“Did you ever see if you could determine what was wrong?”
“No, miss. I looked in the shaft and tugged on the ropes, but that was all. There was a bad smell, making me think food was left in it, and I mentioned as much, but Madam said only to keep it shut. She, ah, added that she didn’t want to even have to think about the dumbwaiter any further. I didn’t push the matter.”
Wise of Albero. “I understand,” Yvienne said. They couldn’t afford to have the dumbwaiter taken out, and Alinesse didn’t want it to be repaired. It was hard to navigate those waters. “Well, now is the time for us to act, and Mama had given me instructions. I don’t like the idea of something potentially useful broken. Shall we look into it? Can you have the craftsmen who installed it come and take a look?”
“I will do, miss.”
“Thank you, Albero. And you too, Mrs Francini. I’m looking forward to lunch.”
“Roasted vegetables with anchovies and wine,” Mrs Francini said with immense satisfaction.
Chapter Nine
Dear Tesara,
There was a space, as if Jone was using it to think, to show off his hesitation. Tesara had read the letter many times in the two weeks since the Iderci Empress weighed anchor.
I have much for which to apologize. My silence and my absence in the past six months cannot easily be excused or explained. I will try my best because you, above all, deserve that.
When we became friends again after so many years apart, I was the happiest I have ever been. We were more than friends – comrades in arms, perhaps, together against an unfeeling world, finding laughter where we could. With Mirandine, we were the three comrades, best of friends, best of – anything.
But I also began to dread seeing you – and Mira – because I knew – I have always known – it could never last. My family situation is such that my life and my choices were never mine to make. It would be easy to blame my mother for it, but I beg of you to understand and pity her because in her youth she was as constrained as I, as thwarted as I. Her life was not her own, and therefore neither would mine be.
It was her demand that I break it off with you, and though you think I am a coward, it was the right thing to do. You would never be happy in my world, for my world does not bring happiness, only decay, anger, frustration, and eventually, despair. I could not do that to you, darling – can I call you darling? I will, and if you do not like it you can say so in a letter back to me and I will receive it and understand. But now, when I can speak to you without your protest, I will call you darling, even as I state you can never be my darling.
I know – I know you think I have chosen Mira in your place. I have not. For while I could not bring you into my dreadful family, I could also not bring myself into Mira’s. She is damaged, Tesara, damaged beyond repair, and she is brittle and ready to break. Though her last name is Depressis, she is a Saint Frey, through and through, and our union would be monstrous. I told her this. She ignored me. She went behind my back to my mother and told her that she would see to it that we married. It was a betrayal beyond anything I have ever imagined.
Too much, Tesara thought. It was as if the reticent, charming Jone Saint Frey had discovered that pen and ink had loosened his tongue beyond all discretion and consideration.
None of this is to excuse me. Nor will I be surprised if it does not fully explain. But I felt that my life was at a point at which I had to choose between harming a girl – you! – I had come to hold most dear to me, perhaps by fulfilling her greatest wish – and harming myself by choosing Mirandine Depressis.
Do you love me? Or does this letter grossly overstep and overstate the feelings I have thought you have held for me? If so, I apologize for presuming so laughably upon your friendship. And so tormented am I that I both want you to love me and hope you do not, that you are appalled by this letter and rightfully want to tear it up, because it will mean that I did not break your heart after all.
And so, I take the coward’s way out. I will not choose. The options are disgusting to me. When you read this letter I will have sailed on the Iderci Empress for a voyage of many months, perhaps years. When my contract is up on the Empress, depending on which port I find myself, I intend to either continue to sail, to put to use the hard-won skills with which I have supported myself, or, if the sea does not become me, to settle in some far-off country. I will be a Saint Frey no longer.
And when I write you next, if you decide to answer, I hope you will answer that you can find it in your heart to forgive me at the least, or love me at the very most.
I am yours, forever,
Jone Saint Frey.
