The maid closed the door after them and gave Sonia a keen look, shaking her head.
“I will be in my workroom,” said Sonia, and escaped, with the jewel box and her sketches. She felt a little sick, and sat at her table for a time, staring unseeingly at the sketches. How nasty women could be! It had been deliberate. She wondered if Lady Morrison was so snappish because Lord Morrison owed her uncle money . It often happened that way.
As she had grown older, her shyness had increased. She had been sheltered and protected by her uncle and two cousins. Still she had heard the talk. In England it was not as blatant as the vicious words she had heard on the streets outside the Jewish ghetto in Vienna. Here, there were no open threats, no blows, no gangs of ruffians attacking in the night. But the words — yes, there were still the words.
England had welcomed the Jews who had fled persecution in Spain and Portugal. Later, it took in Jews from the Netherlands, France, Austria, the German states, and Russia — as well as poor Polish Jews who had not even had a homeland after other countries callously carved up Poland to suit themselves. England, in her spirit of freedom and individual liberty, had welcomed even those of other religious faiths, allowing them to worship as they chose, to live and work and pray. Jews could not vote here, and some found it difficult to purchase land and houses. None could be called to the Bar or to matriculate in the ancient honourable universities. The few professions open to them were money-lending and brokerage, the making of jewellery, the peddling of goods from town to town.
Yet, they were free here in England, free of special harsh taxes such as the other states of Europe imposed on them. They could go from town to town, live where they chose, or could rent. They could send for relatives and friends, help them come to England. It was better than waking in the night, fearful of hearing the sounds of the roughs coming to beat on the doors, “Come out, Jews!” And the cries of the beaten and murdered…
Her own mother had died — she had been too late coming home from her sewing. They had caught up with her outside the ghetto — beaten her to death. The gentle woman, the sweet and smiling wife and mother, now only a picture in a frame — a bloody mass on the ground, defiled and violated and killed. Sonia pressed her hand to her mouth, feeling sick again, as she had as a child.
Nightmares had pursued her for years. Her father had lost all will to live once his beloved wife was dead. He had brought Sonia to England, bought the house for them, and not lived to enjoy it, nor gain his sense of composure and serenity ever again. He had caught a fever and died. From then on, Meyer Goldfine had taken care of Sonia — lovingly, compassionately.
Leah Stein, her abigail, came to her with a luncheon tray about one o’clock. “Your uncle is delayed at his office. He will come home about four,” she murmured, studying the girl’s pale face with gentle worry. “Something troubles you? Those Gentiles?”
She could make the sound of the word like a spitting curse. Sonia smiled faintly. “They are coarse and unladylike,” she said, making a face. “I don’t know why I let their stupid words bother me. And they are ladies — ladies!”
“Pooh! A lady is a lady inside herself, not from a title someone hands to her on marriage or birth,” said Leah sagely. “Those ones, they are little smelly dogs. Forget them.”
She stood over Sonia until the girl had eaten some luncheon and had her coffee. Sonia felt better and worked on the designs with a more cheerful heart. What would she do without work? It was not a curse but a salvation. She mused on the words of the Torah as she worked. The first five books of the Bible told the story of her ancient peoples, and she thought about them often. What wisdom was there, what worldly knowledge as well as faith!
At four o’clock, Leah came to her again. “Your uncle wishes you to come to his study. He has a guest.”
Sonia made a face. “Of what faith and nature?” she laughed.
“You will see,” said Leah, unexpectedly mysterious. She looked over Sonia, brushed her hair again, urged her to change from the mussed white muslin to a demure pale blue with azure ribbons at her throat and waist. “There, now, you look lovely.”
“He is not matchmaking again, is he, Leah?” asked Sonia, suspiciously, hesitating while putting a diamond ring on her finger and diamond studs in her ears. “Not again?”
“Stop fretting yourself. You uncle is a wise man,” said Leah. “Relax and have a good time. Do not be all tight inside with your stomach in knots.”
Sonia vaguely suspected that her dear Uncle Meyer was going to present her to yet another in his long list of bachelor acquaintances, all of them (according to him) charming, intelligent, eligible, handsome, and admirers of her beauty and mind. Well, she must just brace herself to be cool and aloof once more, and put the suitor off. She would not be married off to any man, nor endure what her mother had gone through. How desolate her father had been because of her! If love did that to one, it was something to be avoided, not met eagerly. One should be friendly but distant, holding slightly back. She loved Uncle Meyer and her cousins, she was close to Leah. They were enough in her world. Others could hurt…
Downstairs, she tapped at her uncle’s study door. “Come in, come in, my pretty!” called her uncle.
