Chapter Six #3
Rebecca balled her fists beneath the table. “You don’t credit my analysis?”
“I didn’t say that,” Berab replied, his voice cool. He took his own sip of wine. “It’s merely surprising, as Fannie was trained by her mother and grandmother in social situations, and both—”
“Treated all people so well,” she murmured before taking another large bite of food. It was rather delicious, after all. And she was still hungry and could not properly think without fuel.
“They most certainly did.” Berab’s voice rose in clear irritation, giving her a perverse sort of pleasure. Perhaps because, as Fannie had pointed out, she was indeed mean.
“Did they?” Rebecca tutted as she recalled their limited interactions. Most involved the two lauded ladies forgetting she wasn’t a servant but another guest in the Lira household. “Or was such curtesy reserved for those whom they deemed necessary to maintain their own status?”
“Are you accusing my late wife and her mother of impropriety?” A dangerous note entered his tone.
Rebecca smiled. Oh yes, she was winning. She scooted forward in her chair.
“No. Merely elitism,” she told him. “A charge that fits more than those two members of this household.”
The man glowered at her. Something that should be frightening, but she was too pleased with the blows she was landing to register such a feeling.
“Now see here, Miss—” he started.
“Dessert is served.”
Rebecca glanced up to find the interruption had come from another man, older and more formally dressed, standing before the footmen.
“Your favorite, sir,” he said, indicating mounds covered in almonds.
“Yes, thank you,” Berab said after a beat.
The two ate what turned out to be an orange custard in silence.
“Well,” Berab started, when the food was cleared. “Are you going to retire, or do you require anything else this evening?”
No blessing after the meal? Yes, the lifestyle the Berab family led made certain observances difficult, but she’d always presumed that in the home they still did their daily customs.
The man must have noticed her surprise. “What is it?” He knit his brow. “Have I offended you somehow?”
“Are you not going to recite Birkat Hamazon?” she blurted out.
And… silence. A rather long one. A touch uncomfortable. At least for him, as she was quite used to such a reaction. Though he was probably not used to being rendered speechless, which… had she bested two Berabs in one day? Her lip twitched at the concept.
He coughed a little. “I… um…” He paused again before straightening his shoulders. “We’re only two, so I presumed we would each do it in our head.”
A fair answer, though almost certainly a lie. While their tradition frowned upon embarrassing others, to say the least, that particular mitzvah had always been a bit difficult for her, especially when faced with someone who never thought her worth the trouble of the same consideration.
Besides, why have a quick mind if one wasn’t going to use it?
She raised both brows. “And you’ve already concluded?”
However, instead of admitting the truth, he lied.
“Yes,” he said with a firm nod.
Rebecca pressed her lips together to stop herself from laughing.
The dratted man raised a brow, which she ignored.
“Impressive,” she mused instead.
“It is,” he responded with that obnoxious smirk.
Which she could not let stand. She cleared her throat. “I find matters more meaningful when one is competent enough to take one’s time,” she told him. “Though I know that can be difficult for some men.”
And the smirk was gone. Rebecca grinned, soaking up her victory, before launching into the full prayer, out loud even if such was not necessary and her voice was nothing particularly special.
“Now,” she said, when she concluded. “I think I shall retire.”
“Of course,” Berab said, his face and tone blank. “You could certainly do that,” he added, an almost certainly derisive undertone to his voice.
Suddenly, her victory did not feel so complete.
“You don’t approve?” she stated.
“I have no opinion.” He had the nerve to shrug. “You may do what you wish, no matter what the hour. As I said, you’re our guest,” he reminded her, in the same irritating tone.
“More like your prisoner.” She couldn’t help but retort.
“Are you sure you’re a midwife?” he asked.
Rebecca’s face grew hot. How dare he challenge her professional expertise? “Beg pardon?”
“With that sort of fabulosity, one would think you were an actress,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Though I suppose for that profession, one would need to know how to please an audience.”
Truly, he was the worst of people.
“You call this welcoming guests?” she retorted.
“As I said before, you may do what you wish while you’re here,” he returned.
As if that were remotely true. Here or anywhere.
“Then I will bid you a good night.” She gave her best imitation of a curtsy before brushing past him to the hall.
“Good night, Miss Adler,” he called after her, his voice smug. “I hope you enjoyed dinner.” She raced up the staircase, the closest she had to an escape, the sound of his voice echoing in her head long after it was gone.