Chapter Thirty-Four
The TreMondi House was a stately, narrow townhouse at the bottom of the Crescent, near where it met Mercantile Row, not far from the home of the Sansieris. It was not as big as many of the other houses, but the glazing and the sconces on the door, and the fresh paint and the landscaping, as well as the prized cream marble facing the exterior, all screamed wealth. Yvienne straightened her walking dress and knocked the gleaming brass knocker against the sable black door.
And waited. At length she heard steady footsteps, and then the door opened. A distinguished gentleman in a butler’s coat looked down at her.
“Miss Mederos, here to see Mrs TreMondi,” Yvienne said.
“For the governess placement,” he said. “You should have come round to the servants’ entrance.”
Embarrassment flooded Yvienne’s face. What a little fool, she thought. She could see it in the butler’s expression. She had entirely forgotten her place.
“I do apologize–”
“As you haven’t got the position yet, we will forgive this time,” he said, and she bobbed a hasty curtsey and followed him inside. “Wait here.” He disappeared into the house.
The entranceway spoke of the same understated elegance. The colors reflected the colors of the sea, the floor gleamed with fresh wax, and a mirror for guests hung over a lovely table of sleek mahogany and ivory. As she checked her reflection hurriedly in the mirror, she noticed a small red fire wagon beneath the table. So, children lived here after all.
A quick tattoo of footsteps alerted her and a smiling woman with a housekeeper’s set of keys jangling at her belt, met her with an outstretched hand. “Miss Mederos? I’m Mrs Rose, the housekeeper. Come this way into the parlor.”
“Thank you. I apologize for not coming round the back.”
“Yes, Hayres said. Don’t worry – mistress doesn’t know.”
In the parlor sat Mrs TreMondi with her two daughters and a small boy, evidently the owner of the fire wagon. Yvienne curtseyed and looked up. They made a pretty tableau on the elegant sofa, as if posing to have their portrait made. The girls were dark like their mother, with seal-brown eyes and swooping eyebrows like a penciled bird’s wing. Their complexions were a lovely brown too. Their brother had paler curls, almost silver in the light, but if anything, his skin was darker. They wore matching cream dresses – the little boy wore a cream suit – with pink and black ribbons.
Oh! Mrs TreMondi was from the Chahoki, a kingdom half-way across the continent to the east. The Chahoki empire was used to be thought savage and barbaric and certainly not at all the thing. That all changed once the Guild learned that the people were as avid for trade as the Guild itself, and were no less able in the arts of war. A truce ensued, one of mutual benefit and mutual distrust. Obviously, in the TreMondis’ case, relations were more amiable, she thought. The society of Port Saint Frey would not approve of Mr TreMondi’s choice of wife, though. That must have been why they were not able to get any other governess. Well, that is to my benefit, she thought.
“Miss Mederos, please sit,” Mrs TreMondi said. She had scarcely an accent. “The children wanted to meet you. I hope you don’t mind.”
She gestured Yvienne to a spindly little chair upholstered in pale blue and embroidered so finely that Yvienne hesitated and sank down delicately, lest she despoil the design with her rude bottom.
“I don’t mind at all,” she said. “I find it entirely understandable.” In her own case, she had never met any of her governesses before they were engaged; Alinesse believed in the fait accompli. Had she been able to meet some of her governesses in advance, perhaps she would have at least known what to expect and not be as disappointed. May I keep from disappointing my charges.
“This is Dubre, my youngest. He’s six. And my next youngest, Idina, who is eight, and my eldest, Maje, who is twelve.”
“How do you do?” Yvienne said.
“How do you do?” the children chorused obediently.
“Very well, thank you,” Yvienne said. “What do you wish to know of me?”
“Do you teach math?” Dubre demanded.
“Yes, I do. It’s my favorite subject.”
He wrinkled his nose, and so did the girls.
“Our last teacher said that we weren’t very good at math,” said Idina. “I admit it was hard to understand.”
“Then I’ll take care to ensure that you do understand before we go on to the harder lessons,” Yvienne said.
“What else do you teach?” Dubre asked.
“I teach writing and penmanship and history, geography, and cartography. We’ll read books about all sorts of exciting things.” She remembered the fire wagon in the foyer. “Have you ever learned about the Fire of Port Saint Frey?”
“No! When did it happen? Did all the buildings burn down?” Dubre practically jumped out of his seat.
“One hundred years ago. That was before we had fire brigades, and many of the wooden buildings did burn down. That’s why most of the buildings are made of stone and brick now.”
“And there was another fire just two nights ago,” Dubre said, completely beside himself with excitement. “I heard the bells and I could see the smoke from the window.”
Yvienne maintained her expression. “It must have been very exciting. And fortunately, the citizens rang the bell and the fire brigades came as soon as they could. Because of that, the fire was put out and the city was saved.”
“Dubbi loves fire wagons,” Mrs
