And she had better things to do. Clearly.
The bell jangled. “Can I at least answer that, or are you just going to lock me in a tower until you find a prince to shove me at?” Before she could respond, Tamar strolled to the door and stood in front of it, blocking the customer from view. After a brief exchange, a small woman squeezed past her and barreled toward Hannah, another woman with a cross expression in tow, while Tamar took up the rear.
The first shoved a parcel across the counter and glanced up expectantly. Hannah blinked down at the very young, familiar, attractive face.
“Miss Lira? What are you doing here? And wearing…” She bit her lip, unable to find a polite way to describe what one of the wealthiest women in Europe had decided to adorn herself with to visit her shop.
“She’s Mrs. Ellenberg now. And she thinks she’s ‘blending in’ with the ‘common folk,’” the second woman said, folding her arms over her muted and slightly stained gown. “I told her dressing in a fine but faded cloak, five times too large for her and made for someone three times her age, to hide her newest gown was the opposite of what she was trying to achieve, and yet here we are…”
“No one recognized us on the street,” Mrs. Ellenberg insisted.
“That’s because we barely walked a block,” the other woman retorted. “And your carriage is not as hidden as it should be in this neighborhood so it would behoove us to be brief.” She turned back to Hannah. “We apologize for the intrusion. I—I’m Rebecca Adler, by the way—we were tasked in hiring a discreet messenger, but someone got curious.” She gave Mrs. Ellenberg a nudge and the other woman rolled her eyes.
“Tasked by wh—” Hannah started before being quickly interrupted by the small woman with the large presence.
“I’ve never been in this part of London on foot and certain people are worth meeting. I promise, we will be quick,” Mrs. Ellenberg said, her words speeding as if in demonstration. “That’s for you,” she added, nudging the parcel in Hannah’s direction.
“What is it?” she asked, staring at the small item wrapped in paper.
“You’ll have to open it to find out,” Mrs. Ellenberg said. “As I said, it’s for you.”
“For me?” She blinked.
“That scrap on top says ‘Miss Hannah Moses.’” Tamar gave a little sniff at the title. “And since you’re the only one of that name here…”
Hannah blinked again, feeling as if she were observing a very odd play. “Who’s it from?” Or more, who could it possibly be from? Because these women had never bothered with the likes of her, and no one else in her life gave her anything of value. Probably thought she would sell it. Probably right.
“You should open it and find out,” the second woman—Rebecca Adler—said. “And we should be going.” She threaded her arm through Mrs. Ellenberg’s. “It was very good to meet you.”
And before Hannah could say anything else, the two women, giggling, exited the shop, leaving her to stare after them, the bell tinkling in their wake.
“Well, we won’t know what’s inside if you just let it sit like that.” Her sister pushed the object toward her. “Go on, open it.”
Finally Hannah unwound the string and pushedthe paper down to reveal a small bottle. She palmed it, turning it over. “Perfume.”
“Clearly.” Tamar picked it up and held it to her nose, closing her eyes. “Oh, it smells nice. More than nice. Expensive.”
Hannah rolled her eyes before holding it to her nose as well.
Oy, it really was beautiful. Bold and robust, but not overpowering, floral but still substantial and not overly delicate. “Who’s it from?” she asked, running her fingers over the smooth glass.
Tamar snorted and retook the bottle, stroking it between her own fingers. “Who do you think it’s from?” She shook her head, her dark curls bouncing. “Come on, Hannah. You’re supposed to be the one with all the sense. Look who delivered it? And I saw what the two of you were doing in the back room the other day.”
Her chest tightened. Because yes, she wanted it to be from him and only him, but wants and needs were two different things. And she needed to think about Sol Weiss the same way she would a sore tooth. She glanced down at the bottle again. “It… could be from someone else.”
“Well, it looks like there’s a note.” Her sister poked at a small piece of paper sticking out of the discarded wrappings.
Limes might be nice, but I still say you need something of your own.
—S
“S”? Seriously? If he thought that was clever or careful, he was a fool. Hannah clenched her jaw. He hadno business sending her such a gift—she squeezed the paper so hard, it near ripped. Tamar leaned over, and as quick as she could, she shoved the note into her apron pocket.
“Was I right?” her sister asked, scooting herself up so she was practically in Hannah’s face.
“Let me smell that again.” She snatched back the bottle and opened it again. It smelled so pretty.
“Careful, don’t get fershnikit on the fanciness.” Tamar laughed before jabbing Hannah’s side, but she couldn’t muster her sister’s merriment.
