Chapter One
Whitechapel, London, England
Every muscle and bone in Rebecca’s body ached—along with the roots of her hair and seemingly the blood in her arteries, even if the latter wasn’t physically possible.
Between two long deliveries with new mothers who required extra assistance, as well as a special call from the Commission of Delegates—the body that internally governed and externally represented both parts of the Jewish community—she’d not slept in almost three days.
Yet, despite being currently tucked into her own warm bed, with a roaring fire protecting her from the outside snowy chill, she could not fall asleep.
True, it was late afternoon, but midwives rarely kept regular hours, and she’d adjusted to her mother’s routine in infancy.
But with her mother in Brighton for the next two months, her home was unusually quiet, hindering rather than helping her insomnia.
With a groan, Rebecca spun onto her stomach, throwing a pillow over her head to block the light from the setting sun.
She needed this rest. At least if she wanted to maintain her profession.
Her profession was who she was. What gave her both purpose and value.
Without it, no one wanted to see, let alone talk, to her, no matter how correct and wise her opinions were.
At least as a midwife she had gravitas, not to mention, could maneuver herself into the right circumstances and force people to at least hear, if not listen.
Thankfully, more often than not, they conceded. Just without giving her credit.
Which she didn’t need. No. She just needed to maintain her place.
And thus, she needed to coerce herself into slumber.
Why that was so hard as of late, she had no idea.
Yes, her world was a shade emptier, what with her mother away and the only people she could even possibly consider friends—Isabelle and, since November, Hannah—both recently married. But neither had abandoned her, even if the newly pregnant Hannah now spent most of her waking hours over a bucket.
Rather, Rebecca had been filled with the urge to avoid them. Strange. It wasn’t as if she disliked their husbands. Both were unusually kind men and quite loyal. Moreover, she was happy for them. Both were suited for marriage. Wanted it. Something she most certainly did not.
Besides, while she wasn’t immune to the physical charms of men in the community, she’d not met one with whom she’d want to share her life.
And I’m sure you recognize that it would be completely inappropriate for us to marry.
Groaning again, Rebecca placed her head over her pillow as blasted Berab’s words rose in her mind.
Schmuck, schmuck, schmuck. She was supposed to have forgotten it and him.
And she had.
Mostly.
Even if she was privy to gossip about him and his family due to her communal position.
Even if they were often thrown together during events where she could not ignore his existence.
Even if she might have occasionally recalled a few of the sensations she’d experienced with him.
Truly, she’d mostly forgotten the entire affair and would again. This time for good.
If she could just get some sleep.
With a yawn, Rebecca forced her eyes closed. All she needed was to permit her body to relax. Keep her mind completely blank, let her limbs—
Crash.
Rebecca pushed herself upright in bed, now completely awake.
Sliding her spectacles over her nose out of habit, she stared into the dim light, as another series of bangs and thuds vibrated from below—from the workroom where they kept all their supplies.
Rebecca’s throat grew tight at the thought of an already-upsetting burglary joining forces with a number of chemical compounds that could be dangerous in the wrong hands.
Especially combined. She shuddered. She kept the most unstable combinations far apart, but…
Not even bothering to throw a dressing gown over her chemise, she grabbed a poker from the hearth.
In her bare feet, Rebecca crept down the stairs as her mind searched for a plan to confront a thief who could be endangering his own life.
The noise continued as she approached the door, which was still ajar.
Peering in, Rebecca had to rub her eyes twice to convince herself the scene before her was real and not a dream.
Rather than an adult thief befouling her space, it was a young girl and her cat.
The creature, a thin tabby, danced along the upper shelves, coming precariously close to several jars of dried condoms, its hair raining down on the newest additions, waiting to be stretched on molds.
Dressed in a bright red pelisse with fur trim and no hat, the girl’s half-pinned golden-brown hair bounced messily around her shoulders as she poked about in Rebecca’s cabinet, removing and sniffing bottles, before lining the worktable with everything she touched.
Without their lids.
There was something oddly familiar about the pair, but Rebecca didn’t have time to force her bleary mind to think. No, the dratted cat spotted her. With a hiss, the animal leapt into the air and down onto the table full of open jars.
It was at that precise moment that Rebecca noticed the instruments she’d used on her last outing still soaking in the eau oxygénée she’d re-created using Mr. Thénard’s methods. A marvelously effective disinfectant but highly unstable. She glanced back at the girl, whose activity had ceased.
The human trespasser returned her gaze, her light brown eyes wide in surprise. A pretty child, with an expression and posture younger seeming than her height suggested. Familiar. Very familiar. The eyes, yes, but also the nose and the set of the chin.
But before she pondered more, Rebecca caught sight of a stream of liquid from a felled jar making its way down the table toward the uncovered bucket.
The now glaring girl had opened her mouth and was probably speaking, but Rebecca could hear nothing but the pounding of panic in her own head.
Well, that and a few phrases of warning in the pamphlet she’d read prior to learning to synthesize her own solutions.
It was as if her muscles reacted of their own accord even as her overtired mind remained deeply sluggish.
Releasing the poker to the floor with a clank, she grabbed the girl with both arms and bolted down the stairs toward the front of the house.
Rebecca held on, even as the child struggled against her, kicking and biting and scratching and yelling a variety of foul words that would make a street urchin blush.
“Get out now,” she screamed as she ran. “Everyone, out, now!” Nearly colliding with their cook, who’d been making use of their front parlor with the rest of their small staff, she called to them, “Leave. We need to leave immediately.”
Fortunately, their staff was competent enough to listen, and the group ran toward the door, alongside Rebecca and the girl who was screeching threats at the top of her lungs—something about her father and how they’d all be sorry for their treatment of her when they found out who he was.
It was too fast and too high-pitched for her to comprehend, especially with her heart pounding so intensely and the blood pumping in her ears.
As the crowd filed out, there was a loud boom from behind them, followed by a rush of heat. Something hard and hot pressed against Rebecca’s back as she was thrust forward. Turning to her side to protect the girl from her weight, she hurtled to the ground, colliding painfully with the cobblestone.
For a moment, she believed she saw a flash of light in the darkening sky.
Then she saw nothing at all.