Midnight Jewel (The Glittering Court #2)(13)

“I just thought I’d heard you were over there a lot.” My voice mimicked the angelic one she used. “And that you saw an apothecary on Hightower, one you knew very well. But now I realize I must be mixed up. The apothecaries are a few streets over, right? Hightower’s all residential. Lots of fine homes. Lots of fine gentlemen—and their families.”

Clara grew pale and then bright pink. “I don’t know what game you’re playing—”

“You know exactly what game I’m playing.” I dropped the sweetness. “I know, Clara. I know all about the favor Jasper did for Mister Wakefield, and if you bother me or anyone else in this house again, everyone is going to know about that favor. And I don’t just mean gossip anymore. You say or do anything I don’t like—if you even look any way I don’t like—this is all coming out.”

“No one will believe—”

“I have proof.” That wasn’t exactly true, since I couldn’t steal the paperwork from Mistress Masterson’s office, but my attitude was convincing, as was the mystery of how I knew about this at all. “When they see that proof, they’ll all believe—and Jasper is not going to be happy. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

I left her there gaping and had to stop myself from grinning like an idiot. The special note scrawled in her dossier—in Jasper’s own handwriting—had read:

Taken on as a favor to Martin Wakefield, following repeated indiscretions in his Hightower residence. Upon discovery by Mistress Wakefield, Clara needed immediate removal. She’s pretty and clever and will fit in well here. She’s smart enough to know how lucky she got, and I doubt the behavior will be repeated. Still, the sooner she’s married, the better.

A few inquiries to Cedric had provided the rest of the details. He didn’t know anything about Clara’s backstory, but he’d heard of Martin Wakefield. He was a businessman of some standing and owned apothecary shops in districts all over the city. He couldn’t risk a scandal.

I didn’t have long to exalt in my victory because a frantic Tamsin found me a few minutes later. She grabbed my arm. “It’s happening.”

I couldn’t bear to tease her when my mood was so good. “Tamsin, you’ll worry yourself sick. Take a break, and we’ll go find a game and—”

“No!” she exclaimed. “I’m not imagining this. The word just got around—Mistress Masterson wants us all in the ballroom as soon as possible. Where’s Adelaide?”

A little of Tamsin’s paranoia began to creep into me. “In the kitchen, I think. Today’s her chore day.”

Tamsin, still clinging to my arm, dragged me forward. “Come on, we can’t waste time.”

Adelaide, per her way, was doing a haphazard job of washing dishes, and we managed to save her from destroying a copper kettle before finally heading off to the ballroom. We were among the last to arrive and found the vast room’s floor covered in blankets. Our housemates sat scattered on them, looking as puzzled as we felt. The three of us found an unoccupied spot and sat down.

When workmen entered and began setting up tables of food— far more than we needed—Tamsin looked ready to hyperventilate. She started rambling about how this must be a surprise quiz on entertaining large groups of posh guests. “No problem. We can do this. We can do this better than the others because none of them have realized what’s happening. We’ve got an edge.”

She was still rattling off advice—which seemed to be directed more to herself than to us—when the predicted guests began to enter. They didn’t look very posh, but they caused a big reaction. Our housemates began leaping up from their blankets with wild cries, flinging themselves into the arms of those visitors. And in moments, Tamsin was among them, running over to a smiling, tearful cluster of red-haired people.

Adelaide and I sat alone, taking in the sight. “Their families,” I murmured. One of the Glittering Court’s rules was that during our instruction period, communication with family back in Osfro could only be maintained via letter. We were in our eighth month, which was a long time to go without seeing loved ones.

I watched the reunions with a wistful smile. Adelaide, beside me, did too, and I remembered how her file had also been marked with NONE. Suddenly, two familiar faces walked through the door, and after a moment of shock, I ran forward to embrace Pablo and Fernanda Gagliardi. Lonzo and I had traveled with them from Sirminica, and they’d let us live with them in Osfro. Their small apartment had been only a little bigger than my bedroom at Blue Spring, but they’d been unfailingly generous to those in need.

“What are you doing here?” I exclaimed. The two of them were well into their sixties, and our manor was a long ride from the capital.

“Making sure you’re staying out of trouble,” said Pablo. More gray streaked his black hair than I recalled. “And I think we’re eating. That’s all they told us.” The sound of my native language was like music.

“Look at you,” said Fernanda, tears shining in her eyes as she took me in. I wore a pink voile dress with my hair pulled back and curled. “Just like a princess.”

I immediately led them over to the food. They looked so much skinnier to me. Had I been that way too? Once their plates were filled, I brought them back to the blanket and sat near Tamsin’s family. It was hard not to smile at them. There were three other children, and Tamsin held the youngest on her lap, a girl of two or three, while the others—an older boy and girl—leaned their heads against her. I’d never seen Tamsin’s face so full of happiness and free of calculation.