Tesara soon found that Mrs Francini ruled her kitchen with an iron will and a gentle tone, leading by example. Tesara stirred soup and cut biscuits from the dough Mrs Francini transformed from flour, oil, and egg and kneaded together with quick, decisive movements, only then handing the shaggy dough over to the girl.
“There you are, Tes,” she said, peeking around at Tesara’s work. “If you do it like this, you will cut more cleanly, and the biscuits rise higher. The sea gentlemen like them because the best cooks on ship know how to make the biscuits as high as the gunwales, they say. Better than a meringue for making gentlemen happy.”
The sea gentlemen. So merchant masters would be at this dinner tonight. Sometimes Brevart had the merchant sea captains to dinner, but those had been the evenings when she and Yvienne had their dinner in the schoolroom with the governess of the moment and Michelina.
“Remember, Poll, save the rind from the cheese,” Mrs Francini told the other maid, who was grating from a huge chunk of Romopol’s famed sheep’s milk cheese. “I’ll put it in the soup as it imparts a lovely flavor.”
Booted steps sounded outside the kitchen and two young men came in, one in a footman’s livery, the other an errand boy from a shop. Tesara glanced up and then right down again, turning her face away, panic flooding over her.
Good God, what was Albero doing here?
Chapter Nineteen
“Oh, Sy, thank you!” Mrs Francini said, taking the basket from the errand boy. She lifted up the towel, showing packets wrapped in brown paper. “The goose liver is in here? And the mushrooms?”
“And oysters too,” Sy said. “Mr Tom said you ordered these special.”
“Indeed, the gentlemen will be very pleased.”
“They better be,” Albero said, his familiar voice sending Tesara’s heart into a galloping pace. “We’re putting on all our airs tonight. Master wants to impress everyone.”
She should have fled. She should never have come. What was she thinking? Could she bolt now? Could she feign illness? No, someone would make her lie down. Think, Tesara. What would Yvienne do?
Once again, she reminded herself that she hadn’t put just herself in danger, but her whole family. Again. She thought desperately, but could come up with no other plan than to confess as soon as she was found out and hope for the best.
She cut the dough diligently, but soon enough she was going to have to look up.
“Oh, this is our new girl, Tes,” said Mrs Francini, obviously at some silent prompt from Albero. With a feeling of inevitability, Tesara looked Albero straight in the eye. He was perhaps three-and-twenty now, and had filled out, but he was still Albero, tall and thin and clean shaven.
She didn’t trust her voice so she just nodded. He nodded back. “I’m Albero,” he said. “You look as if you are settling in well.”
“Thank you.” It was all she could manage. He turned away and made a comment to Poll, and then the errand boy from the market bid them all a good day and Albero went out, to help Marques polish the silver, he said.
At least he did not say Charle. Tesara wasn’t sure what she would have done if Charle were here too. Although it was tempting to think that she could throw herself on the mercy of Charle’s calm authority.
“There,” Mrs Francini said. She scooped up the ill-shaped biscuits that were Tesara’s first attempts. “We’ll set these aside for the servants’ tea, Tes. Now, here’s how you tell the oven is ready for baking.”
Albero had to have recognized her but he had not revealed her secret. It hardly made her feel any better. He wouldn’t hold it over her head – she was fairly confident of that – but she knew that if it were important that he didn’t know her, she was in grave danger indeed.
It had been a mistake to play this stupid game, and she still didn’t know how she was going to extricate herself. Tes glanced at the homely kitchen clock, cheerfully ticking away on the mantelpiece. It was only half-past two. She had several hours before dinner, which she was dreading more and more.
She had to escape before she was forced to serve.
“Let’s see,” Mrs Francini said, casting a look around at the kitchen after she popped the biscuits in the cast-iron range that ran along the short wall of the kitchen. “Why don’t you two take some fresh air for a few minutes in the back garden? I’ll tell Mrs Aristet for you.”
“Not for me – I need a lie down,” said Poll, who whipped off her apron. “Call me when the clock chimes, will you, Cook?”
She didn’t even wait for an answer but headed toward the servants’ quarters.
“I’d love some air,” Tesara said, her hopes leaping high. “Which way is the garden?”
“Through that door, and you’ll see a brick walkway. It will take you right there. Oh, and take these scissors and pick me some rosemary, will you?”
Tesara took the scissors, promising herself to leave them someplace dry and safe. There was nothing she could do about the servant’s dress, or her own, still in the cupboard. When the real girl came, they would all wonder who she had been, but she doubted she would ever see them again anyway. She didn’t intend to ever come back.
The fresh air was brisk and the garden in shadow from the high walls surrounding it. There was the crooked little gate that led out to the stables and down toward the avenue and safety. Her eyes watering from the cold, she laid the scissors on a window ledge where they would stay dry, evidenced by the dust that lay thick on the peeling paint, and hastened toward the little gate that led out and around to the street.
“Miss Tesara.”
She turned around to see Albero. He cast a glance back to make sure he wasn’t being watched, then led her
