Chapter Four
Rebecca tugged the thick coverlet around her body, luxurious warmth spreading through her consciousness as she woke from the best sleep she’d had since…
well, she couldn’t tell how long. Probably months.
Sarah, her maid, must have just tended the fire.
Yawning, she worked to stretch her arms above her—ow.
She yelped as pain shot through her shoulder. Glancing down, she found the entire limb bandaged and set in a sling.
The memories flooded back. Attempting and failing to sleep, the crash, finding the girl and the cat making a mockery of the laboratory—then grabbing the child, racing through the house, screaming for the staff to leave, her head colliding with the pavement even after she braced herself with—right. Her arm.
Her arm was so injured that now she could not do anything of value for—how long had Maduro said again?
—for four weeks. And while he was an obnoxious man, he was not a fool.
Her patients were now being sent to her competition.
Her undoubtedly more pleasant-seeming and finer-to-view competition.
Overly valued qualities, especially compared to her undervalued intellectual brilliance.
A cold fear flew through Rebecca’s veins at the thought. It was almost as if she were being punished.
If one believed in divine punishment, which she most certainly did not. At least not in the current world. The Torah, yes, Korach and all, but that was probably more of a metaphoric truth than an actual one and—
“You’re awake,” an unfamiliar voice said. Rebecca forced her eyes back open to discover that not only was the voice unfamiliar, but so were the form and face of the aproned servant standing before her and wearing a lace-trimmed cap, as well as the entire room in which she found herself.
Unable to speak, Rebecca gazed around the space, from the damask bed-curtains framing the oversize but admittedly comfortable bed and its resplendent, rich purple bedclothing, to the marble-adorned fireplace, as well as the matching chairs and end tables before it.
To her right was a screened dressing area and vanity, covered with the kind of pots and tools for primping she only used in passing, or when she had time, which was primarily holidays.
Even if the only thing all “enhancements” ever seemed to enhance was her plainness.
The other side contained a wardrobe and a dresser as well as a wood-paneled set of double doors, with ornately decorated knobs. Ungapatchka to say the least, not to mention far larger and grander than anything in her own house. Like her friend Isabelle’s home.
Her friend’s family’s taste ran ungapatchka to the extreme.
But of the lighter variety—more gold, less dark marble, allegedly because use of the former was often forbidden to their kind by the gentile powers-at-be, and thus the Liras employed it as much as possible to celebrate their “freedom.” But that was neither here nor there.
Especially as Rebecca had no idea where her current “here” actually was.
Her thinking was a touch fuzzy. She brought her left fingers to her aching temples and—yes, definitely a knot.
Frowning, she searched her mind. She recalled speaking with Maduro in—Rebecca pursed her lips. Where had she been precisely when that occurred? They’d started outside, but at the end… She’d not been in her own home, certainly, but…
“I’ll go call the master,” the woman said, interrupting her thoughts, before quickly exiting the room and leaving her alone once more.
The master? Who was that? Who in their community had their servants refer to them as such a thing?
Goyishe to say the least. Though quite a few of them had become obnoxiously goyishe over the years.
Especially those who could afford coverlets like this one.
Rebecca grimaced at the ridiculous thing.
Yes, it was warm and pleasing to the touch, but also unnecessary.
And the color was ludicrous. The amount of dye alone that it must have taken to create was waste to the extreme.
Another memory roared back. Berab. Pompous, arrogant, patronizing Roger Berab, whom she’d foolishly shtupped in a moment of weakness, and her agreeing—rather, not agreeing—that she was to stay—
“You’re awake,” a familiar voice interrupted.
With a groan, Rebecca turned toward the entry to find the odious man himself, dressed in one of the dark but obviously expensive matching trousers and jackets he favored and a deep gray cravat, tied precisely over his crisp white shirt.
He stood in the threshold, casually surveying her person, a slightly bemused expression tipping his lips.
“You,” she breathed, clutching the coverlet to her chest with her unbandaged arm. “I suppose once a kidnapper, always a kidnapper.” She watched with satisfaction as the man flinched from the well-placed barb, which he and his family definitely deserved.