Sonia grimaced, then carefully smoothed out her face before entering. Her uncle must have some man in there — she must be careful…
She entered, shut the door after her. The dimness of the room caused her to hesitate. Then, she saw the men rising at her entrance. Her uncle had been in his favourite wing chair near the fire. And the other man…
She stared, her grey eyes wide and luminous, startled. It was a moment before she could move forwards. Alastair Charlton was in pale blue and silver as usual today — handsome, blond, tall, cool. His white ruffled shirt was immaculate. The white neckcloth was tied high at his bronzed throat, in a beautiful fall of lace. At his wrists were small studs of sapphires. What a prince of a man he looked! Like one in a fairy tale, so handsome, grave, and beautiful. Yes, beautiful. She could look at him for ever.
He bowed; she bent her head slightly, meeting his look, then glancing away again. How bright blue his eyes were, so shining a blue, like her star sapphire, with lights in them.
He held a chair for her, a small embroidered chair, just her size, and she sank into it. She looked at her uncle helplessly.
Uncle Meyer was smiling benignly, his fingertips together, as he sat in his big chair, feet propped up on a stool. He looked very satisfied and happy.
“You know Lord Fairley,” said Meyer Goldfine, beaming at her. “He stopped in to talk some business. You have been busy today, my dear, so Leah tells me.”
“Yes, another commission,” she said, then felt choked and put her hand to her throat.
“Good, good. She is so popular, she is sought out by all the ladies, and by gentlemen also,” said Meyer to his guest.
Alastair bent his head in acknowledgement. “She does beautiful work,” he said gravely. Sonia was conscious that his gaze kept shifting from her uncle to her, then back again.
She wondered if he had come to ask for some work for his sisters — or his mistress. She pressed her handkerchief between her fingers. How hateful — to do something for a mistress of his! She would feel so — so angry, so full of jealousy… What was she thinking about? A mistress of his, how fortunate a woman! To receive the caresses of his curved sensuous mouth, the touch of his big bronzed hands… Sonia looked away, into the fire. She suddenly felt burning hot.
They did not speak further of commissions. They talked of music, of an art exhibition which had recently opened. Alastair spoke well, he had ideas. Sonia listened intently, forgetting her lack of ease and embarrassment. Meyer encouraged him. He spoke of books they had both read. Even Alastair looked at him with respect when he began to explain some philosophy.
They had talked for most of an hour before Lord Fairley turned to Sonia, with his request. “Miss Goldfine, I have asked your uncle’s permission to have the pleasure of your comp
any at the opera Friday next. I have bespoken a box. Will you come?”
She gazed at him, her grey eyes wide and startled. He was asking her to the opera? Her? He seemed serious.
When she did not answer, he went on, “I understand there is a new soprano from Italy, supposed to be exceptional. When I heard she was singing, I thought of you at once. I know you care as little for the farces as I do. However, the rest of the evening may be very worthwhile.”
Sonia managed to look to her uncle. He was nodding. “You may go, Sonia, and take Leah with you. She will be your chaperone. Splendid woman,” he added to Alastair.
“Well — I — don’t know — I don’t — Uncle — what do you think?” she managed to say faintly.
“Of course, you would like it, my dear. You get out seldom enough,” said her uncle benignly.
He meant for her to go. She wished she understood his motives. Did he seek even more commissions for her?
“If — Uncle wishes, I will go,” said Sonia, at last.
Alastair spoke up quickly. “I should rather, Miss Goldfine, that you would consent because you wish it.” He looked at her, as though expecting some definite answer.
She was all the more bewildered. Excitement began to build in her, causing a flutter in her throat.
Her manners had been well drilled into her. “I should be most happy, my lord, to accompany you.”
He smiled for the first time that day. “Thank you, Miss Goldfine. I shall look forward to the occasion. May I come for you about eight o’clock?”
She agreed. With a few more pleasant words, he took his departure. She did not understand at all. How could he wish her company? How was her uncle involved? Could Lord Fairley be interested in her — that way? As a suitor? How was that possible? No, no, she must be mistaken. There must be some other motive. He wished to commission some jewellery, or he had some business with her uncle — that must be it.
Her uncle took an unusual interest in how she would dress for the opera. Sonia finally settled on a splendid white satin gown, slim-fitted to her waist, then in a wide skirt to her silver slippers. The bodice was low, showing her white shoulders and fine white neck, the satin crumpled into folds to form white sleeves above her elbows. She wore white gloves, and her diamonds, a fortune in diamonds. She would have settled for modest diamond studs in her ears, and perhaps a ring, but her uncle insisted.
“No, no, my dear, the diamond necklace you created, and the two bracelets — your arms set them off. All the women will be crazy with jealousy,” and he chuckled. “I wish I could be there to see them all turn green!”
