectedly.
“I – beg your pardon?”
“Sam was always difficult. When he was young, we called him the rattle imp. He made things happen, you see. Always a noisy boy, knocking things about. He didn’t even have to enter a room and something would fall. And your grandmama was always so vexed. She told me once that Balinchards always had a knack for trouble, and to mind who I married, so as not to carry the trouble with me.”
Tesara knew her mouth was open. “Mama?” she managed in a faint voice.
“Sam was able to control it, Tes. After many years, he was able to make it stop.” Alinesse looked straight at Tesara. “He made it stop, Tes,” she repeated.
And then she left the room.
“Oh, are you going out, girls?” Brevart said, with a look of vague surprise, as his daughters put on their gloves and bonnets in the hall outside the parlor.
“Tea at the Sansieris’,” Tesara reminded him for the dozenth time, after sharing a worried glance with Yvienne.
“Oh! Give them my best wishes,” he said once again as if the old feud were forgotten, and vanished behind his newspaper, missing his wife’s glare.
“We will,” Tesara said. They stepped out into the afternoon sunshine, a brisk breeze coming off the harbor and whisking at their bonnets. They walked in silence. Tesara was still overwhelmed by her mother’s revelations, still dazed by what she had learned. She carried a Balinchard trait, her uncle had it until by main force of will he was able to give it up, that Alinesse knew. It explained everything, and yet raised far more questions than it answered.
Yvienne had been mostly unspeaking for the past three days, but now, as they made their way toward the Crescent and the Mile, she finally broke her silence.
“We need to talk,” she said abruptly.
Tesara nodded. “Yes. There’s trouble.”
They looked at each other and just like that, they were partners again. “You first,” Yvienne said.
“It’s Mathilde. I’ve never liked her, and it turns out I was right.” Tesara explained about the young man. Yvienne stopped and held her wrist and they faced each other in the midst of the Sunday crowds.
“Ginger hair and whiskers?” she said, her voice odd. Tesara nodded.
Her sister gave a short laugh. “Ah. Well, I always knew she was too good to be true.”
Tesara felt her heart speed up. “How bad is it?”
Yvienne took a deep breath. “She’s working for the Guild. The fellow with the ginger hair was watching me and Mathilde at the market. Then later he was at Treacher’s shop, that night Treacher was murdered. I took him by surprise, and he thought I was a dock rat. Didn’t recognize me.” Her voice was filled with satisfaction. “I must make a convincing boy. He told me that the family was being watched. He must have meant Mathilde was doing the watching. That’s the only reason she would come to work for us.”
“She was being paid to spy on us,” Tesara agreed. “Using her own money to feed us.” Somehow, that was the most sickening thought, that Mathilde was keeping them all unsuspecting with three meals and impeccable service. It was also why Mathilde had been at the Fleurenze party, keeping an eye on her charges. “She must know about me, then. She cleaned Mama’s dress for me, once, so she knows I’ve been sneaking out, and she followed me to at least one party.” Her heart seized. “Do you think she knows about you?”
If she did, they were all in terrible danger. Oh Vivi.
“I don’t think so,” Yvienne said. “If they knew, they would have come for me by now, I should think.” She smiled in a pained way. “But you’re right, Tes. It’s too dangerous to continue. I’ll stop.”
Tesara pressed her sister’s hand and Yvienne pressed back. They waited for the traffic to clear at the intersection of the Crescent and the Mercantile, and Tesara threw a tiny glance at the pillar with the broken stone. When the way was clear, they walked up the Crescent toward the Sansieri house.
“There’s just one thing,” Yvienne said, as they approached the gate. “This salon at our old house – we have to play our parts one last time. We can’t let Trune suspect…”
“That we know it’s a trap? Of course,” Tesara said. Her lip curled in disdain. “He’s not half as clever as he thinks he is.” She had no qualms about using all of her power against Trune. Something about the house amplified her abilities. And knowing that her mother had always known made her fingers swell with power again. A Balinchard trait, eh? Well, she would embrace it, just as she had learned to accept her Balinchard nose and Balinchard chin.
“Still very dangerous, Tes. Never forget that,” Yvienne warned.
“So, I’ll play the silly debutante,” Tesara said, pretending to twirl her lock of hair and bat her eyes. “And you? The last appearance of the Gentleman Bandit?”
“Not exactly. You keep them occupied in the ballroom, while I look around upstairs. You said that Trune took over Papa’s study as his own, and there were locked cabinets?”
Tesara nodded. “With loads of files,” she said. “You’ll need to break in to them.”
“You leave that to me,” Yvienne said.
“Oh, one last thing, Vivi. Albero the footman works at the house. He recognized me. He was quite kind, actually. The rest of the staff are strangers.”
Yvienne nodded. “I’ll be sure to steer clear of him.”
They rang the bell of the grand Sansieri front door and waited.
It was later that evening that Yvienne stood across from the ancestral home at the top of the Crescent. Long shadows spread across the road from the tall yew trees on the harbor side of the grand street. She wore a modest walking dress and long coat, and willed herself to be invisible in the shadows. It was chilly here but she was warm and silent and unmoving.
The front of the house rose as proudly as ever over the Crescent. The black wrought-iron gate, with its sigil of House Mederos, allowed her to see a bit of detail but not much. There was smoke from the chimneys, but no one came in or out.
Up here there was little traffic. Only two or three coaches had gone by. There were only two houses higher on the Crescent than the Mederos House, but they were lesser merchant families, the Lupieres and the Edmorencys. There was a cul-de-sac at the top of the Crescent, and depending on the plans of the other merchant
families, there could be a good deal of coach traffic along the street. Yvienne remembered from her childhood the sound of coaches and pairs rattling along the cobbled street.
She also knew from her childhood that it would not be as easy to infiltrate the house as it had been the Iderci mansion. There were the glass doors opening out onto the garden from the smoking room and no high hedges or walls to conceal her. Assuming the key to the garden gate was hidden under the same rock, she could get inside the house using the cellar entrance, but no doubt the kitchen would be a mob scene with servants. This was partly why she had told Tesara that she didn’t plan to play the bandit trick again – there was no easy escape. This time she wanted only a chance to look at Trune’s locked cabinets, in Brevart’s old study. The secrets had to be there; Treacher had told her as much, and he had died for it. Follow the money – who benefited the most from the Mederos’ downfall? She felt foolish not to have seen it before that Trune, elevated from Guild liaison to Guildmaster, had benefited most singularly of all. And to find out he had ensconced himself in their home was adding fatal insult to injury.
Tesara only had to keep Trune busy long enough to give her time to find the truth. She felt sick about putting her sister in danger, but she had come to learn that the Tesara, once a woolly-headed dreamer, had hidden depths that Yvienne was only reluctantly coming to trust. Whatever her sister said she could do, as fantastic as it sounded, Yvienne trusted her to do it. And what if it’s true? she thought. What if her little sister really had sunk the fleet and all this was for naught? Yvienne faded back into the shadows, and made her way down the path toward the sea. She could divert along a narrow, twisty track toward Kerwater and home, with no one the wiser.
If her sister had sunk the fleet, that was another battle for another time.
The Sisters Mederos Page 25