There was no better way to hide a murder than by making it appear to be a suicide, and her impulsive decision to burn down the shop had only helped the Guild hide their crime. Anyone who came forward and told the truth would only bring the wrath of the Guild down upon them. Treacher’s death would go unavenged, and the Guild would continue to run roughshod over the city.
No. I’ll not let them get away with this, she thought. They must not get away with this travesty of justice.
Samwell sank into his empty seat, after throwing a furtive glance at the door, and helped himself to coffee. “Word on the docks is that it wasn’t suicide at all,” Samwell said, keeping his voice low. “Seems that Treacher was poking his nose into things that he oughtn’t.”
“Like what?” Brevart challenged.
“Like us,” Samwell said. He gave his brother-in-law a pleading look. “We have friends, Brev. Or at least, if not friends, they know we’ve been hard done by. You – both of you – need to understand that.”
“With friends like these, Samwell, I don’t know but that we’re better off the way we are,” Alinesse said. Her voice shook and she moved her eggs around on her plate. “It’s all right for you, but I was used to a certain respect in this city, and it is clear that we have no friends here.”
“And I’m telling you, if you made an effort–”
“Enough!” Alinesse threw down her fork and it skittered onto the floor. No one dared make a move for it. “I shouldn’t have to beg for the scraps of their affection! They should beg my pardon!”
Everyone was shocked into silence. Alinesse kept her chin up while she folded her napkin. Then with a deep breath, she said, “Yvienne, how is your throat this morning?”
Yvienne and Tesara exchanged small glances. This was a time-honored Alinesse tactic: divert, redirect, pretend as if she had not just breached all the laws of propriety.
“Fine, Mama. The sleep helped.”
“Good. Wear a flannel for a few more nights. It will prevent a recurrence.”
“I will.”
“You must also have needed a full night’s sleep, Tesara,” Alinesse went on. “I peeked in on both you girls before bed and you were dead to the world, the two of you.”
Tesara gave her mother a wary smile. “I did.”
“I’ve often thought that when a person is overly tired, it can affect the mood terribly. I know you were out of sorts yesterday. I hope that your good sleep helped.”
Tesara took a deep breath, and Yvienne braced herself. But instead of taking up the gauntlet, her little sister evidently decided now was not the time to defend herself.
“It did, Mama.”
They heard the thump of letters hitting the floor and in a moment Mathilde came in with the post.
“Thank you, Mathilde,” Alinesse said, reaching out for the letters.
“They’re for the Misses Mederos, Madam,” Mathilde said.
“Oh!” Alinesse was surprised, and even Brevart looked up. Mathilde handed a small letter to Yvienne and a fashionable cream-colored envelope to Tesara. “What on earth – who could be writing to you?”
Yvienne slid her thumb under the seal, breaking it. She scanned it quickly, then read it more carefully. She nodded to herself. This was good, very good.
Miss Mederos,
Mrs TreMondi will interview you at half past ten on the morning of the 18th. Please do be prompt.
Signed,
Alfebed Mastrini
Chapter Thirty
“Well?” Alinesse, Brevart, and Samwell demanded. Yvienne took a breath. The moment of truth had come.
“It’s from Mastrini’s. I didn’t tell you in case nothing came of it, but I gave them my vitae to see if they could find a governess position for me.”
“WHAT?!” It seemed her family was to be surprised by everything that morning. She waited for them to calm down. She could hardly shout over their demands for an explanation.
“It makes the most sense, you all know that. I am well able to teach, especially older girls. It would be foolish for my education to go unused.”
Especially the actual education, the one before she wasted six years at Madam Callier’s.
“Yvienne, my dear – you can’t be serious,” Brevart said. Her father set down the paper and peered at her, his spectacles perched on the top of his head as usual. His eyes were unblinking and wet. She felt a pang. Where was the long-range thinking merchant of her youth? Her father had grown old.
“I am serious, Father. It’s the best way to help the family. I can earn a wage and add it to our small annuity. It’s not much, but we can begin to get ahead at last.”
Such a poor ambition. And her plan to trade information with Treacher had turned to cold ashes. But that doesn’t matter, she thought. Because a governess is in a position to hear things and see things, and she fully intended to take advantage of her new position.
Uncle Samwell grunted. “Not sure that I approve. Governesses have a reputation.”
“Nonsense. No one would treat Yvienne that way,” Brevart said. Samwell just raised his eyebrows at his brother-in-law’s naiveté and went back to his coffee.
“Which House is it?” Alinesse asked.
“It’s the TreMondis. They have two daughters, ages twelve and eight, and a son, age six.” Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Even as a cover, she would have to take care to do a respectable job as a governess.
“The TreMondis,” Alinesse said. She tsked. “Small, but I suppose it could be worse.” Yvienne hid her exasperation. So like Alinesse, first to take umbrage at Yvienne’s position, and then look down her nose at the House that hired her. She glanced at Brevart.
He grunted. “Not very steady, is he?