No matter how many times she read the letter, she felt a confusing onrush of emotions she could not parse. She should have been ecstatic over Jone’s letter, or at the very least, smug. Was it not the point of a merchant girl’s existence, to be courted by an eligible young man, to marry, and by investment of time, energy, and cunning increase the wealth of both their Houses? Six months ago, her parents had wanted her to consider the suit of Colonel Talios, for heaven’s sake.
They would have frowned upon Jone’s declaration of love, for certain – his family was hardly wealthy, for one, and she was hardly noble, for another. But her parents’ disapproval could have nothing to do with her own feelings, which were all doubt and confusion.
Every time she read the letter and relived the kiss, her confusion deepened. I’m nineteen now, she told herself. Far too old to be acting like a silly, immature girl. But this felt too fast. She missed Jone and she missed their adventures, and she missed Mira too, but why did Jone have to say he was in love with her? It ruined everything.
She sighed. She hadn’t written to him; it made little sense because no matter whether she wrote a letter and carried it down to the next mail packet that day or in six months, it would still take the same amount of time to reach him. And she didn’t know what to say.
A rap came at the door and Tesara hastily shoved the letter into her dressing table drawer. “Come in,” she called. Yvienne ducked in, and closed and locked the door behind herself.
“We have a problem,” her older sister said without preamble. “Albero and Mrs Francini know the money we’ve been giving them from my escapades last summer isn’t on the up and up. Mama had been asking about it, and I think they wanted to make sure they wouldn’t get in trouble for a discrepancy.”
Tesara sighed. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. “What did you tell them?”
“I said that it came from extra governess wages. But we can’t keep giving it to them, now that I’m no longer governessing. And with the Guild investigation ongoing, we can’t put it in the House Mederos account, right when an influx of monies would look suspicious.” Yvienne bit her lip, her brow wrinkled. “I had hoped to be able to continue doling it out through the household account. Much the safest way to dispose of it.”
“Oh, I can think of many ways,” Tesara said with an impish look. She ticked off on her fingers. “Twenty-one, Seven card lady…” If I had access to a gaming house, she thought, I could turn that money into a fortune.
“Hush, you,” Yvienne said. “But that brings me to another idea. You said that Mrs Fayres deposited the bulk of your winnings in your account. So a large amount of money won’t be an anomaly. We need to put it in your account, and keep it there until people stop looking for it.”
No one audited the personal accounts of the Bank of Port Saint Frey, or at least not of the merchant houses. The lesser merchants, the shopkeepers and tradespeople, made noises about that, but the Guild thus far had kept a stranglehold on the privilege.
“Easy enough,” Tesara agreed. “How much is it?”
“Twelve hundred guilders.”
Tesara nodded judiciously. “Most of that was from the Iderci salon, as I recall.” It had been surprising to see the Gentleman Bandit break into the genteel gambling party that the fabulously wealthy Iderci family had thrown last summer. It had been as
tonishing to recognize her sister, dressed in men’s clothing with a handkerchief across her face, and watch as she held the room at bay with two pistols and an air of complete aplomb. While Yvienne held Mr Lupiere hostage with a gun to his head, she had made Tesara gather up the money from the gambling tables, all without speaking a word, then fired one shot into the wall and fled into the night. Twelve hundred guilders was about right. “I’ll take it to the bank this morning, after I dress,” she said.
“I’ll have Albero send for a hack,” Yvienne said. “I don’t want you to walk around town with that much money.”
“I don’t think we have to worry about another Gentleman Bandit,” Tesara pointed out with a grin. She flexed her fingers in a claw. “And even if we did…” She let the words trail away.
Yvienne gave her a look, but evidently decided to take it as a joke. Even though, Tesara thought, I am serious. But there was no need to worry her sister more than usual.
“That’s settled then. I’ll have a purse for you when you’re ready to leave,” Yvienne said.
A muffled noise outside the bedroom door caught their attention. Yvienne held a finger to her lips. Tesara listened, but there was only the one sound. With a quick motion, Yvienne pulled the door open, almost bowling over Noe, who was standing there with fireplace tools in a bucket.
