“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Mrs Aristet griped. “She’s a cripple, but she says she can work. If she can’t, I’ll let the agency know how displeased I am, and no mistake. Run and fetch a uniform from the closet. Mind you, girl, it comes out of your wages, and you must wash and mend it yourself. Too stained and you’ll have to buy another. Stop gaping like a grouper. The only thing you have to say for yourself in this house is Yes, Ma’am and No, Sir, and that goes for the staff and the master. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Tesara managed meekly. Her surprise first gave way to an instinct to explain, then surrendered to a bubble of laughter, fiercely suppressed. Oh my. Oh my. Could she do this? Yes, she would. If Yvienne could be a governess, then she would spy all about this house and see who it was who had benefited most definitely from the downfall of House Mederos.
Thanks to Madam Callier and her housekeeper, she had been well-trained in the domestic arts of cleaning, scrubbing, scouring, dusting, and laundry.
“Well-spoken enough, I suppose,” Mrs Aristet grumbled. Poll came back and thrust a dress and apron at her, along with a little cap. “Off you go, girl, to the pantry. None will bother you there. Mind you make it quick. And tomorrow you are expected to be here at daybreak and not a moment later, with your uniform on and your boots shined.”
Tesara bobbed a quick curtsy and started through the door.
“Wait – oh, yes, that way and then it will be the first door on the left.”
Drat. She had to be more careful.
The pantry was dark and smelled pungently of vegetables and sacks of flour and baking powder. A tub of starter with a towel over the top, its yeasty sour aroma permeating the air, sat on the old rickety table in the middle of the tiny space. Tesara undressed quickly. She pulled on the thick navy, pin-striped dress. It smelled of sweat and harsh detergent and starch. It was a servant’s dress, with buttons up the front. She pulled on the apron, smoothed back her hair, and gathered up her old dress.
The only person in the servants’ workroom was Poll, wrestling with the giant kettle to put it on the hook over the fire. Tesara dropped her clothes on the table and went over to help her. Together the two girls muscled it onto the hook, and then swung it over the fire.
“That’s the ticket,” the other girl sighed. “I must say I’m glad you’re here. The Master is having a dinner party tonight with his cronies, and there’s a lot to do to make the house ready. I’m Poll. Pollina, that is, but everyone calls me Poll.”
“I’m Tes – just Tes,” Tesara said. “Where should I put my day dress?”
Poll showed her the cupboard. There were small cubbies for personal items. Tesara folded her dress and put it on an empty shelf, with her little gloves rolled up on top. With a belly full of butterflies, she told herself, in for a groat, in for a guilder, and went out to follow Poll around her old home.
Chapter Fifteen
Tesara had to brace herself against the wave of emotions at seeing her old house. Since her parents had sold most of their furnishings, the house had been redecorated by the new owners, but was no less opulent.
“Will you take to the dining room?” Poll said. “I’ll take the downstairs parlor and the billiards room.”
“We don’t–” have a billiards room, Tesara almost blurted, stopping herself at the last moment. Poll gave her a curious look. “I mean, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be happy to clean the dining room.”
Poll just nodded, making it clear that Tesara’s happiness was not the issue. It was with relief that she took her bucket of materials, struggling with her broom and duster, and fled Poll’s curious regard. Tesara left the double doors to the dining room open, and just stood for a moment, taking in the changes. Gold brocade curtains hung in the windows. White bone china graced the sideboard, and the silver was even more ornate than her family’s had been. The dining table was larger and made of dark mahogany, not the pale chestnut wood that her parent’s furniture had been. A curious door had been cut into the wall; Tesara investigated and found it was a clever dumbwaiter, large enough for the kitchen to send up the soup and the food for all the courses and for the butler and footman to send down the dirty dishes. Charle would have loved this, Tesara thought. And Albero the footman and Cook – it would have made their work so much easier. She was irked at herself for finding something to like about the new dining room.
The whole house was silent, except for the ticking of the large grandfather clock in the entryway. Tesara sat for a moment, looking around, remembering.
She had hated dining with guests, especially when they were business associates and not friends. That night it was Uncle’s friend, Parr. Brevart never bothered to hide his disgust for any of his brother-in-law’s friends, and he particularly disliked Parr, calling him a red-faced chancer. Parr’s voice grated and his breath smelled of liquor. He had thick fingers with hairy knuckles that both repulsed and fascinated her.
To make matters worse, Uncle Samwell studiously ignored Tesara, lavishing all of his attention on his friend, plying him with wine, softening him up so he would invest in Uncle’s shipping expedition. Tesara tried to catch his attention with their old “see food” joke but all it
