Chapter Eleven #2
After handing the yawning Michael off to the young maid—Rachel—Marguarite led Rebecca to a sitting room that she’d not yet seen, toward the middle of the second floor.
Burgundy covered almost every surface in the space, the color of a rich wine. The rugs, the wall coverings, the furniture, even the marble tops of the end tables and fireplace. It was a wonder that the ceiling remained a deep, unmolested chestnut wood. More than a touch ridiculous.
In the center of the room stood a woman, or at least, given her quite youthful features, a girl dressed like a woman.
An absurdly finely clothed woman. A fur-lined cloak hung around her shoulders.
Thick, lush mounds of perfectly even curled ringlets, which, despite the weather, still sat elegantly styled on her head, not a hint of frizzle in sight.
An irrational burst of jealousy twisted Rebecca’s gut.
Odd, as she’d never once cared that someone else, especially someone more monied, was better coiffed than she. And found the people who spent the time concerning themselves with the same not worth her own.
“Miss Adler,” the girl greeted her. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“I’m happy to be of service.” Rebecca peered closer as she sought to recall with whom she was speaking. She could not for the life of her remember meeting the girl. “Miss…”
“Teres,” the girl supplied, dipping into a rather overly formal, but admittedly elegant, curtsy. “Miss Leone Teres,” she introduced herself. “My father is on the Commission of Delegates. Our family helped found it when we arrived from Amsterdam.”
Rebecca resisted an eye roll.
“You don’t say,” she murmured, glancing at the clock.
Nearly ten at night. Quite late for a social call.
Not that she was under the delusion that this was one, that Miss Teres had any interest in her other than the professional.
Rebecca cleared her throat. “With what can I assist you, Miss Teres?” She glanced at the visitor’s abdomen.
“One of our maids, Renata, is increasing,” Miss Teres informed her. “Mrs. Henriques is who my family has always used and plans to continue using.” She narrowed her eyes at Rebecca.
Oy. Did she truly think she was so gauche to attempt a poach? Especially given the fact she couldn’t do deliveries for another few weeks in the first place? Rebecca gritted her teeth. It was just like the Miss Tereses of the world to question her business ethics.
“I have great respect for Mrs. Henriques and her practice,” Rebecca informed the girl, her voice sharp to her own ears. She grimaced. Not the way to win future business.
However, instead of appearing offended, Miss Teres merely smiled.
“Naturally. She was there for my birth and that of each of my brothers. All occurred within a year of each other, you know? With my older brother conceived barely a month after my parents’ chuppah.
My mother was hale the entire time,” she explained, as if such was a skill instead of predicated upon the winds of fortune.
Not that this girl would take kindly to her pointing out that fact.
Miss Teres brushed an imaginary stray lock behind her ear. “Anyway, Mrs. Henriques supplied a tea to calm Renata’s stomach, and it has unfortunately run out. We were hoping you might have a reasonable substitute.”
It was Rebecca’s turn to smile. Little did this girl know, but she was the one who supplied Grace Henriques with her tonics and treatments in the first place. Not that Miss Teres cared.
“Given the weather,” the girl continued, “it’s more convenient for us to visit you at the moment, as we live just around the corner.” She gestured toward a window, as if Rebecca had an interest in which house the Teres family occupied.
Or who they were.
No, all that mattered to her was providing a service. For whoever needed it. Including the occasional gentile, if one was desperate enough to seek them out.
Not that she was going to explain such to Miss Teres. She also didn’t care a flying fig what the girl thought of her in the first place.
“How far along is Renata?” Rebecca asked, already calculating the logistics of creating whichever version of the remedy the important person in the situation—the patient—needed.
“She’s not yet at quickening but close,” Miss Teres returned without hesitation. “This is her first child.” While her tone was conversational, Rebecca could not help but hear an odd note beneath.
One she could not quite place.
In fact, there was something odd about the entire conversation. Yes, the request was reasonable and logical, but—
“I have coin if necessary, or you can merely bill my father,” she told Rebecca with a wave of her hand. As if money were no object.
Well, for this girl, it probably was not.
“Whichever you prefer,” Rebecca told her.
Yes, something was off, but that did not change the fact she’d been called upon to provide care.
Which she would do. Well. No matter what.
“Come right this way,” she instructed, brushing her skirts and moving to the hall, indicating for Miss Teres to follow her.
After descending to the lowest level, they entered the kitchen to find it completely empty, the cook having already gone to bed. Rebecca surveyed the area, already planning the quickest and easiest way to create a batch of what the girl’s maid needed. Especially with a still sore arm.
Too bad Miss Teres did not seem like the sort to assist.
With a sigh, Rebecca stoked the fire within the stove and fed another log down the chute. Glancing around, she worked to remember the locations of everything she needed from the still unfamiliar space.
It took a few minutes, but she gathered cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, chamomile, turmeric root, and mint leaves, as well as a lemon.
She located the mortar and pestle. Unfortunately, it was on a shelf, which required her to drag over a stool and gently pull down the same, struggling with only her nondominant hand.
Miss Teres watched the entire time from the edge of the room, as if she was attempting not to permit any object it contained to touch her and her flawless costuming.
“Make sure Renata keeps down liquids,” Rebecca told her, as she began to grind ingredients, feeling more like herself than she had in days.
The familiar rhythm, as well as the confidence in her own knowledge, flooding through her veins.
This was who she was. This was what she could do. And she was good at it.