The maid shrieked and jumped back with a rattle of firedogs, tongs, whiskbroom, and dustpan. “Miss Yvienne!”
“Oh, hello, Noe,” Yvienne said, as if she had not nearly knocked the maid off her feet. “Come to clean the fireplace?”
“Yes, miss. Mrs Francini said that Miss Tesara doesn’t like the smell of cold ashes.” Noe glared at Tesara for good measure, as if her troublesome, sensitive nose was such a bother.
“But I’m afraid now is a bad time,” Tesara said, in no mood to try to placate the girl. “Perhaps later.”
Noe heaved a sigh, dipped a curtsey pointedly to Yvienne, and stomped off, her tools clanking. Yvienne closed the door behind her and leaned against it.
“I think you’re right – she really doesn’t like you,” Yvienne said.
“More to the point, Vivi, do you think she heard?” Tesara said.
“Oh, most definitely. If she hadn’t been trying to sneak, she would have made quite a rattle with all that stuff. She was trying hard not to be heard.”
“So what do we do? Sack her?” Tesara cast her memory over their conversation. “If she heard everything, she knows a lot and can guess the rest,” she said. “What a bother, Vivi.” Her heart sank. They had such rotten luck with housemaids.
Yvienne sighed. “I suppose we must, though I hate to do it. I’ll have Mrs Francini keep a close eye on her for now, and make sure she can’t cause any more mischief for today.”
Tesara dressed quickly in her warmest clothes, camisole under her corset, a dress of thick dark red wool over a fine underdress, flannel stockings that had to be tied carefully or they would droop in the most annoying fashion, and oiled half-boots. She buttoned them up with the buttonhook and stood, shaking out the skirts. Her long overcoat of fine blue wool, her scarf and kid gloves, waited for her by the front door. She grabbed her small netted purse and looped the cord over her wrist and trotted down the stairs.
Yvienne and Albero were waiting in the foyer. Yvienne came over and under the pretext of a sisterly kiss, she slipped the fat wallet into Tesara’s purse.
“Don’t be gone too long,” she advised. “You know how badly Fog Season settles in your lungs. Wrap up in your muffler.”
“Yes, Mama,” Tesara said, teasing. “Oh, Albero, tell Noe that now would be a good time for her to clean my fireplace ashes.”
“I will let her know, miss. She’s assisting Mrs Francini at the moment.”
At the sound of a hack rolling up the circular drive, Albero gave a pleased hmmph.
“Goodness,” Yvienne said. “Did you give the boy an extra guilder? He must have run as if on winged feet.”
Albero paid the Edmorency’s gardener’s boy next door to send messages and hail cabs, an arrangement that pleased everyone concerned. Now he merely raised his eyebrow and said, “I’ll be sure to reward such industry in the future, miss.”
Albero helped Tesara into the ancient hack, which looked as if it were held together with rust, moldy fabric, and peeling paint. The horse looked equally as ramshackle, and the only sense she got of the driver was that he was a large man, swallowed up in an even larger greatcoat with a hat low over his eyes to keep off the drizzle.
“To the bank, please,” Albero told the driver, and Tesara settled back against the seat.
Chapter Ten
The hack swayed and bounced on extended springs as it rumbled down the steep hill toward the city, at one point tilting alarmingly with a bounce. Tesara braced herself to keep from falling forward. As a child, she used to love the feeling of the carriage tilted at an extreme angle, and would beg Coachman Jone to make the horses take it at a gallop. To his credit, he never once gave in to her pleading.
The fog closed around the vehicle, and Tesara, peering out the window, could see little from her vantage point.
At the bottom of the Crescent, the carriage leveled out, and Tesara relaxed a bit. She flexed her fingers experimentally, and a bit of power coursed between them. Her fingers, crushed by Madam Callier when she was a child, ached as always – a Fog Season would always have that effect on them now, she thought. But it did little to dampen her power any more.
