The Mask of White and Red - Part 8

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The denizens of the Eastwinds Cafe barely gave her a glance as she passed through the door. A set of dangling chimes tinkled merrily to announce her entrance.

Ilsa, on the other hand, could not take her eyes off the customers. The finery on display was breathtaking. Scant weeks earlier she would have been awed by the sight but after working with Kerrie, she could now recognize the silk for its rarity and the value of the crystals sewn into their cuffs, collars and bodices. It was not just a display of fashion--of cut, color and style--this was a display of pure wealth. As she moved through to the rear of the shop she realized she was calculating in her head. The numbers grew too large to mean anything any more. These were the merchants’ men, and the agents and business owners of Farrowton, gathered together to conduct their business in comfort. Ilsa held her breath as she passed by each table, but nobody said anything to her.

The coffee shop snaked between rows of inconveniently positioned pillars of polished timber. Small wooden tables, mostly round with cleverly beveled edges, dotted the room, filling nooks and crannies and occupied by huddles of finely dressed men and women. The air was still, but filled with the aroma of toasted bread and roasted coffee beans. Wide glass-paneled sliding doors led outside to a terrace that overlooked the harbor. They were closed against the sea breeze, but the scent of salt and sea was still present in the air. As Ilsa shuffled between the tables looking for the old woman, a few of the patrons frowned at her when she looked at them too long, but none stopped her or asked her business.

A waiter and a waitress, both in deep green tunics and walnut trousers with matching aprons bussed the tables, and where they stopped their arrival was marked by friendly banter and the occasional peal of laughter.

Here, a group of men seemed deep in conversation. There, a table of what Ilsa thought might be couples sipped tea and picked at a selection of delicious-looking pastries. The old woman was nowhere to be seen. Ilsa knew she had no right to expect the woman to be here waiting for her, she no doubt had a life and a family elsewhere, but this was the third day, and she was beginning to despair.

She sat at a small table for two towards the rear of the shop where she could see the door and waited.

After a few minutes the waitress approached. “Are you ordering?” The tone was blunt, rude. In contrast to the friendly open manner she used with the other patrons. Ilsa felt herself blush, cheeks hot. She had money on her but definitely not enough to pay for even a pot of herb tea in this place. Why the old woman picked this spot, she did not know. Ilsa felt like a magpie among a flock of finely turned-out seagulls.

“I’m waiting for someone.” Her face was so hot now she must have been radiating like a stove. The waitress seemed unconvinced but looked around at the still empty tables.

“You can wait for now, but the tables are for paying customers.”

Kerrie walked up behind the waitress, giving Ilsa a smile. “And a paying customer is exactly what she is.” Kerrie pushed past the waitress then lowered herself into the empty chair and started digging in her purse. “A pot of tea if you please. And make it hot. Not like the usual tepid swill you lot like to peddle.”

The waitress curtsied. “Yes, M’m,” she said, then headed back towards the kitchen.

Ilsa couldn’t help but smile. “My savior.”

Kerrie grinned. “You know I’ve never been in here before, but I bet she doesn’t know that.”

“You’re a dear, Kerrie. Thank you.” Several of the other customers were staring, but for once Ilsa didn’t care. Was the room brighter? It certainly felt like it.

“Tut tut,” said Kerrie. “None of that.” She pushed a silver crown across the table. “I’ve been meaning to find a time to give this to you.”

The coin sat on the table, the five-pointed crown etched into its face barely visible as age and its passage through so many hands and coin purses had worn the edges away to the faintest markings. There was enough there to buy her food for two days. She opened her mouth to say thank you but it came out as the faintest of squeaks.

“It’s for all your hard work,” Kerrie said. “Thanks to you I completed the adjustments to Lady Desmonde’s gown.” Kerrie’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “Apparently she liked our work. No, she loved it.” Kerrie leaned across the table and planted a kiss on Ilsa’s cheek. “I wasn’t sure she would, but her man tells me she was overjoyed. No one else has a dress quite like it, he told me. Well, I should say so.”

The gown had been a work of art that Kerrie poured her heart, soul and countless hours of fiddly needlework into. Ilsa could not imagine anyone not loving it. Still, that finery paled in comparison with the look on Kerrie’s face, animated and lit up brighter than the lighthouse beacon.

“The lady has given us another dress to adjust,” said Kerrie. “But there’s more. She’s commissioned us to design her a new gown. It seems Lords Epcot and Terrington are hosting a ball in honor of their hideos steam engine line.”

“That’s wonderful news,” said Ilsa. With all that Kerrie had been through, losing her own house and having to take in Ilsa as well, it was nice to finally hear some good news. She frowned. “I really am happy to hear this. But Kerrie, this was you. I’m just the helper.”

“Nonsense.”

“No, no. I am happy to help, but I want—no, need—to do more.” Even as she said it, she knew just what she wanted to do. She could feel the pressure of the thought building inside her, a growing tingling that made her itchy to set off immediately instead of sitting here sipping tea. Her father’s medical bag sat gathering dust in a locker in the room she shared with Kerrie. When she did find her father, and she would find him, someone would need to help him. He would need someone to fix his hands. She knew now that someone was her. And if…well…if she never saw him again, she wanted to have part of him close to her always. She would start to study, to learn the surgeon’s trade.

She told Kerrie what she’d decided, hoping Kerrie would not forbid her, or tell her it was a silly idea. But Kerrie only smiled the kindly smile she always made. “Well, I suppose you’ll still need somewhere to practice,” Kerrie said.

“I’ll need to keep helping you,” Ilsa said quickly, warming when she saw Kerrie’s eyes light up again. “I’m going to need money for books.”

“I was afraid I’d lost you.”

Ilsa reached across the table and took Kerrie’s hand. “I’m going to find my father and that old woman, and I’m going to fix him. I can’t do that without friends.”

Kerrie sniffed, blinked and looked away. “Oh you are a sweet little thing. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Ilsa smiled. “Luckily you won’t need to find out.”

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Author's Note:

I really do hope you enjoyed Part 8 of The Mask of White and Red. I'm feeling the momentum again and have written a lot further ahead now, so the new chapters will be coming through more quickly again (yay! I was getting down on myself for not posting...)

As always, this would not have been possible without the editors from The Writers' Block on Discord.

To read the rest of this story, please do check it out on my Steemshelf at Steemshelves http://www.steemshelves.com/thinknzombie/. You can see each Steemit post linked there as well as some of my other stories.

Thanks for sticking with me and as always, please show your support by commenting and resteeming.

-- @thinknzombie

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