She had a limited field of vision and at first could see no one, but the voices suddenly got louder and a footman and a butler came into the kitchen. She ducked back into darkness and listened.
“I don’t like it, Marques,” came the familiar voice of Albero. “I think it’s a shame.”
“And it’s not our place to judge, young man,” the other man retorted. “This is Guild business.”
“She’s a merchant’s daughter. This just isn’t right–”
“The family has been judged and found wanting. Besides, the rest of the Guild will keep him in line. Ready the next course, and mind you don’t forget the chutney for the roast. Mrs Francini will be livid if you send up the meat wrong in her absence.”
The cook wasn’t here then. Had Trune sent away all the female servants? That could be bad, very bad; did Trune mean to be beastly to Tesara? Could her sister’s powers save her?
She heard the sounds of the two servants go into the next room and carefully opened the door again. The kitchen was empty except for a neatly arrayed set of platters with enticing courses, ready to be sent up in the dumbwaiter, a new addition to the kitchen. She palmed a butter knife and an oyster fork from the table and slipped them into her pocket.
She pulled the scarf over her face again, cocked her pistol, and waited. They walked back in, still arguing, Albero carrying a small silver dish mounded high with the cream. As they registered her presence, their voices faded. The expression on Marques’s face was vastly more comical than Albero’s.
The butler goggled as if his eyes would pop out of his head. Albero’s mouth dropped. The butler made to shout and she swung about and aimed the gun between his eyes. He turned pale and began to sweat and stutter.
“I-I- you-you… my m-master is upstairs…” He continued to gawp unintelligibly, making many false starts.
She sighed. She was going to have to talk, as it was clear he was in no condition to understand gestures. She glanced at Albero.
“Gag him and tie him,” she said, trying to keep her voice low and masculine.
He did as he was told, setting down the cream and grabbing up a linen napkin and stuffing it into Marques’s mouth. He used kitchen twine to bind his hands. Marques whimpered. Yvienne winced. Albero was being very thorough.
“Don’t hurt him,” she said, exasperated. She remembered and hastily lowered her voice. “Can he breathe?”
Albero loosened some of the napkin and the man groaned in relief.
“Put him in the cupboard,” she ordered, and Albero dragged the butler into the little closet.
There lay the silk dress and gloves at the floor. Yvienne was thankful for her mask – she knew she paled behind it.
“Where is she?” she said, no longer caring that her voice was her natural one. Albero glanced at her and she knew he recognized her.
“Upstairs. He made her dress in a housemaid’s uniform and she’s serving the men.”
Odd, but perhaps not as bad as she first feared. She would need to hurry though.
“On your knees,” she ordered the footman, and he obeyed. She tied him with the rest of the twine and gagged him with another linen, taking care that he could still breathe. For a second their eyes met, his over the napkin, and hers over her scarf, and he gave her a questioning look. She glared back. Then she pushed him in the cupboard. They huddled in there. She knelt to look Marques in the eyes, her pistol cocked and aimed at him at very close range. She could smell their sweat and the scent of the heavy wool and cotton of their black coats and white shirts. She growled as low as she could.
“If you make a noise, or pound on the door or kick at anything, or call for any kind of attention, I’ll come back in here and put this right between your eyes.”
He was so frightened his eyes rolled back in his head. She looked at Albero and shook her head in warning, hoping he took it seriously. She wasn’t the child here, and Tesara was in trouble. His only response was to turn his head away, his nostrils flaring as he tried to get air. She closed the door on them, locked it, and shoved a chair up against it for good measure. Stay there until dawn, she thought.
She crammed herself into the dumbwaiter behind the meat course and began hauling on the ropes. The little compartment was nothing more than a platform, open on the sides. It lifted with a groan as if she were too heavy for it. She pulled and pulled, getting into a rhythm, until with a thump the dumbwaiter stopped at the dining room landing. The harsh bell took a moment to sound the alarm, starting with a rattle.
The door scraped open. Yvienne could get only a sliver of a glimpse of the dining room behind Tesara. She and her sister exchanged glances, and then Tesara grabbed the platter, blocked the door with her body, and closed it, and sent Yvienne on her way again.
Now she had more room to pull on the ropes with the platter out of the way. She hauled, wondering how much time she would have before they wondered where the next course was.
The dumbwaiter landed with another thud. She took a breath, slid the door open, and peered out.
The hall was empty and dark, no lamps. Yvienne slid out and kept her back to the wall, trying to control her breathing.
The house felt lifeless yet watchful. It hardly felt like home. She made her way to the study, and fumbled at the doorknob. It was locked. She pulled out the oyster fork, and painstakingly worked the lock mechanism. It took several tries, but finally she was able to turn the doorknob.
