Fog Season

by Patrice Sarath

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “He said – he said he wanted to speak with Miss Tesara.”

  “Oh God,” she said.

  “Yes, miss,” Albero said, his voice grim.

  “All right. Have him cool his heels in the library, and I’ll be there–” when I’m jolly good and ready, she wanted to say. Or, eventually. What she settled on, was “–soon.”

  “I’ll stall him, miss,” Albero promised. He paused and then said in a very different tone, “Miss Vivi, are you all right?”

  She smiled wearily and pressed her forehead into her hands. “I’m fine, Albero. Don’t worry.”

  She heard him leave, and then she pushed away from the dressing table and got into a simple lightweight wool daydress in a deep red that normally would complement her complexion but that morning she hoped would only mitigate the damage of her late night adventures. She unbraided her hair and brushed it out, then put it up again with swift, competent fingers. She drew on fingerless gloves, rolled up her stockings and buttoned her boots, and when she was done, after pinning her purse to her waist with all the tools of a lady of the house, she set out to see why the chief constable wanted to talk with Tesara.

  Chief constable Renner stood at her approach, setting down the book he was perusing. Albero had set him up with a pot of coffee and laid a fire and the coffee smelled wonderful and the fire was cheerful and crackling. Chief Renner was a large man, over six feet, and splendid in his uniform. His dark thinning hair was combed over a large pate, but on him it was not vain at all. His uniform was as circumspect as he – black, with narrow gold braid on the shoulder and a medal here and there.

  Yvienne took a deep breath and gave him a smile, approaching with an outstretched hand.

  “Good morning, Chief Renner. Albero, thank you. Could you please bring me coffee as well? And if Mrs Francini has scones, that would be lovely.”

  “I’ll send a tray right up, Miss Mederos,” Albero said, and closed the door.

  Yvienne gestured to the chair Chief Renner had been sitting in. “Please.” She sat on the sofa opposite. “What can I do for you, chief?”

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Mederos,” Renner said. “I told your gentleman I wanted to speak with your sister, but he insisted I speak with you.”

  “As head of the household, I do appreciate your coming to me first,” she said smoothly. There came a discreet knock and then Noe peeked in with a tray of coffee and scones, steaming and emitting an aroma of butter and sugar. “Thank you, Noe.”

  Noe gave the chief a scared little peep and scurried out after dropping the tray on the side table as if she were afraid of being arrested there and then. For his part the chief stared hard after her, as if mentally sizing her up before returning to his errand.

  “So, now may I speak to your sister?” Renner prompted. Yvienne busied herself with her scone and cream, and sipping her coffee. “Miss Mederos?”

  “Please help yourself, Chief Renner. Family manners today.”

  “I know when someone is stalling, Miss Mederos,” he said, without taking her up on her offer. His voice was gentle, but firm.

  “Oh. Well, in that case, Chief Renner, no, you may not speak with my sister.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “As the representative of the city and responsible for the safety of all the citizens of Port Saint Frey, I must insist.”

  “And I must also insist. You will not speak with my sister. But if you tell me what it is you wish to ask her about, I’ll be happy to relay the information.”

  He paused only the slightest. “We wish to take your sister’s statement regarding the discovery of the body of Barabias Parr.”

  “I’ve given House Mederos’s statement, chief constable, so that won’t be necessary.”

  She continued to look back up at him with as amiable an expression as she could manage, her mouth pursed in a smile and her eyes blinking with mild curiosity. Chief Renner was a stolid man. He did not budge.

  “Miss Mederos, I don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation. You are obstructing city justice and city law and you face severe sanctions. You are also trying my patience. If I have to come back here with a warrant for your sister’s arrest, I will do so. I’m sure you can see that it’s much better for your sister to simply talk with me in as friendly a manner as possible, so as not to embarrass anyone.”

