“No,” Alinesse said. The finality in her voice set the temperature in the dining room plummeting several degrees.
“And who would you ask? Parr? That red-faced chancer backstabbed us enough, don’t you think?” This time Brevart’s voice was quietly bitter.
“I didn’t say Parr,” Uncle said, with difficulty. “I know what you think of me, Brev, but I wouldn’t do that.”
Tesara stood. “My turn to do the dishes,” she said briskly. She began gathering plates. If there was going to be a blow up, then she wanted to escape to the kitchen.
“I’ll help,” Yvienne said, following suit.
“Are you working tonight, Yvienne?” Brevart asked. “I must say, I think one night the TreMondis can let you have. I wonder that you have not given notice yet. It is very tiresome, dear child.”
“I am not working tonight, Papa, and will be happy to sit with you and Mama.”
“I should hope that Mrs TreMondi impresses upon her offspring how lucky they are to have you as a governess,” Alinesse said. “Imagine, asking you to stay over, just to help Nurse care for the children. I know you took a pet when I said it before but I hold to my opinion: Mrs TreMondi is taking advantage.”
Yvienne paused, concentrating on picking up the dinner plates. “I promise, Mama, if Mrs TreMondi seeks to take an undue advantage I’ll be sure to let her know at once.”
Alinesse remained unmollified. “I am sure she’ll be very unpleasant. Those people always are, when they’re faced with their transgressions.”
“Foreigners,” Brevart said. He shook his head at the thought of it. He laid the paper down. “Well, I’ll stay up a bit with you my dear, if you insist, but soon I’m for my bunk,” he said, though it was barely seven o’clock. “I wonder what Mathilde will have for us tomorrow.”
Tesara exchanged glances with Yvienne and could see the worry in her eyes. Brevart went to bed so early and even napped in the afternoons. Her father was fading away, right in front of them. The sooner we get out of here, the better for him, she thought. But even if their plan worked and they were able to restore House Mederos to its former glory, something had gone out of their father. It might be too late.
In the kitchen, they talked in low voices.
“How did it go?” Yvienne asked her.
She gave Yvienne an abbreviated story, omitting the encounter with Trune. “No troubles at all,” she assured her sister. “Managed to hail a cab too – heard the dogs and the to do that must have been the Gentleman Bandit hard at work.”
“Mmmm,” Yvienne said.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Tesara went on. “What happened to your hands?”
Yvienne’s hands were red and raw. And now that Tesara noticed it, her sister’s face was swollen on one side, though it was hard to tell in the low light.
She thought her sister might have delayed her answer for a second longer than usual. But when she spoke, she gave a shrug.
“Oh. Sometimes I help in the kitchen at the TreMondis’ with getting the children’s tea. Cook is so busy, and it’s just easier to do it myself. Don’t tell Mother, since she’ll find it another example of Mrs TreMondi taking advantage. So, are you fixed for the Iderci salon? Do you think you can get in the high-stakes tables?”
Tesara had been about to ask her how she hurt her hands making the children their evening meal, but just then their father called from the sitting room. “Yvienne! Read this article to me, dear, and tell me what you think.”
“Coming, Father!” Yvienne whisked off her apron, gave Tesara a rueful smile, and hurried off to read to Brevart. That was when Tesara noticed a definite limp.
What on earth was Vivi up to?
Chapter Fifty
The night of the Iderci ball, the Mederos family, with the exception of Uncle Samwell, was spending a quiet evening in the parlor. It was a cool pleasant night with a calm and peaceful breeze, and the windows were open to the garden. Brevart alternately read and dozed, waking himself with a snort every few minutes, grumbling something. Alinesse did sums over the accounts. Tesara tried to keep her attention on her sewing, pulling out an old embroidery piece she had been working on since she was twelve and started at Madam Callier’s. The rectangle of material was grubby with crooked stitches. She had rather forgotten what it was supposed to be. It was a dreadful way to be marking time until her parents went to bed. They never stay up late anymore, she thought irritably. Why tonight?
Yvienne was, improbably, knitting. She looked domestic and cheerful, as if nothing affected her. In the low light of the whale oil lamps – whale oil! they were rich indeed! – she looked a picture in her shawl and lace cap over her dark curls. Every once in a while, she would address herself to Brevart, and they would converse over something he was reading in the paper between dozes.
In the old days, they never would have sat up together. It was rather nice, Tesara admitted, but it was utterly ridiculous that her parents hadn’t gone to bed.
Finally, Brevart yawned, stretched, and folded the Gazette and laid it next to him on the table. “Well, I’m for the hammock,” he grumbled. “Alinesse?”
“I suppose I will too,” she said, closing the account book and wiping down the pen and stoppering the ink. “Yvienne, make sure you tell Mathilde to stay after lunch tomorrow. I want to speak to her.”
“Of course, Mama. Good night, you two. Sleep well.”
The girls rose and kissed their parents good night and then resumed their domestic pastimes while their parents made their way upstairs. They kept sitting, Tesara stitching aimlessly, Yvienne knitting, until they heard the
