The Sisters Mederos

by Patrice Sarath

  There were several carriages rumbling up the drive, the wheels crunching on the gravel. The front door was thrown open, light spilling out across the magnificent front porch. Tesara watched from the shadows for a moment and then took a breath.

  “Well, Jone Saint Frey,” she said out loud, “you asked for it.”

  She walked out of the shadows, across the drive, and up to the front steps, her skirt gathered up in her gloved hands, hoping that her hair stayed in place.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Tesara Ange DeBarri Mederos, of House Mederos,” she announced to the butler. The doors opened onto the long gallery, and it was vivid with light, guests, laughter, music, air. The butler hesitated. The world stopped. Everyone inside turned to look at who was holding up the reception line. Tesara kept a slight smile, wondering when she would be turned away. Then the buzz of conversation rose fore and aft, and there was a slight commotion as Jone himself pushed through the crowd toward the door.

  “My dear Tesara,” he said, taking her gloved hand in his own, his happy smile transforming his odd face into a handsome one. “You came! You have made me very happy.”

  She curtseyed, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves and steel herself.

  “I am very glad and thank you for your invitation. I hope you don’t mind that I came after all.”

  “Nonsense. I invited you and you kindly came. Come inside, come, come. I know you will want to freshen up – all the ladies do – so I’ll leave you in the hands of the attendants. We will talk later, and perhaps dance, hmmm?”

  She could barely find her voice so she curtseyed again.

  “Your wrap, miss?” said an attendant. Tesara handed it over and the maid draped it over her arm. She led Tesara to a room off to the side. It had been outfitted with chairs and tables, with candelabra shedding glowing light over the proceedings, and several large mirrors. Several young women and their mamas were at work, fluffing dresses and poofing their faces with powder. They looked up at Tesara. Silence fell.

  “Good evening, everyone,” she said. She tugged off her gloves and set down her fan and her small evening bag, ducking to look into the mirror.

  “What is she doing here?” someone stage-whispered and someone else shushed her, but still whispers rose up around her. Tesara ignored them as much as possible. She smoothed back her hair and then took it down. It was too wild; she would have to start over. At least she had light and a looking glass to work with. She laid her pins aside carefully, because she could not stand to lose a single one.

  She concentrated on piling and twisting her hair into a sleek chignon, pinning each step of the way. The pins in her mouth skewed her expression, but she had to admit, she looked rather handsome. Her cheeks were flushed red but she was cooling off from her walk, and her face was paling again. Her eyes were very bright. There. Done. She pulled a few wisps of hair to form curls around her ears, positioned the beaded headband, and regarded herself again.

  Her hair and eyes were darker than usual even in the unnaturally bright light, giving her a slightly dangerous and exotic air. It was the rose pink of the old gown, she thought. It was a good color for her. She busied herself with smoothing her gown and all the while she shot furtive glances at the gawking girls behind her. Tesara recognized no one and felt a little pang. Fallen woman though she was, she was here, and it might have been nice to have seen the Sansieris. Maybe Jone was right and they wouldn’t have cut her dead.

  “Excuse me,” a girl next to her said, and Tesara turned toward her. She was about Tesara’s age, and a deal taller and quite imposing. She wore a dark red dress trimmed with dyed feathers, its sleeves and waist proclaiming it to be of the latest fashion. She cocked her head and looked at Tesara. “That dress – who is your modiste?”

  “I don’t have one,” Tesara said, wondering a little at the girl’s slightly demanding tone.

  The girl clucked. “Well, you must have done at some time. The dress is old to be sure, but it is absolutely lovely. I wish I had the courage to wear the old stuff.”

  “Mirandine!” another girl squealed in shock and avid excitement. The other girls broke out giggling, but Tesara knew that it wasn’t meant to be a cut.

  “I’ll ask my mother who made it,” she said. She held out her hand. “Tesara Mederos. But you knew that.”

