Fog Season

by Patrice Sarath

  “Adorable,” pronounced the redhead in the silk gown. “Now,” she said, tugging at Tesara’s scarf to straighten it, “there’s one more loan, and this one is the most precious of all. Lucielle, call for Grivere, have him saddle up Persife. Stride saddle please. You do ride, don’t you?”

  Tesara nodded. “I haven’t since I was a child, but one doesn’t forget.” She remembered her pony Daisy, and the scrapes they got into while riding in the park.

  “Persife is my hunter, and she’s spirited but honest. She’s shod for the streets and she won’t slip. If she gets hurt in your care, I will come after you myself, and you won’t like that.”

  In a few minutes there came a knock from below, and they led Tesara down a back staircase to a solid door, which led to a narrow alley behind the townhouse. A groom held a robust bay mare who whickered at her mistress but stayed still for Tesara to be thrown into the saddle. The groom adjusted the stirrups for Tesara’s shorter legs, and she looked down at her rescuers. She gathered the reins and felt the horse come together under her seat. It did feel good to be back in the saddle after nearly seven years.

  “Thank you, ladies,” she said, as heartfelt as she could. “And, um, if you could not tell Mrs Fayres–”

  “We won’t,” the redhead said. “But you better go. Fayres has a way of finding things out.”

  She turned the mare in the tight alleyway, and boosted her into a steady trot, rising and falling in the saddle. The hoofbeats rang on cobblestone and, true to her owner’s words, Persife never missed a footfall on the uneven surface.

  The cold wet night air smacked at her cheeks above the scarf, but it felt good, bracing, despite the pain of her sore throat and feverish, sensitive skin. She turned the mare down the wide streets toward the Crescent, keeping to a trot because it wouldn’t do to gallop through the dark avenues of Port Saint Frey, no matter how surefooted the mare was.

  Hold fast, Yvienne, she thought, as she hurried home through the dark wet streets. I’m coming.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Yvienne had barely alit from the constable wagon and been ushered inside the station when a streamlined carriage of the newest mode clattered up to the front of headquarters. Everyone turned to look. A large woman, followed by a tiny page, exited the carriage at full speed.

  “Chief Constable Renner!” Dr Reynbolten boomed as she swept into the room, followed by a chastened junior constable, his undecorated uniform a match for his spots and his bravely attempted mustache. “How dare you detain my client? What is this? Have you lost your mind, sir? Arresting a daughter of House Mederos? On what charges? Let me see the charges. You have overstepped, chief constable! O. Ver. Stepped.”

  Dr Reynbolten was six feet tall, with broad shoulders encased in leg o’ mutton sleeves in a dress of deep crimson, a tightly corseted waist, and demi-skirts that showed off riding boots and pantaloons. She wore the sash of the advocate’s guild across her impressive bosom, and her chin rested on a froth of lace at her throat.

  She cast a gimlet eye over Yvienne. “I thought I’d find your sister in here. Not you.” She snapped her fingers. Her little page, a seven year-old boy, ran forward, lugging a record book almost as big as he was. Dr Reynbolten thumbed through the book. “Statute 10.5. Produce your proof now, chief constable, or release my client.”

  “Statute 10.5 doesn’t apply in a Guild case,” the stolid Renner said. “Stop intimidating my men, Claia, or I’ll have you thrown out.”

  “I’d like to see you try.” She shut the book with a thud. “For God’s sake, Renner, she’s the smartest girl in Port Saint Frey and the only sensible one out of the bunch. What do you have on her?”

  “Obstruction of justice and conspiracy to commit arson and battery, and she is currently the lead suspect in the murder of Barabias Parr.”

  “Hmm.” Another piercing, gimlet gaze. Yvienne looked her straight in the eye. “Everybody out. Not you,” she said to the page, pulling him back by the collar. Renner and the junior constable filed out.

  Yvienne sat on the hard wooden bench with her hands folded in her lap. “Thank you for coming, doctor. As you can see, we need your help.”

  “Yes, well. What on earth has your sister gone and done this time?”