Then the carriage began to climb again, the horse surging against the harness. Tesara stopped flexing her fingers and frowned. Where was the cabbie going? She looked out the window again, but the fog was so thick, she could barely make out buildings, let alone signposts. It appeared they were in an alley off the main street. What on earth – was he taking a shortcut? She tsked and rapped the ceiling.
“Excuse me,” she called out. “The most direct route is to go down Mercantile Row.”
There was no response. Tesara rapped harder. The hack jerked to a stop. She pulled on the handle, but the door remained locked.
Oh. Oh, indeed. Tesara braced herself against the back of the seat and yanked off her gloves. Fear and nervous excitement gripped her. Once before she had been locked in a carriage. This time, she would fight back.
The driver pulled open the door, holding a pistol in one hand, with a pair of irons in the other, ready to slap around her wrists. He loomed over her, his face indistinct under a broad-brimmed hat and muffler.
“Now, my dear, you can either be a good girl and sit still,” he said, “or I can lock you up and stuff a gag in your mouth. Your choice.”
“Neither,” she gritted, and pushed the power out through her fingers.
The man was blown backward; with a loud crack, the pistol discharged, shooting a hole in the ceiling of the carriage; and the horse reared and bolted, dragging the carriage behind him. The man fell away from the door and Tesara was tossed around as the cab ran over him with a bump and thud, reeling from side to side. She grabbed for a handhold, and was jounced without mercy.
With a last final jump, the cab tipped over, and Tesara rolled off the seat against the door of the carriage, banging her head and her elbow. The horse dragged the equipage a few more steps and finally came to a halt. Shaking, her face scraped and bleeding, Tesara got to her feet. She pushed open the door, now above her, and stood on the seat to pop her head out, looking around. Dark buildings loomed over her in the fog, but she had no idea where she was.
Blast and damn. Anger gripped her, taking over fear. She grabbed the purse, made sure it was tightly knotted, and pulled her way out of the carriage, sore and bruised. Tesara clambered down the muddy wheel to the ground. She stopped, listening, but heard nothing but the dripping of the rain. If the driver was nearby, assuming he was not dead or badly injured, he had not caught up yet. She was sickened by her memory of the man run over by the wheel. Could he have survived that?
If he had, he
was in for more pain. She was furious at the attack, her heart and her fingers buzzing with electricity. She slowed her breathing, trying for calm. The horse was trembling and snorting. It had run into the end of the alley in its wild panic, and now was blocked by an old brick wall looming out of the fog, trapped by the overturned carriage.
“Whoa,” she said to the horse, patting his neck, and the poor creature flinched, reacting to the electricity in her fingers. “Sorry, pet, sorry,” she said, snatching her hand back. She felt dreadful leaving the poor thing, but unharnessing him would take too long, and she couldn’t right the carriage, not by herself. “I’ll find help, I promise,” she told him.
She hurried down the alleyway, limping at first, but soon moving faster. There was no sign of the cabbie.
The alley opened into a street, and she got her first sense of where she was – near the small tradehouses north of Emery Place. She dodged into the first establishment she saw. The men working there looked up in shock at her sudden appearance. I must look quite wild, she thought. Her dress and coat were torn, her face raw and stinging, her hair a mess, and she had no gloves.
“Miss! Can I help you?” said the manager, a young man in shirtsleeves and suspenders.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said, trying to gain some control over her trembling voice. “My cabbie tried to rob me at gunpoint. He fired a pistol and the horse bolted, and the cab tipped over and I came here.”
“That’s dreadful!” the young man exclaimed. “Are you hurt? Should we call for a doctor? Bynge! Slyere! Go fetch the horse! Who was the cabbie, miss? Did you get his city number? He tried to rob you? What a scoundrel. We’ll send for the constables.”
“Yes, I think you should. It was quite dreadful.” She felt a moment of grim satisfaction that the constables would deal with her driver, if they could find him. She let the young man lead her to a chair in his office. The workers all stared at her, until the manager told them to jump to and get back to work. They jumped to.
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