  The girl gave her a rueful acknowledgement. “Mirandine Depressis. And I did.” She grasped Tesara’s hand and tucked it under her elbow. “Under the rules of a gathering such as this, we shouldn’t be seen together, me in my red and you in your pink. But I think that’s exactly what is going to make this such fun.”

  Tesara laughed, a slightly startled peal. “I’m ready if you are.”

  As they left the astonished ladies behind them, she thought, Goodness, who would have guessed? I’ve made a friend.

  The Depressis family hailed from Ravenne. They were among the lesser merchant Houses, those that rose within the ranks of clerks and bankers. It was not astonishing that Tesara didn’t know her, as she had hardly been out in society as a twelve year-old.

  Mirandine led her through the gallery, bowing graciously to everyone as if she were a duenna and Tesara her charge. In five minutes, Tesara had been introduced to several dozen people, from the old men wearing their naval uniforms with resplendent medals and braid, to the young men who brazenly eyed them. Mirandine turned her backs on the young men and studiously talked with old Mr Torinal, while Tesara pretended great interest in their conversation and looked around casually as if she weren’t desperately bored.

  To her great relief, she lighted upon Jone at the same time he caught a glimpse of her. He hastened over to her.

  “You look grand,” he said, taking her hand. “I see you’ve met Mira.”

  “Yes, and I’m taking her around. You don’t need to,” Mirandine scolded.

  “Not this time, cousin,” Jone said. “Come, Tesara. Let me give you the grand tour. I don’t think you’ve ever been to my house.”

  Cousin? Now that was interesting – the Depressis were but shopkeepers only a generation before. Though as a Mederos, she well knew how easy it was for a House to fall, so it was no less surprising at how quickly a House could rise.

  “Only if Mirandine comes too,” Tesara said. She linked her arm with the other girl. “Now we’re off.”

  It was wonderful to be gay, she thought. Jone and Mirandine were great fun. Their presence gave hers respectability, and astonishment gave way to good manners. People would look at the three of them laughing together, there would be a momentary widening of the eyes or an intake of breath, and then a recalculation of the social niceties. When Jone mimicked the swift transubstantiation of outrage to simperage on the face of one powdered dowager, Tesara and Mirandine had to turn away to hide their laughter.

  She sipped her crystal glass of red punch and watched the dancing in the main gallery. She had learned to dance at Madam Callier’s, where the girls took turns playing the gentleman, but here it was less formal and more modern. The music was faster than the three-beat dirge-like waltz the music teacher banged out on an untuned spinet, and it got into her blood a little bit. Or possibly, that was the punch, she thought, and tossed back the rest. Her lips were both tingling and a little numb.

  “Another, miss?” said a waiter and he handed her another flute. She took it, flashing a bright smile. I should eat, she thought vaguely, and then Jone came and got her hand again.

  “Do you dance, Miss Mederos?” he said, and gave her a courtly bow. She curtseyed with only the least bit of wobbling.

  “Indeed I do, Mr Saint Frey,” she said. She set down her glass on the waiter’s tray as Jone pulled her into the crush of dancers. He held her close around the waist and guided her into the swirl of movement. She was always quick to learn, and once she caught the rhythm she melted into it, her footsteps following his quickly. They whirled with the rest, and her silk dress flowed around her like water and waves. The dance was like a wave too, and her fingers beg
an tingling, even inside her gloves. Tesara was drunk and so she didn’t notice it at first. Jone smiled at her, and she wondered how she ever thought he was ugly. He was perfectly beautiful, and his strong arms held her perfectly, and for goodness sakes, Tesara, you need to eat something!

  At the same moment, she recognized the sensation that had captured her fingers.

  “Ouch!” Jone said as she stumbled against him.

  “Oh, dear, did I step on you?” She had trod on him rather harder than she meant to. She felt bad, but she had no other choice. She had to stop the dance. If her fingers let loose here. …

  They broke from the dance, Jone limping a little. The sensation in her fingers subsided, and she felt relieved. For goodness sake, the last thing she needed was anything to happen now. But I think I know how to get it back again, she thought, remembering the sensation of waves and water. It was a puzzle, one she was on the verge of solving.

