The little trapdoor in the bottom of the trunk didn’t want to unlock, no matter how hard she tugged. Yvienne pulled out another trusty hairpin from the careful knot at the nape of her neck, and worked it into the crack. Finally, the latch came free and she opened the trapdoor, reaching inside. Her fingers encountered a heavy package, wrapped in thick oilcloth. She sat back and unwrapped her treasure.
Two elegant pistols, faintly gleaming in the dim light, lay in her lap.
Voices alerted her from her wide-eyed astonishment, startling her with their nearness. A moment later she understood they weren’t near. Alinesse and Mathilde were talking in the kitchen and the sound traveled up the walls straight into the attic.
“Here’s a list of a few things I think the house could do with, madam,” came Mathilde’s voice.
“Oh, very good, Mathilde. However, is it possible to wait until next week?” By which Alinesse meant until the quarterly annuity was paid. They were scraping by at the end of every three months.
“Well, ma’am, we could, but I can do better than that. I know how to drive a bargain like a coach-and-six. Three half guilders and a groat will get me almost all of what you need here, including a bit of the coffee the master was asking so wistfully about. Perhaps Miss Yvienne would like to come with me and learn the marketing?”
“Wonderful idea, Mathilde. Let’s fetch her.”
Yvienne scrambled into action. She tucked the pistols back into their wrapping, gathered them up with the clothes, and had her hand on the attic door when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Her mother stopped halfway.
“Yvienne?” her mother called.
Yvienne held her tongue, scarcely breathing. Then, slowly, she opened the hatch the slightest and peered through the crack. Through the narrow slice, she could see her mother at the other end of the hall at the top of the stairs, Mathilde behind her, peering into their room.
“Well, what on earth?” Alinesse said with exasperation. “I have no idea where either girl is. But gather what you need and if she comes back in time, she can go with you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mathilde followed Alinesse, casting a backward glance down the hall, her sharpened gaze almost piercing the gloom at the end of the hall, as if she could see Yvienne crouching behind the attic hatch. Then she was gone. Yvienne stayed put, then when she deemed it safe, she opened the hatch, scrambled through with her bounty of clothing and pistols, and ran for her room.
Alinesse was gathering up her wide-brimmed hat and her gloves and rusty gardening tools from the little shelf in the hall. She glanced at Yvienne, who had dusted herself off, smoothed her hair, and made herself presentable. The pistols and the clothes were tucked under the mattress on her side of the bed, lest any uncomfortable lumpiness disturb Tesara.
“Did you want me, Mama? I was in the water closet.”
“Well, but I knocked – anyway. Mathilde wondered if you wanted to do the marketing with her. Learn the ropes, as it were.”
“I’d like that,” Yvienne said, feigning surprise.
“Good. Now mind, don’t annoy her with lots of questions.”
Yvienne hid a smile that was part annoyance. Alinesse just confirmed what she and Tesara thought – in the eyes of their parents, the new housemaid could do no wrong.
“I promise I won’t beg for sweeties,” she said.
Her sarcasm was lost on Alinesse, who said at the same time, “And where is your sister? Goodness, it’s very irritating to try to keep up with her.”
Yvienne shrugged. “No idea.”
“It’s just as well that you learn the marketing first. Goodness knows what Tesara would come home with.”
“Of course, Mama.”
Mathilde came out of the kitchen with a market basket. She brightened at Yvienne’s appearance.
“Ah, there you are. Good. I like the company, and I think you’ll like to get out a bit. I went over the list again, ma’am, and I don’t think I’ll have any problem picking up these items. You can be sure none of the stallholders will try anything with me. There will be no sawdust in your cinnamon, you can be sure of that.”
“I have every faith in you, Mathilde,” Alinesse said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Mathilde replied.
“Good-bye,” Yvienne said. She closed the doors to the parlor and then stepped outside with Mathilde, putting on her bonnet and wrapping a shawl around her.
“Off we go,” Mathilde said and walked primly down toward the town with brisk steps, the empty market basket held in her serviceably gloved hands. Yvienne fell into step next to her, looking back once at their little house. The house was set back from the street and had its own wall and front gate, although the iron was rusty and the gate askew on its hinges. It was crooked, a bit battered by the wind, and the once bright blue paint had peeled, but it was cozy and warm with a bit of smoke curling up from the chimney. All it needed was some tender loving care, which she supposed also went for its occupants, especially for her parents. That was why Mathilde’s presence affected them so deeply. It had been a long time since they had been cared for.
The colorful market near the wharves was a vast array of sound and sight. The aroma of cooking oil rose above everything, making Yvienne’s mouth water. Stall after stall, their bright canopies flapping in the breeze, brimmed with goods, fruit and vegetables, along with barrels of beans and jerky and salted pork for last-minute ship provisions. Vendors called out to shoppers, their voices stretching the patter into a song.
Yvienne marveled at Mathilde’s prowess in the crowded market. The girl had only the most meager housekeeping money, but she didn’t let it make her apologetic.
“Now, you listen to me, sir, I want only the three strips of back bacon and none of your weighting the scale. And I’ll take those bones off your hands, if you please, and