  “I see.” Yvienne nodded. She sipped her coffee, buying time, thinking furiously. What did the chief know and why did he think Tesara had anything to do with Parr’s death? Just like the Gazette, he was being fed information, leading once more to the framing of House Mederos. She went on the offense. “Chief Constable Renner, yours isn’t the only patience that has been sorely tested these last few days. You are being awfully diligent about the law and the obstruction thereof now, although I don’t know where you were six years ago or even six months ago. Regardless. I agree with you that we can’t have people going around applying the laws willy-nilly. Therefore my sister will come and speak with you at headquarters in three days, after we’ve had the opportunity to converse with our lawyer. I trust you can hold out that long, sir?”

  His eyes narrowed and he glared down at her. “Two days, Miss Mederos. You have two days to produce your sister. If she isn’t at headquarters at four o’clock on Sunday this week, you both will be arrested.”

  She could tell there would be no bargaining. She said in a tight voice, “Very well, Chief Renner. Sunday.”

  After seeing Renner out, Albero returned to the library where Yvienne waited by the fireplace, her stomach clenched with sick-making anxiety. Mrs Francini and Noe clustered around him, and she gestured them all in.

  “Oh, miss,” Mrs Francini said, wiping her hands on her apron, and with only the smallest tsk at the untouched scones. “Is Miss Tesara coming home soon?”

  She shook her head, omitting any tale of last night’s escapade. “Albero, where is my uncle?”

  “In bed, miss.”

  “Roust him, then. I want him down here, in his dressing gown if need be.”

  Albero nodded and gestured to Noe. The housemaid went to the door but Yvienne said, “No. Noe, stay here.” Noe turned and looked at Yvienne. “I have another task for you. This Mr Malcroft running the housemaid’s ring – bring him to me.”

  Noe and Albero both drew in their breath. Noe gained her voice first. “Miss, he’s – a dangerous man. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  I need a dangerous man. Last night proved that. If she were to find her sister and protect her house, she needed all the help she could get, over and above an enthusiastic butler, a diligent cook, a bumbling uncle, and an untrustworthy housemaid.

  “Nonetheless, Noe, you will do as I ask, because if you do not, I will report you to Chief Constable Renner.”

  Noe gave a small gasp, and her eyes went wide. Yvienne remained implacable. I no longer have time for a soft heart, she thought. I will make use of any weapon that I can.

  “Yes, miss,” Noe said, with only the faintest expression of fatalism. “I’ll go now.”

  “Good.” She wondered if Noe would return, and thought with grim humor that it might be best for the housemaid if she didn’t. The maid gave her a small curtsey and made her exit.

  Albero ran up to get Samwell and he came downstairs, disheveled and grumbling, tying his robe around himself. He brightened at the sight of the coffee and the scones.

  “Any news of our girl?” He took another look at Yvienne. “I gather not.”

  “That’s why I’ve woken you,” she said. “Put on your thinking cap, uncle. Why would the Saint Freys mean Tesara harm?”

  Samwell looked hard and thoughtful. He poured himself coffee and helped himself to the cream and sugar.

  “Word at Aether’s is that the boy – Jone – ran off to sea, and his mother was right unbalanced because of it. Well, she always was, but this was the final straw. Jone was supposed to marry
his cousin, Mirandine Depressis, but becoming a sailor put paid to that idea, what? And I heard that he was sweet on our Miss Tes. What if Madam Saint Frey decided to put Tes out of the running?”

  There was a shocked silence. Mrs Francini spoke up first. “She’s a mad old woman, but she’s not a murderer. I did some catering for the family at one time. There’s never been a whisper of anything like that at all.”

  “Type of woman like that, she just has to lift a finger, and she has old retainers to do her dirty work,” Samwell contradicted. “And then there’s the fire. Bit of bad luck on her part that it nearly brought down her house, but I doubt the old bird ever tried to plan a murder before.”

  “Mr Balinchard!” Mrs Francini said with a gasp.

  “Stop. Stop,” Yvienne said. “All right. The chief constable was just here. He’s looking for Tesara and wants to question her regarding the case of poor Mr Parr. So we can’t go to the constables for help. For now, at least.”

  “We can’t just leave her in the hands of – of whoever has her,” Mrs Francini objected.

  Yvienne said, without looking at Albero, “It has come to my attention that she is no longer at the Saint Frey’s. So now we need to find out what they… where she is now.”