  “It’s all right,” he said, the stalwart grin returning. “You’ve got quite a kick.”

  She blushed. “I think I might need to eat something,” she said. “The punch was lovely, but I believe it’s gone to my head.”

  “And what a scoundrel I am, to get you drunk on your first night out from home,” he said, an interesting note in his voice. He didn’t sound as if he were apologizing. She looked at him askance, but he led her out and around the dancers to the dining tables. They were set up in another large gallery off the main hall. The “light repast” of the usual Port Saint Frey social evening was laid out before her stunned and slightly tipsy gaze on at least a dozen tables.

  They came upon Mirandine and her coterie of gentlemen officers, all eating and drinking. “There you are!” cried Mirandine. “You are a brave girl to dance with my cloddish cousin.”

  “I’m afraid I was the clod,” Tesara admitted.

  “Nonsense,” Mirandine said. “He bruised my toes abominably when we were made to dance during a silly family party or other.”

  “Oh, you mean the inauguration of the governorship of Ravenne?” Jone said dryly. “Yes, that was a silly party. Here, Tesara, what would you like? As always, my mother must feed the entire city when she throws one of these gigs.”

  Tesara wanted everything, but she settled for devilled quail eggs, a simple mixed salad of greens and herbs, some chopped ham, a cup of a broth of fruits of the sea, two lofty biscuits of the kind that could have come from the kitchen of Mrs Francini, chocolate in sea salt, an orange drizzled with honey, and figs.

  Jone helped carry everything over to an empty table and Mirandine joined them.

  “Good God, they wouldn’t leave me alone,” she said, nodding toward her elderly attendants who were gesticulating in animated conversation. “Luckily, they started arguing about the action at the Battle of Sesternia. I don’t think they’ve noticed I’m gone.” She helped herself to a fig. “I’ve eaten so much already my stays are about to burst, but I can’t resist these. Your mother outdoes herself.”

  He shrugged. “It keeps her busy, so we approve.” They exchanged a look, and Tesara felt left out again.

  A group of gentlemen came in from the smoking room, smelling of cigars and brandy, and the conversation in the dining hall sank under the weight of their powerful presence as even the wealthiest and most exalted guests turned and recognized them. It was the Guild. There were Mr Lupiere and Mr TreMondi. Mr Kerrill. Mr Havartá.

  And Trune.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Electricity jolted along her fingers and she fumbled with the tiny salad fork. Tesara turned her back determinedly. Had Trune seen her? She didn’t think he’d seen her. She kept her back straight, hoping against hope that her old-fashioned dress wouldn’t draw his attention. No gentleman noticed that sort of thing anyway, she encouraged herself.

  First things first. She had to get out of there. The dancing had begun again in the other gallery, and the entrance was on the other side of where Trune and the rest had come in.

  “We should dance again,” she said, popping an orange slice into her mouth and licking her fingers, propriety be damned. “Mirandine, grab one of your admirers.”

  “Oh goodness, he’d have apoplexy.” Mirandine threw back her head and laughed, the strong column of her throat catching the light with a sparkle of diamonds at her neck and her ears.

  “My toes couldn’t take the strain,” Jone said, and she knew he was teasing and she laughed, even as her cheeks pinked up. “They’re setting up the card tables. Let’s play.”

  Yes, anything, let’s just go.

  No one noticed Tesara’s eagerness, but at the mention of gaming, Mirandine was interested, her eyebrows raised comically.

  “Decent stakes?” she said.

  “Terk is running it, so I imagine so. Besides, I’m always flat, so what does it matter?”

  His cousin snorted. “One of these days, Jone, someone is going to call in a marker.”

  “And I’ll pay. They just never do, so why should I bother?” He glanced over at Tesara, and perhaps something in her expression made him apologize. “I sound rotten, and I am. But I’m a lousy gamester, so it’s not as if I’m winning anything from them. They’re just not winning anything from me. Do you play, Tesara?”

  Tesara gave an apologetic smile. “It sounds like fun,” she said. “But I admit I do not. I haven’t brought any money to game, and anyway, I fear I’d be dreadful at it.”

