The Sisters Mederos

by Patrice Sarath

  There was something different about her, but Tesara couldn’t put her finger on it. Her sister wasn’t just tired; she looked as if her every nerve had been stretched thin, as if she could never rest or relax. She was looked peaked, her narrow face drawn, bags under her eyes. Her face was stark and pale against her dark hair. Still, she answered their parents amiably enough, whenever they asked her opinion on the day’s news.

  The marked opulence of House Mederos was only a distant memory, but the good food and the warmth of the room, touched up with a vase of Alinesse’s flowers, had a comfortable charm all its own. The coffee pot steamed on the table, and sunlight, returning after the midsummer rainy spell, streamed in through the windows, the shutters thrown back to let in the brisk summer breeze. It was a treat to be able to linger over breakfast, and today there were eggs and a bit of bacon, a rare feast. They had doled out extra money to Mathilde from her winnings at the Saint Frey salon, saying that it came out of Yvienne’s governess wages on advance. So, they had been eating well. Her father had even perked up a bit.

  “And how is the governess doing this morning?” Brevart asked, giving Yvienne a fond smile. “How was the astronomy lesson?”

  Tesara, looking up, caught a strange flinch from her sister. Her curiosity sharpened, but Yvienne’s voice held nothing but polite enthusiasm.

  “Quite nice. We identified several constellations and even got to see the rings of Saturnus.”

  Alinesse snorted. “I must say, I don’t like that Mrs TreMondi imposing on you this way. They’re hardly paying you enough to have you stay up all night.”

  “She’s very careful about not imposing,” Yvienne assured her. “And I didn’t stay up all night. The clock had just struck midnight – hardly a hardship.”

  “She’s a foreigner, so you never know,” Alinesse said, curling her lip.

  To Tesara’s surprise, her sister set down her fork. “May I be excused? Thank you.” With that Yvienne threw down her napkin and if Tesara didn’t know better, she would have said her sister stormed off.

  Her parents were speechless. Then Alinesse said, “Well. That just proves my point. She’s overtired.”

  “I don’t like it,” Brevart said, a tiresome whine in his voice. Don’t say it, Tesara begged silently. Please don’t. “She should give her notice.”

  Tesara closed her eyes but no one was looking at her. She set down her napkin and stood up. “I’ll see to her. She may want a bath drawn.”

  She knocked gently on the door and let herself in. Yvienne was lying on the bed, arm over her eyes. She was dressed only in her sleeveless petticoat, and Tesara was shocked to see the muscles in her arms. She looked quite boyish.

  “Was it wearisome?” she asked.

  Yvienne laughed without much sound or humor. “You have no idea.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. She sat down on the bed and began loosening Yvienne’s careful bun, drawing out the waves of brown hair, and combing through it. Yvienne sighed, and her muscles loosened.

  “…No,” Yvienne said after a pause. “When is your next invitation?”

  “Scarlantis. Next week. Funny that I got invited to that one – none of the young people are going. They’re all going to be at Amos Kerrill’s birthday party that night.”

  Yvienne sat up, pushing her hair back. “Amos Kerrill is having a birthday party?”

  “Apparently so. Not that I would go. Jone Saint Frey – remember him? Said Amos hadn’t changed.”

  Yvienne nodded, but to Tesara it looked as if she was very far away.

  “Yvienne, respond to signal.”

  “What? Oh. Sorry. So tired. So, you’ve seen Jone Saint Frey again? I always thought you were friends. That’s good, Tes. Good to have friends.” She yawned, enormously. “No more. No, never mind braiding. Even if my hair turns into a mare’s nest, I must sleep. I could barely walk home this morning after staying up all night.”

  “Sleep,” Tesara said. She got up, and tucked her sister in as if she were an infant. “I’ll be quiet as a…”

  Yvienne was already asleep. Tesara had the thought that the Nag’s Head foghorn could blast in their bedroom, and her sister would sleep right through it. And then she had the thought that Yvienne had said she had gotten to sleep at the TreMondis’ by midnight. So why did she say she had stayed up until dawn?

