The words penetrated Yvienne’s sense of rage and futility, and she looked at her sister. “Tell me.”
Tesara did.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
I am frightened of my sister.
Tesara had always admired Yvienne, had always envied her position as family favorite even as she resented it. She had feared her sister finding out she sank the fleet, until it was clear that Yvienne had no intention of believing her. This new, hard Yvienne was different. Tesara was frightened of her, almost as much as she had been frightened for her, when she found out her sister was the Bandit.
It had been truly frightening to see Yvienne’s reaction when Tesara told her about impersonating a scullery maid at Trune’s, fleeing, and then being recognized by Trune at the Scarlantis. She had grown quiet and pale, but the expression behind her eyes was one of hard, black ice.
That was three days ago. Yvienne had gone about her business as usual, leaving early in the morning to go to the TreMondis’, and coming home for a late supper. When she came home, she sat with Mother and Father until bedtime, reading and conversing companionably, and then going to bed.
There were no more reports of the Gentleman Bandit in the Gazette.
To their mother and father, Yvienne was exactly the same, if only a bit quieter than usual. Uncle Samwell never noticed a thing, of course, but to Tesara’s surprise, she sometimes caught Mathilde looking at Yvienne with a serious expression, far different from her usual sunny outlook. Under the pretext of helping clear the dinner table, Tesara followed Mathilde into the kitchen and stacked the dishes next to the sink.
“Is something wrong?” she asked her, as the housemaid got the bucket and her shawl, ready to make the trek to the neighborhood pump.
“No, not at all. Thank you for clearing the dishes, but you know your mother doesn’t like it when you do that when I’m here,” Mathilde said.
“I don’t mind. You seem worried about something to do with my sister.” Tesara knew she sounded a bit pugnacious and tried to soften her words in mid-sentence. Goodness knows, if she gives notice, they’ll never forgive me.
Mathilde turned to look at her, her expression and attitude one of patient forbearance. “Now that you mention it, she seems quieter than usual.”
“She gets like this sometimes, when she is thinking her deep thoughts,” Tesara lied, and Mathilde smiled in relief.
“Yes, she is a smart one,” Mathilde said, and that was that. “Well, I’m off to the pump.”
Tesara watched her go and scraped the plates, wondering. Mathilde had been so wonderful when she first came to work for them. When had it changed? The girl was the same competent miracle worker she had always been, making do on the funds they could give her. Even with the extra they doled out, plus Yvienne’s meager salary from the TreMondis, it wasn’t much, Tesara admitted. She stopped in mid-scrape, mouth open.
There was a limit to creative economy; even she knew that. She knew how much of the first gambling windfall she had left, and she knew how much she had given Mathilde. Even though she herself had never done the marketing, was it really possible for Mathilde to produce three sumptuous meals a day by clever economy on the housekeeping money she was given? Why would Mathilde use her own money to pay for groceries?
She set the dish down. She wasn’t even sure what she meant to do, but her hands tingled in expectation. She thrust them into her apron and ran up the hill to the pump.
There was Mathilde with her bucket, just as she said she would be. Tesara hung back in the shadows of a leaning tenement, hoping the maid wouldn’t turn her way. Mathilde waited her turn at the pump, standing with patient fortitude. And then, out of the crowd, came a man with a checked cap and overgrown reddish-brown curls at his neck. He stood next to Mathilde, but looked the other way. They’re pretending they don’t know each other.
And she remembered the young man the rainy evening she had delivered the servant’s dress. She had thought then he was someone Mathilde knew but Mathilde hadn’t acknowledged the man, so she had discounted her initial assumption.
Tesara watched until Mathilde moved up in the line and reached the pump. Now the two were talking, though she couldn’t hear what they were saying.
With a start, she saw Mathilde lift the pump handle back up and hoist the bucket. Tesara whipped around and ran back to the house, moving faster than the housemaid carrying the heavy bucket. When she got back to the kitchen, she hurried over to the sink and continued scraping, trying to control her breathing. After a few minutes Mathilde came in with the bucket and set it on the stove to heat the water for washing.
“Are you all right?” the housemaid asked. “You look flushed.”
“Quite all right,” Tesara said, as indifferently as she could. She felt as if Mathilde could hear her pounding heart from across the room. “If you like, I can finish up. You should go home.”
There was a silence and she glanced up to see Mathilde fiddling, uncharacteristically, with the dishtowel hanging from the hook by the sink.
“Perhaps I will,” she said at last. “Thank you, Miss Tesara.”
Tesara watched her get her things and leave, and then let out a sigh.
Yvienne, I know you’re angry at me, but we have to talk.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Yvienne was shelving books in the schoolroom when Alve TreMondi knocked at the open door. He smiled when she turned around. Her heart leaped with fear. Yvienne was suddenly, uncomfortably, aware that they were alone at the top of the house. The children were in the garden and Mrs TreMondi and the servants were all busy elsewhere. She cursed herself for forgetting to make sure never to be alone in the house. But she had thought