  Yvienne hesitated and glanced at the closed door. Dr Reynbolten waved a dismissive hand. “Renner and the rest know better than to listen in. Besides, he briefed me earlier today. Told me you’re guilty as sin, and your sister too. Of what, I’d like to know. Just so I may defend you, you know.”

  “I don’t think we’re guilty of anything, doctor. It’s another setup, clearly.” She filled her in.

  “So you don’t know where your sister is?”

  Yvienne shook her head. “Madam Saint Frey requested her to visit, but…” she thought fast, “when we went to bring her home, the house was empty.”

  Dr Reynbolten gave her a keen look. “Before or after the fire?”

  “After.”

  “Hmm. Then, later, she was implicated in the disturbance at Miss Depressis’s townhouse. For an innocent girl, your sister is cutting a wide swath, my dear.”

  “I think it’s only fair to get her side of the story, doctor, before jumping to conclusions.”

  “Thinking like an advocate, Miss Mederos. If you care to give it a go, I can make an introduction to the University of Ravenne.”

  “That is most kind,” Yvienne said. “However, I am called to Business, not Law. Do you know what happened at the Depressis townhouse? The newspapers were rather lurid.”

  “Weren’t they,” Dr Reynbolten said, her voice grim. “I’ll see what I can find out. First order of business is to spring you on personal bond. I suspect Renner only wanted to soften you up a bit. He knows he doesn’t have a shred of evidence of your involvement.”

  “As I know nothing of value, it was a futile effort,” Yvienne said. Goodness, Renner was right. She was becoming an accomplished liar, except it was true she did know little of value, at least where Tesara’s escapades were concerned. She had plenty of secrets of her own.

  Dr Reynbolten gave her a look as if she didn’t believe a word of it. “Right. Wait here. You should be out in less than ten minutes. We’ll have to appear before the magistrates later, but for now you can go home.”

  She thumped the heavy wood and iron door, and the bolt was scraped back and the door opened a moment later. Then Yvienne was alone again.

  The silence was a stark contrast to the bombastic presence of Dr Reynbolten. Mindful of her exhaustion, thirst, and hunger, not to mention the need to use the necessary, Yvienne fidgeted on the bench, hoping the advocate would hurry. All this time in custody was a dreadful waste. She needed to meet the Harrier and devise a plan.

  True to her word, the door was unlocked and opened again, and Dr Reynbolten beckoned. “All right. You’re sprung. Let’s go.”

  It was nine o’clock. They were running out of time.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Dr Reynbolten gave Yvienne a lift in her carriage and would have dropped her off in front of her home, but the vast crowd, refreshed after her arrest, put paid to that idea. The lawyer peered through the window shades and clicked her tongue.

  “How long has this been going on?” she said.

  “Since the discovery of Parr.” Good God, had it only been that long? It felt as if they had always been there.

  “And you didn’t think to let me know?” Dr Reynbolten’s tone was disapproving.

  Yvienne lifted her shoulders. She was so tired, she could barely think.

  “Would you prefer to stay at my townhouse, Miss Mederos?” the advocate said, after another peek out the window.

  “I’d rather not let them chase me away,” Yvienne said with a sigh. She peeked out the carriage window at the crowd, all quite jolly. “They have such… stamina.”

  “The appetite for gossip and rumor is unending,” Dr Reynbolten agreed. “Do you have a gatekeeper?”


  “No, but if your driver rings the bell three times and then twice, that is our signal that we have permission to enter,” Yvienne said. Dr Reynbolten banged on the ceiling of the carriage, conferred with her driver, and accordingly the man pushed the large bell at the gate. There was a long pause while the crowd circled around, their excitement piqued, and then she saw the front door open and Albero ran out, hoofing it toward them, followed by Malcroft, standing at the front door, impressive rifle at the ready. Light from inside the house streamed into the courtyard.

  The crowd began to shout. “The butler! The butler!”

  An enterprising reporter jumped on the running board and yanked on the door. “Who’s inside? Is that Miss Mederos? Can you give me an exclusive, Miss Mederos? Where’s your sister? Is she an arsonist?”