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Gentleman Bandit Arrested!

  The Chief Constable has announced a break in the case of the Gentleman Bandit! A dock rat by the name of Silas Armondo, rumored to be a Cramdean cutpurse, is in custody after a long chase along Warehouse Row.

  “We’ll soon have him singing like a bird,” Duffey, the constable in charge, promised. “He has a lot to answer for.”

  The Gentleman Bandit has been implicated in a number of brazen attacks, and this arrest will go a long way toward reassuring a nervous city.

  –The Gazette

  Poor fellow; well, soon they’ll have to release him, thought Yvienne. She wondered whether he had done something in particular to be nabbed in the wide net cast for her or if he was simply an unlucky scapegoat. She finished reading the paper while eating toast and a bit of butter and gulping down her tea before work. As the first one up in the mornings, and having to be out the door before the rest of her family got out of bed, she ate alone now. Yvienne liked the peacefulness of it. Mathilde made sure Yvienne had toast or porridge or eggs and tea before she left the house. And it was so nice to be able to read the paper first, without her father’s commentary, so long as she folded it neatly for him after she was finished.

  The mantel clock chimed half past the hour. Time to go. She wiped her mouth, folded the paper and left it by her father’s place, and gathered her things. She left by the kitchen door so she could thank Mathilde. As always, the housemaid managed the kitchen with brisk competency. Her complexion was calm and even, not a bit ruddy, even though the stove was throwing off a good bit of heat. Mathilde went on kneading dough, neat as a pin in her uniform and apron.

  “Off already?” Mathilde said. “Did you have enough to eat?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Yvienne said. “Is there anything you need me to bring when I come home?”

  She had taken to running a few errands for Mathilde, who only worked just past luncheon. It was easier for the maid, who could then have the bits and bobs she needed when she came to work in the morning. It was nothing Yvienne would ever tell her parents.

  “No, I’ve got everything for today. I might have a list for you this afternoon, so you’ll have everything on hand for my day off. See you in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Mathilde. See you.”

  Yvienne knew that Tesara didn’t like Mathilde, but she did. It was lovely having one person in her household who was competent and liked her work. Mathilde was a great help, and if she sometimes wondered – just a little – at how they managed to hire and keep a housemaid who would be pronounced “an absolute treasure” by every merchant woman in Port Saint Frey, she firmly told herself that Mathilde was one of those specimens of household help who preferred a quiet situation.

  She herself was going to a very unquiet posting.

  Alve TreMondi had not tried anything else either frightening or inappropriate after his direct attack several nights ago, but she was very conscious of his presence, those few times when he deigned to climb the stairs to his daughters’ schoolroom. She was grateful he went to his office most days, and she had grown to dread the scent of his cheroot. She tried never to be alone in the house without the girls or Mrs Rose, or any of the other servants. She knew he would try again. He had not given up – the fact that she was still working under his roof was proof of that. When she fended off another attack, though, she would be sacked.

  I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, she thought. She needed this job, less for the money and more for the cover it provided. She doubted she would be able to get another governess posting, especially since she was sure that Mr TreMond
i would make sure to poison the well.

  The visit to the Hall of Records had been fruitful. She had discovered an upsurge in annual earnings in the records that far outpaced the usual percentage the Houses had been accustomed to. The Houses had divvied up the Mederos assets, which accounted for some of the money, but not all. Since the Houses were required to file their meticulously kept records with the Guild, they should have included the source of that income.

  Either all of the Five Houses had made the same error, or no one cared that it was an error.

  Because everyone knew where the money came from.

  Follow the money – it was a damned labyrinth, she thought. She knew merchants. There would be files somewhere with that information. It was just a matter of finding it. She couldn’t go back to the Hall of Records though – the polite fiction of an education in merchant economics would only work once, and the TreMondis had been distinctly unimpressed when she reported where she had taken the girls that day.