  She clung to her few hopes. She fingered the notepaper with Tesara’s writing. Tesara was alive. Her wounds had been tended. Whatever the Saint Freys intended, she could only hope and pray that they did not mean ill. If she let her fears overwhelm her, Yvienne thought, she would drown in them. She turned her attention back to the task at hand. “So we have to be very diligent about turning over every stone in search of her. All of her haunts, all of her acquaintances – uncle, this is your particular area, I believe. The friend of yours – Colonel Talios? – had an interest in Tesara at one time, correct?”

  “A passing fancy. But he’s attached to Mrs Fayres – it’s not likely he’ll know something different.”

  “Tesara gambled in her establishment,” Yvienne reminded him. “She was turned away because she won too much money. I know that in many of these private clubs information is currency. Could you broach the colonel and his lady on the topic?”

  “Ah.” Uncle Samwell looked embarrassed. He grimaced and set down his scone, looking as if he had lost his appetite. “There was a bit of bother at Fayres’s one time – well, I won’t go into details, but the colonel had to strike me off the guest list.”

  Yvienne suppressed a shudder. She couldn’t imagine what he had done – then she thought, no. I simply don’t want to try.

  “All right, uncle, you win. Go talk to the Names. But for heavens’ sake, be discreet!”

  He brightened. “I won’t disappoint you, Vivi. If the Names don’t know it, it’s not worth knowing.”

  “Well, feel them out, won’t you?”

  He saluted with coffee in hand. “You have my word.”

  She turned to Albero. “Albero, go down to the Conch and Sail and see if there’s any news, anything at all, no matter how silly the gossip. Uncle, you have your orders. Mrs Francini…”

  “I’ll do what I do best, Miss Vivi. I’ll cook.”

  “Miss Yvienne,” Albero said. “What will you be doing?”

  She braced herself. “I think it’s time to call in the assistance of professionals,” she said. At his expression, she said, “No, not the constables – the Harrier.” She would confront Abel and find out what he was doing at the Port Saint Frey mansion. She would make him talk.

  “Vivi!” Uncle Samwell said. He was not the only one shocked. She raised a hand.

  “I know. But he’s been conducting his own investigation, and he might have news of Tes before we do. I may be able to convince him to throw in with us in this matter.”

  After all, she thought, there could be only one reason he was at the Saint Frey mansion that night – for some reason, the Harrier was looking for her sister too.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tesara was engulfed in flames. She struggled to put out the fire, but her powers were useless. Madam Saint Frey – no, it wasn’t Jone’s mama, but someone else – grabbed her hands and pulled them into the fire…

  She woke, gasping with terror, her sore throat cutting like a knife so that her only cry was a hoarse mewl. Her hands throbbed and stung, despite the salve and the bandages. The nightmare faded away, and she concentrated on slowing her breathing, willing the pain to subside. She had soaked through her dress – no, she realized, looking down at herself – she was no longer in her dress but in a nightgown, lightweight and flimsy. She had been changed while unconscious.

  After the journey by rowboat she was carried onto shore, still wrapped in a cocoon of wool blankets and a tranquilizing draught. Whatever tincture Mirandine’s doctor had doused her with made her so woozy she couldn’t object, and so she merely lay there as they carried her into an old carriage and she was driven off and away.

  Now she was ensconced here, somewhere in the city. Her room was utilitarian. A bed. A nightstand with a ewer and basin. A water closet in the corner. Whitewashed, barren walls. Sloping ceilings, indicating an attic room. Two shutters, also white, closing out the view.

  Mirandine was nowhere to be found, and she could only hear muffled noises from the lower floors and the sounds of a busy city outside the shuttered windows. Somewhere a clock struck two solemn notes. That and the pale light leaking through the shutters told her it was afternoon. Tesara sat up in bed, resting on her elbows, wincing as she put pressure on her bandaged hands to push off the covers. Moving slowly, she swung her feet to the floor and stood. She was weak and dizzy, but the dizziness soon passed. She held onto the bedpost and when stable, shuffled over to the window, placing her hand against the shutter. She could feel the cold wet weather of Port Saint Frey against her bandaged hand, but the shutters were nailed tight.

