Her little joke fell flat when Mathilde handed three thick cream envelopes with elegant engraving to Tesara.
“Ah. Thank you, Mathilde,” Tesara said. The Iderci invitation was no fluke, then. Her status as gossip-fodder had been confirmed.
“Of course, miss. Madam, would you like to approve the menu for today?”
A few guilders from Tesara’s winnings had gone into the household till, under the fiction that Yvienne had received a sign-on gift from the TreMondis. The little white lie had mollified Alinesse somewhat, and it had allowed the ill-gotten funds to be disbursed in small one- and two-guilder donations to the family earnings. As part of their new-found wealth, Mathilde was to start making three meals a day, serving two of them and leaving a dinner for the family to eat after she went home.
“Yes, Mathilde. I’ll join you in the kitchen momentarily,” Alinesse said, but from her thunderous expression Mathilde’s diversion was for naught. Mathilde curtseyed and left the family alone. Alinesse looked Tesara in the eye. She reached out her hand. Tesara kept from rolling her eyes, just barely, and glanced down at each letter before handing them over. One she kept back: It was smaller, simpler, and had the initials on the back: M.D.
“And what is that one?”
“It’s a personal letter, Mama. From a friend.”
“Nonsense. Give it here.”
Tesara’s blood began to boil. “Mama, you are being entirely unreasonable. The letter is from a friend. It’s not an invitation.”
“Who is this so-called friend? And when have you had time to make a friend?” Alinesse snapped. Her mother’s face grew red, except for two white spots around her elegant nose. Tesara barely noticed as her father and uncle scraped back their chairs and fled.
“This so-called friend is Mirandine Depressis,” Tesara said, keeping her voice low to control it. “It doesn’t matter how we met. And it doesn’t matter that you don’t think I should have any friends. She is a friend, she wrote me a letter, and you are being hateful and foolish!”
“Hateful and foolish,” her mother repeated, her voice shaking much as Tesara’s was. “You stupid child! Don’t you know there is no one in this town who is our friend?! Whoever this woman is, she is using you!”
“I don’t know why that makes you angry, Mama – that I have a friend…” Tesara paused to control her voice and her emotions. “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t think I’m deserving of a friend.” She got to her feet, clutching the letter in her fist as best she could, and left her mother alone in the dining room.
After a long, angry cry in the comfort of her bedroom, muffling her tears in her flat, tired pillow, Tesara finally sat up and wiped her swollen tears. Why must Mama be so hateful? she thought, but her anger had lost all of its energy and passion. She knew Alinesse was dreadfully hurt by their circumstances. It was more difficult to understand why she must take out her feelings on her daughter. Her lesser daughter, Tesara thought, blowing her nose on a handkerchief.
She knows.
No – she discounted that immediately. Alinesse could not possibly know about Tesara’s abilities. In her own way her mother was like her brother – if Alinesse suspected Tesara had anything like a talent, and that she was the one who sank the fleet, she would immediately say something. She just doesn’t like me, Tesara thought, and half-laughed and half-cried.
She unfolded the now wrinkled and dingy letter from Mirandine, and had to smile through her tears at her friend’s cheerful demeanor.
My dearest Tesara,
We had such fun, didn’t we? I confess I can’t wait to see you again. Come to the Mile, to Miss Canterby’s. We’ll pretend to be proper misses but we will add brandy to our tea and eat all the chocolates. Today at two of the clock. See you then!
–M
PS I’ll make Jone come and he’ll pay for all our fun.
PPS Oh, never mind. Tell you later.
Two o’clock. She would gladly leave the house for the afternoon and get out from under its dreadful shadow and all within it. And she had money to pay for it, the most delicious thing of all. There came a rapping at the door, and for one moment her heart leapt – it would be her mother, come to apologize, and they would talk, and Alinesse would soften…
“Come in?” she called, her voice wobbly. She got up off the bed.
Mathilde poked her head in. She had several burnt pieces of paper in her hand and she offered them to Tesara. She made no mention of Tesara’s tear-streaked face.
“She threw them in the stove,” the maid said matter-of-factly. “But the fire was banked, and I was able to rescue them. You can still see who they’re from.”
It was unspeakably kind, both the act and the maid’s calm demeanor. “Thank you,” Tesara said. Without another word, Mathilde left her in peace.
The invitations were from the Scarlantis and the Edmorencys, that much was still legible. They were both for salons in the weeks preceding the Iderci fete on Saint Gerare’s Day. Invitations must be like suitors, Tesara thought – once one received one proposal, the others came round. She knew exactly what her position would be at these salons. She would be an object of gossip, subjected to false pity, oohed and aahed over, and mined for information about her mother and father. That much her mother had right – these were false friendships. It made her plan to fleece the merchant ladies of their pin money all the more satisfying.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jone and Mirandine were waiting for her at Miss Canterby’s at a small table near the windows and waved to her when she entered. Mirandine was wearing a wine-red short-waisted jacket over a dark blue walking dress. It had a military splendor to it, emphasized by a shako bonnet with a fringe. Her lip color matched the jacket. Tesara immediately felt
