Asnow-laced wind splashed muddy water over Hannah’s boots as she trudged eastward through the streets, clutching her cloak to her body. She would not think of the man—Solomon Weiss, she now knew—for one minute more. His name was one she needed to forget despite the swirl of recent community interest around him, so thick it had trickled down to the likes of her. No matter that she had been supremely unsuccessful at forgetting that night in the cellar all those months ago. Opening the alley door behind the pawnshop on Lime, she trudged up the narrow back stairs toward the living quarters above.
No good could come of ever thinking of him again. No man with such clear designs on respectability was of use to her, and if the gossip was to be believed, he was not suitable for Tamar. Or at least not worthy of her beloved sister. His branch of the once prominent Weiss family was rumored to be bankrupt and had all but left the community. From appearances, they’d had recent success, but rumors said they were due to his brother’s forays into the gentile world, not from any connection to theirs.
Her Weiss—she bit her lip—the younger Weiss hadbeen allegedly hired by Lira & Berab Sureties, a consolation prize after he’d failed to marry the heiress who owned half of that venerable company. Thus, he was probably again on the hunt for a wealthy spouse. One whose dowry would no doubt be used to pay his family’s legendary debts.
And Tamar deserved better than to be used like that. Besides, she was still short the sum needed for a suitably tempting dowry, as the cost of doing business—the bribes she paid to both the authorities and the various gang leaders who ran their territory for “protection”—had recently increased. She’d make it up, though. Soon.
Hannah brushed dirt off her skirts before reaching out to grasp the knob leading to the rooms she and her sister shared. Creaking the door open, she set about untying her cloak and tossing it on the hook.
Tamar, stretched out on the patchy velvet chaise, her stocking feet hanging off the back, a book hiding her face, didn’t even look up in greeting.
“I hope you didn’t steal that,” Hannah called as she moved toward their small kitchen, glancing toward the box where she kept their savings for Tamar’s dowry.
“No, it’s merchandise,” her sister returned, pages flipping sharply. “Or it will be if the owner doesn’t come back for it.”
“Be careful, then,” Hannah chastised. “It won’t sell if you bend the pages too much.” She propped open the lid of the large, heavy pot suspended over yesterday’s still smoldering fire. Something that ought to have been tended by the young gentile girl to whom she paid good money to do such things. With the lightest touch, she poked, just enough that the flames licked the ironbottom. “Has Betsy been in?” she asked as an acrid burning scent hit her nose.
Tamar gave a noncommittal noise. Stepping back from the hearth, Hannah wiped her hands on her skirt before striding over to her sister, who still hadn’t moved since she arrived home. She tilted her head to read the title of whatever was so interesting.
Sense and Sensibilityby a woman named Jane Austen.
“A bit goyishe, no?” she asked as she folded her sister’s discarded shawl, depositing it beside her feet on the chaise.
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t enjoyable. The story is lovely.” Tamar closed the volume and clutched it to her chest as she rose. “It’s about two sisters. Their family has fallen on hard times after the death of their father. One is very romantic and the other’s practical, but in the end theybothfind love with the perfect person for them and live happily ever after.”
“I thought you just started reading it while I was gone?” Hannah moved to the window to adjust the fading curtains, ignoring her sister’s emphasis on the word “both.” While Tamar, with her brains and looks and ambition, could win the heart of anyone she desired, especially with the proper dowry, that was not Hannah’s story. And never would be.
Besides, even if such a thing were possible, it wasn’t as if she wanted the obligations of a romance. Tamar was enough of a challenge to protect, especially as she grew older. She needed someone else to fret over like a hole in the head. Hannah scratched her ear. “How are you possibly that far along?”
“It’s my fourth time reading it.” Her sister gave a dreamy sigh. “It’s still wonderful.”
“If you truly like it that much, after the week, it’s yours.” Hannah bent down and gave Tamar a kiss on the cheek. “I suppose if the owner comes back, we can buy you a copy.”
“Really?” Her sister’s face lit up with such joy that it was impossible to resist. Especially as she looked more and more like their mother every day. Same thick lashes she’d dreamed of growing into someday, same deep, dark, nearly black eyes that could always see right through her, same smile that she’d last seen—Hannah’s throat closed as she pushed down those memories and instead focused on the family she still had.
“If it’s what you truly want,” she said, her voice hitching a touch. She bit her lip as she calculated the price. Ned, who she’d not seen hide nor hair of in months, had sent his lackey to collect protection payments the prior day, and he’d mentioned his boss having a few extra assignments. There’d be a price to receive them, but she’d done worse. And this was for Tamar.
“Just be sure to keep it and the others tidy.” She indicated the large stack her sister had amassed on the makeshift shelf, before returning to the pot simmering over the fire. She propped open the lid and sniffed the contents—sheep with its bones and potatoes and carrots and onions and barely a handful of spices she’d tossed in before sundown the day before. “I think the cholent’s done.”
“Oh good. I was getting hungry.” Her sister scurried to take her seat at the table. “How was the service? Or more, what did you find out? About whom?”
Drat.
“I—” Hannah started, her mind racing to find a believable excuse for her failure.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t see anyone who sparks your interest.” Tamar pursed her lip in a pout.
“It’s not my interest that should be ‘sparked,’” Hannah retorted. “It’s yours. I just want—”
“To make sure the matchmakers don’t ‘cheat us’ and pawn me off on a man ‘with nothing to offer because we don’t know any better.’” Her sister gave a rather adept simulation of the glare Hannah reserved for their unruliest customers as well a sharp wag of her finger.
Hannah rolled her eyes. “I don’t sound like that.”
“You most certainly do,” Tamar said with a laugh. “And it’s all you talk about, making sure I’m not put with someone who’s a fool or has no trade or has done something awful, or what have you.”
“Obviously. I don’t want you to be saddled with the male version of me.” Hannah snickered at her rather accurate joke, even though an odd dullness crept under her ribs.
“No.” Tamar shook her head, a look of horror marring her beautiful face. “Not at all. I don’t mean—”
