“Poor scrawny feller,” said the third friend, as drunk as the others. “They train them up as children, you know. Orphans. Beaten until they learn to lift a wallet as gently as a bee takes nectar. It’s lovely, really. My mother formed a benevolent reform society.”
“Can’t reform them,” the first drunk objected. “Press-gang ’em, maybe. Better to die at sea than rob their betters.” He swayed forward and said loudly and slowly, “Beg our pardon, beggar boy, and we won’t thrash you.”
Yvienne had had enough. She drew the pistol, aiming it at the man’s nose. “I have a better idea. Your wallets. Now.” She held out the satchel, inviting them to drop their money in it. For a moment there was nothing but heavy breathing. Then, remembering, she cocked the pistol, the small metallic sound ringing out in the fogbound street. The reaction was dramatic. The three men drew out their wallets and dropped them into the satchel. Yvienne kept her pistol aimed at them as she stepped back out of the light.
“A pleasant evening to you, sirs, and thank you for your contribution.” She faded into the fog and the darkness, and took off running.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was all Yvienne’s fault, Tesara thought, trudging up the steep street to the Saint Frey mansion. If her sister had not sneaked out, she would not have had the courage to do the same. The grand old pile could be seen by every window along the Crescent though it was located two miles away across town, on the promontory that jutted out into the harbor. It was somewhat fortunate that her parents’ exile from the Crescent had brought her within walking distance of the Saint Freys, and it really hadn’t been a hard walk. The brocade evening slippers were bad shoes for climbing and the shoes were a bit big for her, being made for Alinesse, but Tesara had stuffed a bit of cotton in the heels, and that kept them on well enough. If no one looked too closely they wouldn’t see the scuff marks and the stains; they would see only the glittering embroidery and the small winking beadwork.
The shoes were not all that was left of Alinesse’s evening finery. Tesara had made a foray into the attic, which had been curiously left unlocked, and ruthlessly raided the old costume chest that was tucked up there, coming up with treasure after treasure: the dress and the white fringed cashmere shawl. Elbow-length kid gloves. An ostrich-skin fan. A beaded headband that was knotted with crystals. The gown, a rose pink of a generation ago, and the cashmere shawl, were old-fashioned but well kept. There had been a portrait of Alinesse in this very gown and wrap that had once hung in the family’s sitting room. The gown was beautiful, with subtle beadwork in tiny pearls that caught the light, but it had a deep décolleté that made Tesara a bit nervous. She had to refrain from constantly drawing it up. Even had they not lost their position, at nearly eighteen she would not yet have had her come out and so she wasn’t used to such a low-cut bodice. That Alinesse had kept the dress when everything else had to be sold made Tesara wonder at her pragmatic mother’s sensitivity. She’ll kill me if she finds out I took it, Tesara thought, holding up the skirts. This was not a dress meant for hiking the steep hills of Port Saint Frey. It was meant for a cool ballroom and dancing, and flirting with young men.
Although the deep fog blanketed the city several streets below her, up here the skies were clear and the city was well lit with streetlamps fueled with lamp oil. There were several folk out promenading, young people flirting under the steely gaze of watchful chaperones. If any marked the fallen Mederos daughter, well, it was dark and what the eye couldn’t see, the heart couldn’t grieve over. The heart, in fact, was pumping rather hard as she gained the entrance to the Saint Frey mansion. Tesara paused to regard it and to catch her breath.
The path up to the house was lined with torches, and the front part of the house blazed with light. As she drew closer, she had to encourage herself to keep going, scolding herself for her first instinct to skulk back into the shadows and pretend she hadn’t come. It took a glance down at her borrowed finery to keep her going, because it reminded her of what she had done to come here. Tesara had to put up her hair by herself, and hoped that the headband made up for any deficiencies, not to mention the damage done by a sweaty walk. It was cold – Port Saint Frey’s nights were always cold – so that was a blessing, but she knew that she would arrive at the party in a state. There would be an anteroom set aside for the ladies to fix their hair and repair their powder and lip color and generally make themselves ready for the show.
That was, if they let her inside. Maybe I won’t get past the butler, she thought rather hopefully. But on the off chance that she did, she would have to enter the salon with a straight back and a high head, rather as if she were riding to hounds in the countryside. Heels down, head up, and a firm hand on the reins, she told herself.
There were several carriages rumbling up the drive, the wheels crunching on the gravel. The