  Taken by surprise, Yvienne edged back into the seat, and the page crouched next to her. She put her arm around the little boy and he pressed against her.

  Dr Reynbolten, however, remained unperturbed. “Reporters,” she muttered. She yanked the door from the fellow’s grip and held it closed against him. “Ah, here we go.” Albero unlocked the gate and pulled one side open, giving them enough room for the horse and carriage. They began to trundle forward, the driver handling the nervous horse with aplomb. Yvienne could feel the crowd pressing in on them, forcing the carriage forward.

  “Dr Reynbolten, they’re going to follow us in,” she said, with rising tension. She longed to jump out and defend her house.

  “We’ll see about that,” Dr Reynbolten said. She reached into her enormous satchel, and pulled out a large silver-chased pistol. With a quick move she opened the door, pushing hard.

  “Oof!” grunted the reporter as he was flung from the side of the carriage. Yvienne caught his shocked expression as he landed hard on the gravel.

  Dr Reynbolten stood on the running board, and cocked the pistol, aiming at the sky. The shot rang overhead and the carriage lurched as the horse sprang forward. She hung on with impressive nonchalance. The mob shouted, and the carriage swayed but the crowd pressed forward.

  The sharp crack of Malcroft’s rifle dissuaded them. The horse reared at the sound of the second shot and came down, narrowly missing one fellow who had gotten out in front of the carriage. The singleminded crowd broke up as people screamed and scrambled backwards, pushing at each other.

  Albero was able to close the gate against the invaders, and the horse half-trotted, half-galloped forward. Dr Reynbolten stayed on her feet, balancing half out of the door, as if she fired a shot from the running board of a carriage every day. The driver pulled up at the front door, the lawyer pulled herself back in, and she put her pistol back into the satchel. Albero opened the carriage door on the other side. He was a welcome sight to Yvienne.

  “Miss Vivi!” he exclaimed. “We were so worried about you!”

  “Thanks to Dr Reynbolten and you, everything is all right for now,” Yvienne assured him. She gave him her hand, and he helped her out of the carriage.

  “Come inside, Miss Vivi,” Albero said, throwing a glance at the crowd. “Don’t let them see you anymore.”

  Dr Reynbolten poked her head out the window at them. “Yes, stay put inside. I’ll get to the bottom of this mess. Renner doesn’t have anything on you, but if we can find your sister and get her story, that will go a long way toward making him back off.”

  Yvienne had her doubts about that – she was more and more convinced that Tesara was involved in everything of which she was accused – but she nodded. “Thank you, Dr Reynbolten,” she said, conscious of her entire lack of intention to stay put. “You have been tremendously helpful.”

  Dr Reynbolten only gave her a keen look and pulled her head inside. They heard her bang on the ceiling and then the driver clucked to the horse and the equipage circled back to the gate.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Yvienne watched from the steps as Albero let them out the gate and jogged back. He breathed hard but he looked immensely pleased with himself.

  “That’s that. It’s good to have you back, Miss Vivi.”

  “It’s good to be home,” she said, clasping his hand for a moment. Slender, young Albero had toughened over the past months. He was unshaven, his hair uncombed – he looked most unbutlerlike. Tousled becomes him. Then she caught herself. The last thing she needed was to be mooning over the butler.

  “Yes. Well,” she said, releasing his hand and leading the way into the house, trailed by Albero and Malcroft. “Let’s go inside and you can fill me in.”

  They closed the door behind her, and it was lovely to stand in her own foyer, surrounded by her family. There were Mrs Francini and Uncle Samwell, exclaiming their relief. There was Noe desperately wringing her pinafore.

  “All right?” Albero asked.

  “As well as could be expected. Dr Reynbolten is a treasure. Albero, I’ve quite lost track of time – ah,” Yvienne said as the clock in the hall chimed half past ten. She needed to change into dry, warm clothes and head back out and meet the Harrier. She hoped whatever his leads were, they were true.

  “Have you eaten, Miss Vivi?” Mrs Francini demanded.

  “Mrs Francini, there’s no time–”

  “Nonsense. Downstairs. Now.”

