Page 21 of Dearest Beast
“On that point, we agree.” Rebecca rose from the bed, walked over to the window, and drew back one of the heavy aubergine curtains to view the street below. Or at least what she could view, as it was mostly covered with a thick layer of unusually heavy, still falling snow.
“So you’ll leave,” Fannie said, a hopeful note in her voice.
“Unfortunately, I cannot,” she said, releasing the curtain and turning back around.
“Why?” the child asked, now sounding younger than the nearly ten years Rebecca knew her to be.
“Do you really not know?” Rebecca rubbed the back of her neck before picking up her ruined spectacles once more, inspecting them for a moment then laying them back on the vanity. Reading was going to be quite the challenge.
“If you really wanted, you could leave,” the girl argued, seemingly oblivious to her role in Rebecca’s predicament.
She’d not scream at a child; she could not.
Especially this one, who would probably find a way to, if not use the action against her, take it as an invitation for revenge. And while Rebecca was older, larger, and more intelligent in certain matters, she’d never been particularly clever at such intrigues. Not to mention, she was in unfamiliar and undoubtedly hostile territory.
Rebecca took a calming breath. “Why do you think I’m not? Leaving that is? If I could do so of my own power?”
“To punish me,” the quite direct Fannie responded. “With your presence.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“A tempting thought,” Rebecca murmured, to which the girl stuckout her tongue. Before either of them could make another move, there was a knock on the door.
Without waiting for a response, the woman from earlier—the housekeeper or a maid?—entered, clapping her hands together at the sight.
“Oh, Miss, you’re awake,” the woman said. “Would you care for a bath?” She indicated an area behind a screen, presumably where a tub stood.
The contrary part of Rebecca longed to refuse, but the sensible, scientific part understood that not only would a bath, especially a warm one, be wonderful at the moment, but it was necessary. Besides, it would irritate the child. Perhaps enough that she’d leave.
“I would, actually, thank you,” Rebecca said, addressing the maid.
“Excellent. I shall have one prepared.” The woman rushed back to the door and whispered to someone outside. Turning back, she looked at Berab’s daughter. “You should be washing up for your evening meal. I’m sure Michael and Miss Pardo are already waiting for you in the nursery.”
Rebecca frowned. The children didn’t take their meals with their father?
Yes, they were young, but they could still sit at a table and use proper utensils. She’d heard certain wealthier members of their set dined only as adults, but such still seemed like a waste. Especially as she could not imagine Berab dining with his servants as her family often did, and thus such an arrangement would require three separate meals to be served thrice daily.
“That’s not your concern, Marguarite,” the child said with a rather rude sniff, which the maid, a better woman than she, took in stride. Fannie pointed a thumb in Rebecca’s direction, her nostrils flaring yet again. “Is she having dinner?” Her tone was so vexed, Rebecca had difficulty not laughing despite herself.
“Would you have me starve?” she asked.
The girl did not disappoint.
“Yes.” Fannie glared at her. “You don’t deserve food. You’re mean.”
This time Rebecca had to bite her own tongue. She should not be so amused, but the breathtaking honesty was something to behold. A reminder that she was speaking to a child. A rather monstrous, spoiled child, but still a child.
And to be fair, she’d been called worse than merely “mean.”
“Miss Fannie, that’s unkind,” Marguarite said, glancing nervously between the two. “You’ve been spoken to regarding welcoming guests.”
“She’s not a guest; she’s a mitzvah,” the girl pronounced, as if the last were a dirty word.
Rebecca pressed her fingers to her lips to stifle her snicker. “I believe they might be one and the same.”
The girl blinked at her and pouted. “And I believe you don’t know what you’re speaking of.”
“We all need to eat—” the maid started to say, her voice gentle.
Fannie’s face flushed nearly red as she turned on the woman. “She should eat with the servants or in here,” she said, stamping her little foot. She turned back to Rebecca. “I heard Father say to Lopez that he wouldn’t mind if you spent your entire time here confined to this room.” Rising from her seat, she clutched the cat to her chest thrusting her chin in the air, the cat striking a similar pose.
