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.
No one. Not this girl, not Berab’s children, not the man himself could take that away from her.
“Give her small amounts. It’s paramount that she doesn’t lose too much.” She wrapped the mixture in a small piece of parchment before handing it to Miss Teres.
“Thank you.” The girl slipped the package inside a fur-trimmed, sequined reticule. “And thank you so much for your time,” she said as Rebecca led her back out of the kitchens, up the staircase, and through the hall to the entryway of the house. “I’m so pleased that we were able to meet,” Miss Teres declared as they approached the threshold.
“Yes, it was lovely,” Rebecca told her.
Not a full lie. While there was something odd about the girl, the task, and more, the feeling of usefulness, was refreshing.
“Indeed,” Miss Teres returned, evidently noting Rebecca’s lack in enthusiasm and taking it for bad form. “I hope you’re enjoying your time in our part of the community,” she added, with clear emphasis on the “our.”
“I thought we were all one community?” Rebecca asked, narrowing her eyes. Her hackles were raised despite herself. “Does your family not socialize with the Strausses and Friedlands?” she couldn’t help but point out.
“We do,” Miss Teres acknowledged with a smoothness that belied little sincerity. “I apologize for my inelegance. I was just hoping that you’re experiencing a pleasant change of pace. Especially after all the excitement you endured.” She sympathetically clucked her tongue.
“I am,” Rebecca said slowly, now completely on edge.
“That’s good.” Miss Teres peered at her. “You and your mother live alone with a small group of servants, do you not?”
“We do,” Rebecca acknowledged, wrinkling her nose a touch at the question.
“Households with large staffs and families can be complex. Especially for someone not used to the same,” Miss Teres mused.
What was the girl about?
