Page 88 of Dearest Beast
But to her surprise, the woman gave a slow clap.
“Well said, Miss Adler. I second that wholeheartedly. People most certainly grow and change and deserve a chance to prove it.” She gave an enigmatic smile. “Anyway, I apologize for interrupting your visit, but most certainly, I would love to spend time with you in the future. Perhaps tea, after you’re well?”
What? Rebecca stared at the woman, not quite believing the sincerity of the invitation. Why in the world would she want such a thing?
“That would be lovely,” she managed to stammer, somehow swallowing the blunt question for once in her life.
“You can send me your schedule, as I daresay it’s busier than mine, and we’ll find a time.” Mrs. Berab curtsied to both her and Isabelle. “Good night,” she said, turning and heading up the staircase.
“Good night,” Rebecca returned after Isabelle gave her a nudge in the ribs, somehow managing to hit flesh in between boning—a talent to be sure. “What was that for?” she asked her friend.
“Nothing,” Isabelle said with a smile. “Nothing at all.”
Roger spent most of Sunday attempting not to spy on Dr. Maduro as he examined Rebecca. Not that he had much doubt what the man would say. He was quite acquainted with the woman’s arm. It was healed.
A good thing.
For them both.
At least that’s what he kept telling himself. After all, he couldn’t find any logical argument against it.
Which meant any time wasted doing so was just that—a waste of time.
Instead, he sought to be productive. So after spending some time working with the children on their maths and Hebrew letters—with luck he’d find a proper governess sooner rather than later—he’d retreated to his office to finish paying invoices for the almost repaired Adler house and then attempting to study the rather daunting volume containing the tracts ofNashim.
Attempting and failing. After flipping through the dense commentary, he wondered if he had finally stumped himself.
It was a horrible thought, considering how many men he’d considered of lesser intellect who’d succeeded in the study over the years.
Though they’d had teachers.
And he, well… he was not where his ancestors had been when they stepped onto the soil along Amsterdam’s canals for the firsttime, but he was closer than he would care to admit. Especially considering his lack of excuses for the same loss of knowledge.
It begged the question that had stuck in his head since his conversation with Rebecca at David’s table: Why did their safety always seem to necessitate giving up part of who they were? That or being locked behind high walls?
Would emancipation, if it ever occurred, really be any different? If France was the standard—with its forced names changes, destruction of communities, and rules requiring any evidence of their “particularities” being pushed behind closed doors—then certainly not. They’d always pay a steep price for what others were permitted by right. Over and over. A sad thought to ponder.
But that was what he was doing when Sol trotted in, Lopez at his heels.
“I’ll see Mr. Weiss now, thank you,” Roger said as his friend traipsed into the room and took up his usual chair.
“Miss Adler says Hannah’s illness should lessen soon.” Sol crossed one booted leg over the other, dripping bits of snow onto the rug. His friend shook his head, a slightly bemused smile gracing his full lips. “Though, to tell the truth, while I’d certainly like her to feel like herself again, and I’m certainly not made for so much cleaning, I do appreciate that she permits me to nurse her a touch. Makes me feel needed for more than just my… you know.”
“I really don’t,” Roger said, squinting at his friend.
“My best use…” Sol raised a brow before giving a meaningful glance downward.
Roger groaned as a slow grin spread on the other man’s face at his own, while admittedly amusing, still rather common joke.
“This is why I can’t take you anywhere,” Roger said, despite his mirth.
“It’s not, but thank you for saying that.” Sol’s smile was far moregrateful than he deserved for not speaking about his wife’s former reputation. “But I’m not here for your kindness. Hannah dispatched me for another update on Miss Adler.”
This again? Roger rolled his eyes.
“Well…” his friend prompted after a beat.
“I don’t have a dungeon,” he reminded the man, “Barely even a cellar, though Miss Adler does use that to cure condoms with sulfur.”