  When Mrs Francini spoke in that tone, no one objected. They all trooped downstairs.

  Yvienne had a crab bisque with sour cream, biscuits with butter and honey, and parsnips, along with copious amounts of water and just the slightest bit of wine.

  Mrs Francini eyed her tartly, and when she had blunted the edge of her hunger, the cook said, “And now, my girl, you have some explaining to do. And I’ll brook no nonsense from you as to how you are mistress of this house.”

  She looked at the array of faces, from Albero’s earnest one, to Uncle Samwell’s avid expression, Noe’s nervous handwringing, and the curious expression on Malcroft’s face. They’ll just have to know the truth, she thought.

  With as succinct a manner as possible she related how she had saved the Harrier and the kitchen exploded in shock. Every time she tried to continue, someone else would jump in with questions or more general exclamations and alarums. Finally she stood up and cried out, “Enough!”

  Silence rang out.

  “I rescued the Harrier and as a result he’s on our side now.” Malcroft snorted and she glared at him but continued, “He’s going to help us. I will brook no more argument.” To cut off further debate, she turned to Mrs Francini. “Thank you, Mrs Francini, for a lovely dinner; you have no idea how much you’ve restored me – and after I change into warm clothes, I’m going to find Abel Fresnel and he is going to help us bring Tes back. So now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going upstairs to bathe and change.”

  She looked around at all of them, a challenge in her upraised chin and her crossed arms. No one said a word.

  While she’d been eating, Albero had stoked the boiler, so that when she went upstairs to take her bath the water gushing into the basin was almost painfully hot and steaming. Yvienne undressed, leaving her filthy clothes outside the door for laundry day. Thank heavens for Noe, she thought, dipping a toe gingerly into the bath. If the girl stays, she gets a raise. She sank into the tub with a long sigh. The water stung her scratches but was heavenly despite the pain. Yvienne sunk down until her nose was the only part of her above water, almost weeping with the deliciousness of it. She scrubbed at her hair until it squeaked, and washed furiously at the dirt and the salt and sweat that had caked her for so long. She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she could sleep for hours, and finally forced herself out of the tub.

  Tesara needed her. She couldn’t stop now.

  Chapter Forty

  Still wrapped in the long towel, Yvienne peeked out the bathroom door. The hall was cold and mostly dark, only one lone lamp glowing by the stairs. Everyone was still downstairs, and so she tiptoed from the bathroom to her bedroom, hurrying to get into the warmth of her room where she could change
into dry trousers, shirt, waistcoat, scarf, and wool socks. I will never wear a dress again, she thought, as she grasped the doorknob and pushed.

  A hand reached out and grabbed her, pulling her into the room. Yvienne drew breath to scream when the hand went over her mouth, strangling any noise. She tried to fight but the damned towel thwarted her efforts, and she tripped and went down. Immediately the intruder fell down on top of her, hand still over her mouth. He kicked the door closed, and leaned in close.

  “It’s me. Don’t scream,” Abel said in her ear.

  Yvienne went rigid with shock. The towel had fallen off her, and she was conscious of his clothed body pressing into hers. Turnabout’s fair play, she thought. After all, she had seen him naked when she stripped him of his icy clothes after his plunge into the sea. A well of laughter bubbled up in her throat. He removed his hand and got up, throwing the towel over her, and she struggled to sit, holding the towel close around her.

  They stared at each other in the dim light of the candle and the crackling of the fire, their own breathing the only sound. Yvienne strained to hear any noise from below, but there was none. If her guards downstairs had heard anything, they were in no hurry to investigate. She felt a moment of exasperation. What good were they after all?

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered crossly. He looked terrible and smelled worse. How had he gotten in undetected? Of course – he had probably shinned up the balcony in her parents’ suite.

  “As you said, the Bailet hadn’t a room for me anymore. I had no place to go.”

  “Excuse me. I just revealed to you a sea cave.”

  “Would you have gone back there to look for me?”

  She would not. She would have thought he had given her the slip. At her expression he added, “I needed the one place you would be sure to find me.”

  She couldn’t help it; she laughed again. “My bedroom? That would be the one place.”