  Just to keep busy, she tried the doorknob with her bandaged paws, unsurprised to find it locked. She listened for the sounds of occupation, but the house was quiet. Interesting, she thought. Perhaps if no one was around during the day, she might be able to get out. She cast around for something, anything, to cut through her bandages, to access her power if she still had it. She tried her teeth, but succeeded in tearing off only a corner of tough cloth. Tesara knelt beside the bed and looked for a piece of broken metal from the bedframe, but it was all well-kept, nothing jagged. Her gaze fell on the ewer.

  She picked it up, holding it between her wrists. It was heavy, solid, painted with roses and greenery. There was already a crack running down the side. Tesara took a deep breath and raised it high over her head. It was awkward, the slick surface slipping between her bandaged hands. She retained enough of a grip to throw it at the floor.

  The ewer broke with a satisfyingly loud crack, but it only split in half. Bother and thunderation, she thought. She picked up the most promising half and threw it on the floor again. This time, it shattered.

  Tesara held her breath. She could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Hastily she scrabbled among the shards and found one with a pointy edge and razor sharp sides. The footsteps came closer, and then someone was at the door with a key. Tesara shoved the shard under the mattress and stood just as a matronly woman with a nurse’s demeanor came in.

  “What happened?” the nurse said.

  “I’m awfully sorry,” Tesara croaked. “I picked it up but–” She made a vague gesture with her bandaged hands.

  The nurse looked at her askance, but said, “Were you hurt?”

  Tesara shook her head.

  “Well, I see you’re up and about and feeling better. I was told to let them know. I’ll have to keep you here for now, but I’ll be back to clean this mess up.”

  “Wait!” Tesara croaked, but the matron slipped back out and locked the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, Tesara scrabbled for the shard again, palming it. If the nurse were gone to tell “them” she was awake, “they” might want to move her again.

  She was sta
nding upright when the nurse returned. With her was Mirandine.

  “Goodness, you look better,” Mirandine said, hiding what to Tesara’s eyes looked like concerned shock. She swept into the room, wrinkling her nose at the broken ewer and the messy sickroom. “Ready to go home, I expect.”

  “Yes, rather,” Tesara said.

  “Look, I know you’re upset. I would be. But it was for your own good.” Mirandine drew out a thin case and selected a cigarillo.

  “If you smoke in here, I shall vomit,” Tesara said.

  Mirandine stopped in mid-strike and peered at Tesara over the cigarillo. Then with a displeased click of her tongue, she set the cigarillo back in the case and closed it. “I can see your temper hasn’t improved,” she said.

  “I beg your pardon. Kidnapping makes me waspish.”

  “Now who’s being dramatic? We merely removed you from the drafty old pile to someplace cozy to recuperate. And tonight, we’ll take you home. You should be happy.”

  “Mirandine, please stop your ridiculous fictions. I want to go home. Now.”

  “You can’t.” Mirandine turned to the nurse, who took the hint and left, closing the door behind her. But not locking it, Tesara noticed. “With any luck no one will know you’re here. Believe me or not, you are in grave danger.”

  “Well, yes. Madam Saint Frey tried to burn me alive. Then I was rendered immobile and kidnapped and carried off here, after I saved her life, mind you. So yes, I do think I’m in grave danger.”

  “Not us.” Mirandine lowered her voice and drew closer. “Tesara, my aunt is a difficult woman, but even she recognizes that she… she has much to apologize for. When she described what happened, and that you tried to save her, she broke down and confessed. You see – she lured you to her house. She said it was revenge for stealing her son.”

  “What did Trune offer her to turn me over to him?” Tesara’s voice was flat.

  Mirandine sighed. “She didn’t say. When we pulled you both from the fire, she tried to confess something. Savain and I didn’t really listen, because honestly, Tesara, she rarely makes any sense anymore – she just seethes with rage and hurt. She was divided between asking us to go back for her hair and sobbing in confession that she had done something dreadful and that the awful man had forced her to do it. Savain filled me in on the details. When he said that Trune was on his way, I knew I had to whisk you away. Thank God the Saint Frey ancestors thought of a smuggler’s tunnel underneath the house.”