  A part of her marveled at her lie as it rolled off her lips with automatic ease. Uncle would be so proud; she was hustling.

  “Oh, it’s easy to learn. We’ll teach you and we’ll make them pay for the privilege of helping you learn,” Mirandine said.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

  They overrode her protests and pulled her up. “Now, listen,” Mirandine said. “You must learn to play. Everyone does it; it’s no good saying that you won’t do it. And I have a feeling you will be quite good at it. It’s all a matter of bluffing. And Tesara–” she turned Tesara to face her, her hands on Tesara’s shoulders. “I saw the way you walked into this house. You are a fine gambler.”

  With Trune not thirty feet away, she was gambling at this very moment that he would not see her and recognize his onetime housemaid. Mirandine and Jone could never understand what she was going through, because the stakes would never be that high for them. They were young, privileged, and had not a care in the world. They could fall but they would not fall far, whereas she walked very near the edge.

  And yet something whispered in her that wanted to meet Mirandine’s challenge. She had bluffed when she walked up to the front door that evening, and she had won through because she believed her bluff. She was meant to be here and she was meant to gamble. That was what the whole evening was about. If Uncle had taught her anything when he taught her to gamble, it was for this moment.

  She was a Mederos, and a Mederos took risks.

  She raised her chin and saw Mirandine’s answering smile. “Let’s play,” Tesara said.

  Jone found a table of older gentlemen, more rough-hewn than the other guests, and pulled out a chair for Tesara. Their tweed coats made them stand out among the black tail coats worn by the other male guests. Jone introduced them carelessly.

  “You know Mira, and this is my friend, Tesara. Now, our dear friend has never played before, so we will talk her through the first hands,” he said, admonishing the men. She glanced up at Mirandine, who stood slightly behind her. The Depressis girl shook her head and pressed a hand down on her shoulder.

  One man leaned back in his chair, raking her up and down with his eyes. He wore a string tie, a vest over his white shirt, and his coat was unbuttoned. He blew a thin trail of smoke from his cheroot.

  “Hoaxing us again, Jone?” Terk said.

  “Not a bit,” Jone said. “She’s a friend, and she wants to learn to play. Who better to teach her than you fellows?”

  She was alive to tension and her fingers were buzzing a little. She could do this. She knew how to play; even
Uncle said she had an innate feel for it.

  “I do hope I’ll learn quickly,” she said, “Jone is a dear to stake me.” The man laughed, and the other gentlemen smirked.

  “A bit of a dove, ain’t she? It’s not us you’re busting, it’s the boy here.”

  “The boy here,” Jone said, with a smile but an edge like steel in his voice, “has invited you on sufferance of good behavior. Seems to me you owe me your time and attention.”

  The man didn’t look intimidated. He glanced up at Jone, then shrugged.

  “All right, Mr Saint Frey. We’ll teach the young miss how to play. Usual terms?”

  Mirandine drew her small beaded purse off her wrist and threw it down on the table. It landed with a satisfying thud. “These terms.”

  That raised a few eyebrows around the table. The man hefted the purse then left it to sag in the middle of the table.

  “I’m in. All right girl, here’s how you play.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Terk dealt the cards and everyone threw in. Tesara deferred to Jone and Mirandine. At the hard man’s polite request, they drew up stools and sat directly behind her so they couldn’t see anyone else’s cards. The betting began.

  The hardest part was going to be not to learn too quickly. She didn’t try a thing, just tried to play the way a silly little socialite would play. The game soon absorbed her though, and though it had been years, she counted cards from the start. She had to let a good hand go unplayed to keep up the act of a neophyte, but she counseled herself to have patience.

  She lost the first three hands.

  “Oh, hard luck!” Mirandine said. “But really, you’re doing very well.”

  The man to her right smiled at her and threw a coin into her dwindling pile. Tesara gave him a chilly smile in return. He just leered alarmingly and muttered something she couldn’t make out. The other men snorted a laugh, though.