  There were no other field trips or special educational treats in the offing. Despite the children’s clamoring she had put off their demands for another astronomy night. Fortunately, Port Saint Frey weather had returned to form, and the nights had been too cloudy for stargazing.

  They had been perfect, however, for undercover operations. Telling Alinesse and Brevart that she was required to stay over to help Nurse manage the children while their parents entertained, she spent one entire night stocking her cave with provisions.

  The sun was rising over the mountains, lighting up the city and the harbor, just as Yvienne gained the Crescent, casting a glow over the white city of Port Saint Frey. The harbor sparked to life, a few dolphins bounded into the air, and the cry of the gulls and the chiming of the Cathedral clock tower mingled in the fresh, cool summer air. She stopped for a moment to appreciate the view.

  Tonight was the Scarlanti salon, to which Tesara had been invited. She would simper and laugh, and play cards badly, and when they were softened up by the act of a silly wayward girl with nothing but fluff between her ears, Tesara would be laying the groundwork for her attack on their purses.

  Yvienne almost wished she could be there to see it. Instead, she planned a foray at the Kerrill house, where Amos Kerrill would be celebrating his eighteenth birthday and the attainment of his majority. If the party were anything like the private party at the Maiden of Dawn public house, it would be easy pickings. Young, drunk and rich – the Gentleman Bandit would have an easy romp of it.

  And then this is the last one, she told herself, a bit regretfully. She had to focus on her task, which was to find those files. But she had said that about each of her outings as the Gentleman Bandit, and each time, another lovely opportunity presented itself.

  The last one, she told herself sternly. The Gentleman Bandit must enter retirement.

  Tesara offered her hand to Mrs Scarlanti and curtseyed delicately.

  “Thank you ever so much for inviting me,” she said, putting a breathless note in her voice.

  “We’re so happy to have you, dear,” Mrs Scarlanti said. She was Jeni Scarlanti’s mama; Tesara had bowed to her in the anteroom at many other salons. Mrs Scarlanti had not bowed back then. Tonight, however, she smiled warmly at Tesara. “So many of the young people have gone to the Kerrill birthday party, I’m quite surprised we have you here.”

  It was a malicious little dig, but Tesara was prepared. Pretending scatterbrained distraction, she perked up and waved a hand.

  “Oh look! It’s dear Mrs Havartá! Mrs Havartá, may I play at your table tonight? I do believe you’ll bring me luck. Thank you again, Mrs Scarlanti.”

  She didn’t look back to see how Mrs Scarlanti rued her misplaced hit. Mrs Havartá gave her friends an arch look but welcomed impetuous young Tesara well enough.

  “Better here than at the Kerrills’,” the woman said. “Saint Frey save us from callow youth. And it’s nice to have a night away from chaperoning.”

  “Except for me,” Tesara said brightly.

  The other women laughed. Mrs Havartá linked an arm. “Come along, dear child. Tell us all about your family.”

  Tesara was in fine form. She kept up the airy chatter, deflected the questions with disingenuous answers, and shuffled clumsily with little squeals when she dropped the cards.

  And somehow, she kept winning.

  “Goodness, Miss Mederos, you are indeed playing well tonight,” Mrs Havartá said, when Tesara maneuvered yet another pittance out of her. “I suppose I do bring you luck.” The last she said with a sour smile.

  “Oh, do forgive me!” Tesara said with a brilliant yet anxious smile. “Am I winning too much? I don’t mean to do.”

  “No, no, dear, it’s quite all right. If we don’t watch out, you will become a formidable opponent,” she said.

  Madam, you have no idea.

  Since most of the young people were at the Kerrills’ that night, there were few couples dancing. Most everyone sat at cards, some in serious play, others more in conversation. Laughter and talk rose up above the shuffle of cards and clack of dice. Servants roved attentively with the silver-white sparkling wine of Ravenne and small tidbits of lovely food. Tesara kept a wineglass at her elbow but only pretended to sip.

  She won another hand, again a pittance, and mindful of Mrs Havartá’s sour response, only gave a demure sigh of pleasure and pulled it in.