“That was my brother, and it was a misunderstanding,” a subdued Berab said, before entering the room without asking permission.
“I was actually instrumental in halting the conflict.” He moved to one of the chairs beside the fire, dragging it next to the bed and sitting down beside her—again without asking.
Quite the smooth deflection of responsibility for his and his family’s actions. However, one would suppose that the Berab family did not get to where they were in the community and beyond without being skilled at that sort of thing.
Though she was not the rest of the community. She had an actual brain in her head and valued the same.
“How about my current kidnapping—who is responsible for that?” she asked, raising her chin.
Instead of being affronted, the infuriating man merely raised an eyebrow. “So hyperbolic,” he chided. “And here I thought you prided yourself on accuracy.”
“I did not consent to be taken to your home,” she said, folding her good arm across her chest. “Isabelle might have suggested such a thing, but I made it clear that while her advice was appreciated, I disagreed and would not be following her words.”
“I’m not sure you articulated all of that.
” His bemused smirk returned. “I made a decision based on exigent circumstances. Or would you have preferred, when you swooned—in my carriage, might I remind you, which you entered without my permission in the first place—that I tossed you out, unconscious, in the snow, at night?” He gave her a rather stern look, as if she were a child, not a fully grown businesswoman. “And barely dressed, I may add.”
He had the nerve to sniff, as if what she’d done was somehow indecent instead of heroic. Apparently, saving a life without the proper attire was frowned upon in this establishment.
You were quite eager to remove my clothes seven months ago was on the tip of her tongue, but she refrained as nothing good could come from rehashing that. After all, while she was loath to admit it, he had been correct in never speaking of the matter again as the best course of action.
“I’m sorry my dishabille perturbs you,” she said instead, pushing down the coverlet instead of pulling it up. “Next time I endeavor to rescue your child from death, I’ll make sure I take the time to wear something fashionable.”
The man wet his lips, but instead of attempting another smart reply, he paused and glanced at his lap for a long moment.
“My family is sorry for all that occurred and grateful for your quick thinking,” he said when he lifted his head again.
He took a deep, audible breath. “I believe our conversation traveled in an unfortunate direction due to the strain of Thursday’s events.
As it’s now Sunday, might we endeavor to continue with a touch more equanimity? ”
“I’m not sure I have much of a choice.” She ground her jaw so hard this time her teeth skittered, barely registering the reveal that she’d slept for two days, her irritation was so strong. “Considering that I’ve been kidnapped.”
Instead of responding, Berab glanced at the ceiling, his lips moving slightly, though he made no sound.
Rebecca stared. Perhaps she’d finally done it, actually felled someone with mere words. And here she’d once believed him a worthy opponent. Inconvenient, as she was stuck in his home, and he was responsible for replacing hers.
The silence lagged on, and his eyes remained fixed above until she could take it no more.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Conjugating,” he said, before yet another long pause.
“Despite your lurid imagination, which apparently causes you to make baseless accusations, I don’t harm people.
” He stopped, his lip curling. “At least not with fists. I’m much more skilled with verbal insults when crossed, and while it’s tempting now, it is most improper as a host. Thus, as you are not inclined to credit basic facts when I’m the source, perhaps matters would be more fruitful if you read this instead.
” He reached into his pocket before offering an envelope to her.
Rebecca goggled at the thing for a moment before accepting the paper.
“What is it?” she asked, rubbing the parchment with her good hand.
“A letter from our mutual friend. It was delivered this morning.”
“Our mutual friend? And who might that be?” She only had one friend. Rebecca scrunched her nose. “Isabelle?” she asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice.
“She’s a friend.” Berab’s tone and posture were rather defensive.
“Of yours?” she inquired pointedly.
“Our families are close,” he responded with a huff.
“You attempted to marry her against her will.” Yes, reminding him was a touch childish, but he had so many advantages, especially compared to her. For once, she just wanted the upper hand.
After all, she was literally down to one working hand.