Page 9 of Dearest Beast
“Not based on my information,” Sol said, interrupting his thoughts. Roger frowned—was his friend actually suggestingFanniecould be at fault? She was a child.
Though it’d be just like Miss Adler, blaming his daughter for a problem of her own making.
“That remains to be seen,” Roger said, before catching at his friend’s worried expression. “What?”
“The consensus is that the primary fault lies with Fannie,” Sol said, his eyes serious.
“Whose consensus?” he asked, even if he could guess, given the location of the house and the synagogue his friend attended. The Ashkenazis. The newer, coarser, troublesome additions to their community, who brought with them a host of provincial customs,unbecoming habits, and discordant language, not to mention inferior scholarship.
“Strauss and Friedland, among others,” Sol affirmed.
Roger stifled a groan. The worst of the lot. Or close to it. Two of the newer members of the Commission of Delegates. Neither of whom deserved their seats. Neither of whom cared for him.
While some Ashkenazis, like Sol, had decent sense, far too many, Strauss and Friedland, chief among them, were arrogant arrivistes who believed a few lucky advances in business, and more freedoms than they’d dare to dream of in the hovels from whence they came, gave them the ability to navigate British society without properly learning its customs and, more, their vulnerabilities.
Ingrates, all of them.
“Strauss and Ricardo have recently become friendly,” his friend added, breaking his thoughts once more.
Ricardo? Roger grimaced. The man hated his family ever since his daughter—like more than a few others in the community—developed an unhealthy infatuation with Louis. God only knows why. His older sister, Maria, theorized that certain women had a mania for brooding men who might turn their passion to them alone.
Fortunately for them, considering who his brother was, except for their business partner’s daughter back in June, the man never showed interest in anything or anyone beyond his own obsessions. Though even that pursuit lacked a romanticje ne sais quoi.
But Ricardo, instead of being relieved, took matters personally and had developed a near vendetta.
Blasted Louis.
“Fine.” Roger took several deep breaths to calm his temper. What was done was done, and right or wrong, he now apparently needed to mend matters. “Fine,” he repeated, his mind settling on the proper courses of action. “I’ll send the funds to replace and repair whateverwas damaged.” Make the Adler family whole, as was proper under Jewish law.
Not a hardship given his family’s fortune. Though really, how expensive could it be to repair a little charring or replace a few bits of furniture? What could a decent chair cost these days, anyway? Two pounds? Three?
Yes, matters should be easily resolved. Though, as his older brother’s employee, Sol had more experience in such matters. “How long will that take? A week or so?”
“I’ve heard six given the weather and the fact that half the roof and the entire center staircase require replacement, but you’ll have to discuss that with whatever foreman you hire.” Sol shrugged.
Roger boggled at the suggestion that he become so involved. “Wouldn’t providing the funds and permitting the Adlers to do as they pleased suffice?”
“It’s a large job,” Sol returned. There was a pause, as if he was choosing his words very carefully. “And while it would be possible for the Adler women to handle their affairs on their own… matters would go a great deal faster if someone with certain connections was able to assure the job ran smoothly.”
“Perhaps,” Roger conceded. “Though perhaps not, as often when someone with my rumored funds is involved, invoices have a funny way of being padded. With delays to justify the same.” Which would make his involvement a net negative for all.
Sol gave a thoughtful nod. “True. And that could be an issue for certain families. But fortunately, you have those famous Berab instincts, not to mention a sharp mind of your own to easily overcome the same.”
Roger rolled his eyes. “Flattery doesn’t work on me.”
A large grin brightened Sol’s face. “See?” He wagged a finger at Roger. “You can’t be fooled.” As if such proved his point.
Or made any difference. “I don’t have time for that, not in the slightest,” Roger muttered.
“Perhaps you should make time,” his friend said, his voice quiet but firm. And ominous.
Roger swallowed. “What do you know?”
“Just an overheard conversation.” Sol pressed his lips together. “As I said, Strauss has recently become friends with Ricardo, who you know is close to dei Rossi and Nieto, who is close to Almosnino and Teres, and—”
“Sol?” he asked, interrupting the rapid torrent of words. Excuses, really.
His friend sighed. “They’re a touch disquieted by the messiness with your broth—”
