Aaron grappled with him in the dirt, punching and yanking and tearing fabric as they battled for supremacy in the night. Squinting, Aaron worked to gain any advantage that he could, though truth be told, the shadows were a bit of a hindrance to his aim.
As if on command, distant lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating the alley and the other man’s face—his familiar face. Aaron gasped. Not whom he’d expected at all. Especially not in this neighborhood. “Berab?” he said more than asked as he rose and stumbled toward the fallen man. An equally well-dressed man—one of the brothers, what was his name again?—rushed and helped his fallen sibling up before Aaron could offer his assistance.
The man who’d attacked him wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve, a flash of red reflecting in the moonlight as Aaron winced. Oy. He was going to be in trouble for this, wasn’t he?
He backed against the wall as his eyes focused on the other man. The youngest. What was his name again? Not David—that was the deputy, the one Isabelle had all the conflict with. This was just one of the suitors.
The younger man tried to smooth his brother’s rumpled velvet coat, but he was brushed off as his brother kept his attention on Aaron, gazing in distain.
“Mr. Ellenberg,” he said with a small bow. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Louis Berab. Behind me is my brother Roger. We are the great-great-grandsons of the community’s founders. Chief benefactors of our oldest congregation.”
Aaron resisted rolling his eyes at the introduction. Yes, Berab’s ancestors were among the earliest Jews welcomed back with the House of Orange, and their Bevis Marks might have been started by those first families, but the Great Synagogue was actually dedicated first. Not that it mattered. Nor could he say anything. It was two against one, with their side holding far more communal power than he could ever imagine.
Besides, if they wanted to puff themselves with nonsense, let them. He had more important things to do.
Like find a way home without insulting any of them or harming Isabelle’s cause. Though their behavior certainly supported Isabelle’s theory that they didn’t have a strong reach in the Ashkenazi part of the community. It was probably beneath them to socialize with the “rabble,” beyond what was necessary to maintain their political and financial positions.
Not that someone like him could say that out loud either.
“No, it’s quite all right,” he said instead as he brushed at his own now wet and filthy garments before turning toward Roger, who had pulled out a handkerchief in an attempt to halt the blood dripping from his brother’s already swelling nose. “I, um, apologize to your brother. I didn’t mean to injure him. I was just . . .”
“Startled?” Roger Berab winced before folding his arms across his chest, having convinced Louis to take the cloth. Roger arched an eyebrow at Aaron, a slightly bemused expression on his unfortunately handsome face. “You have every right to be,” he said with a touch of sympathy, which managed to sound both sincere and doubtful.
“And we should have anticipated you’d defend yourself,” Louis added, stepping forward. “It’s rumored that your punch is near deadly. Perhaps you should have attempted a career in the ring.” His voice hardened. “The gentiles do like it when we entertain them there. Instead of causing problems in their streets.”
A shiver flitted down Aaron’s spine. He may have the stronger fists, but he was definitely the prey in this situation.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Aaron lied. “Though that’s frequent. I’m just a custodian over on Duke’s Place, after all.”
“Oh, I think you are a touch more than that,” Louis said, the corners of his lips turning up in a half smile. He indicated behind him. “Won’t you have a conversation with us? In our carriage?”
Not exactly an offer one could refuse, was it? Which was how Aaron found himself sitting across from the two a few minutes later.
Roger cleared his throat.
“You may be wondering why we sought you out,” he said, crossing his brightly polished boots against the silk-covered seat. “Especially given that you are not from our part of the community.”
Not really. But given how little they clearly thought of him, it couldn’t be for anything good.
“I—I thought we were one community now?” Aaron asked instead, hoping they believed him as foolish as everyone else did.
“We are, we are,” Louis said, his voice barely warmer than before, an inscrutable smile on his lips. “The integration has been good for all involved. It strengthens us. Allows us to work together and advocate as one, as well as lend our better qualities and knowledge to those who are new to this land, so that our position will not be jeopardized.”
“And you . . . believe I can help with that?” Aaron squirmed in his seat, like all those times he had been called on in his lessons back at the Orphans’ Home, when any response he could proffer was far below adequate, let alone correct.
“Yes. In a way.” Roger clasped his hands in front of him, leaning forward. “Look, Mr. Ellenberg, let me be frank—you have the ear of someone very important to us and our family.”
Oy. Apparently, his employer wasn’t such a secret. Though if the brothers thought he, of all people, could make Isabelle Lira marry one of them . . .
“Miss Lira, you mean. I’m not sure I have her ear.” Aaron rubbed the back of his neck. “I just, um . . . do some odd jobs for her and her family.”
Roger’s smile broadened. “You’re very modest, aren’t you? I believe you have quite a bit more influence than you might think.”
“She’s a good per—employer.” A bead of sweat dripped from his brow despite the cool night air. “I just want her to be happy,” he added.
Which was true. And she would not be happy with them. No matter how they argued it.
“And we do too.” Roger nodded vigorously. “She’s been through a lot as of late. Losing her father and all. She needs a good husband. One to lean on. One who will protect her family.”