  “I do say,” said a masculine voice coming up behind them. It was Mr Havartá and Mr

  Scarlanti. “Not a smile between you. You ladies are gaming most seriously.”

  “Miss Mederos has been, at any rate,” Mrs Havartá said, still annoyed. She gestured at the pile in front of Tesara. “Her luck has changed.”

  “Her luck and her station,” a mama muttered.

  Tesara bit her lip. “I do apologize,” she said, and tossed off the rest of her wine. “I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just – I thought – am I not supposed to try to win? I didn’t know it was a bad thing.”

  She let tears well up, brought on by the strong wine. She stood, scraping back her chair and gathering up her winnings. Seriously, she thought. It’s barely a hundred guilders. Hardly something for them to go on about.

  But she was a Mederos and she had overstepped her place. Rage rose in her, and with it, a dangerous rise of energy in her fingertips.

  “Perhaps the ladies should take a respite from the excitement of the gaming tables,” Mr Havartá said. He offered his arm to his wife. “Madam, will you dance?”

  Mrs Havartá looked as if she were close to telling Mr Havartá what he could do with his arm. However, she rose with dignity and placed her hand on her husband’s sleeve, allowing herself to be led away.

  “I believe that’s an excellent idea,” said Mr Scarlanti, and one by one the other ladies got up and left Tesara standing by the table.

  She gave a rueful smile. One hundred guilders. Not exactly a triumph. But then again, in these salons, the social aspects of gaming were more important than the game itself. The wagers were merely the price of admission.

  “Hardly worth the effort,” came another voice from behind her. She turned. It was Mr Terk, the professional gambler she first met at Jone’s salon. A shiver ran down her spine. He regarded her through the smoke of his thin cheroot.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, ice in her voice.

  He shrugged. “Only the best salons for me. What about you, little bandit girl? You’re not the thing, as they say.”

  She bit back a grin at the upper-crust slang in his dockside accent. “No, I am not at all the thing.”

  He came closer, taking her arm. His hard hand closed around her wrist, but he made it look as if it were a simple, respectful clasp.

  “I can find you a better table with better stakes far more suited to your talent.”

  She looked him straight in the eye, steady. “I’m an innocent merchant’s daughter, Mr Terk. I do hope that isn’t a euphemism.”

  He snorted a laugh. �
��No. Cards only. That stake won’t cut it though. You’ll need a marker.”

  Now the shiver was one of excitement. This was in her nature. She had to gamble. What had Mirandine said? She was a natural. “Where is this table of yours?”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  It turned out to be in the Scarlantis’ smoking room. Oh, Tesara thought. She had been innocent. While the society gamers played at low-stakes games in the main salon, the real gamers were in the back room, with men like Terk invited in for a true challenge. No wonder she wasn’t going to make any more money than ten guilders at a time. This was where the money was.

  Terk ushered her into the smoking and billiard room. She was not the only woman, though by far the youngest. The other women were as far from merchant wives as could be, although as far as Tesara’s inexperienced eye could tell, none were actually soiled doves. Mistresses though, some gaudy, some elegant, rough voiced or quiet, all striking. One woman met her curious eye with a smile. Tesara drew in her breath with a tiny hitch. She didn’t know what was the most striking – the woman’s dark good looks, her smooth, slicked-back hair coiled in a bun under her ear, tiny diamond hairpins sparkling like crystals of fire against the black background – or the fact that she wore trousers and a black coat like a gentleman’s. The white of her shirt molded itself to her bust, and the cutaway long coat emphasized her figure. Her trousers ended over a gentleman’s pointed shoes.

  The mysterious woman raised an eyebrow at Tesara’s entrance, and Tesara felt an extraordinary sense of having met someone who recognized her and approved. She flushed and nodded back, and then Terk led her to her seat.

  There were some of the merchants she remembered from her parents’ house on the Crescent, as well as a few of the more well-to-do sea captains. She sat down at the table, stripping off her little gloves. Once again, people took a look at her crooked fingers but she didn’t let it bother her.