“Uncle, you are being wicked,” she scolded him gently. But he only chuckled, seeming quite happy.
Leah accompanied her, discreet in black silk and a modest jet necklace of her mistress’s creating. The carriage drew up promptly at five minutes until eight o’clock, and the footman accompanied them downstairs.
Lord Fairley was as splendid as herself, in his blue satin suit, diamond stud at his beautiful neck-cloth, white linens shining. He placed her white ermine cloak about her shoulders, took her on his arm out to the carriage, settling her inside as carefully as though she were something precious.
At the opera, they were stared at until she was embarrassed. She was glad to slip into the box near the railing, settling herself on the velvet chair with relief. Lord Fairley took her ermine cloak, put it with his on the hooks, then handed her the programme. He sat down beside her, with Leah behind them.
He began to speak about the soprano, where she had come from, her experience. Sonia lost some of her shyness, and asked him questions eagerly. They chatted until the music began, then sat in rapt silence.
“Ah, that was quite fine, was it not?” was his comment at the end, smiling down at her.
She nodded, entranced, reluctant to return to the world of reality. “Quite, quite beautiful,” and she drew a finger under her eyes. She had wept a little during the sad final scene.
“Would you care to stroll during the intermission?” He was standing, holding out his hand to her.
She was startled once again. She never went out at intermission, preferring to remain aloof from the crowd, lost in her own dreams. However, he seemed to expect it. Leah remained in the back of the box, frankly studying the audience below her.
They went out, she on his arm. “Quite a crush,” he said, shaking his head. “Here, now, hold to my arm, or I shall lose you.” He sounded as though that was important to him. How courteous and gallant he was, as to some lady of his close friendship.
She clung to his arm, and they strolled up and down the elegant lobby. She caught curious looks in their direction, saw Lady Morrison. But the woman cut her, turning a shoulder on her. She would not wish to speak to Sonia Goldfine, the jeweller.
“There you are, Alastair! I say, Miss Goldfine, how radiant you look tonight!” It was Sir Philip Ryan, whom she had met at the ball, the dashing red-haired fellow who had been so kind. She smiled and curtsied to him, and to Sir Jonathan Wiltshire behind him. They bowed deeply, then began to chaff Alastair Charlton.
“No wonder you didn’t want to come with us! You had snared the elusive Miss Goldfine,” said Sir Philip, wagging his finger. “Are you coming to supper later?”
“Not at the same place as you,” said Alastair, in his own teasing tone. “We shall choose some quieter place, where the chaps aren’t so rowdy.”
Sir Jonathan spoke of the music, and Sonia felt able to reply in her quiet low tones. Behind them, a German in uniform came up to clap Sir Jonathan on the shoulder and speak in a heavy accent.
He was introduced to them all. He beamed and spoke in English. Sonia answered him in German.
“You are enjoying your stay in London, sir? It is a beautiful city, is it not? What do you think of the opera?”
He stared incredulously at her, then commented in German, “But you speak my language! You are German?”
“No, I came from Vienna, many years ago.”
“Ah, Vienna — that most splendid city —”
Alastair broke in. “I beg your pardon, but we are not all so well-versed in languages. May we speak English?” He was smiling, but Sonia felt a tension in him.
“Of course, of course,” said the German princeling. “I was so surprised, so happy, to hear my own language spoken, and with such a fine accent —”
Alastair got her away from them with difficulty, as the signal sounded for them to return to their seats. In the box, he helped her settle in her chair, then asked, “Do you speak many languages, Miss Goldfine?”
“About eight or nine, my lord,” she said.
He looked surprised. “Eight — or nine…?”
“Yes. After the first two or three, the rest are not difficult.”
He kept staring down at her, even as the house darkened. They listened to the farce and laughed a little, but Sonia winced at some coarsely frank lines. Alastair, leaning to her, whispered in her ear, “Not to our taste, eh?”
She smiled, shook her head, and was glad when the lights came on. Alastair sent for refreshments, some orange squash and biscuits, and they nibbled during the intermission. Several gentlemen came to their box, to laugh and talk, but they themselves did not go out again.
Another section of opera followed, which they enjoyed more, then a light melodrama concluding the programme. It was late as they got up to leave.
Lord Fairley asked, “And now you will go on to supper with me, Miss Goldfine?”
She stiffened, glancing at Leah. She did not keep strict dietary laws, so it would be all right. Yet — it was after midnight —
“I believe it is too late for me, sir, I am sorry.”
“Not even for some champagne? A light supper, in a quiet place?” He did seem disappointed, and that feverish, excited feeling came to her again. He had asked her because he wanted her company! How could that be?
“Thank you, no, sir.”
“Very well.” He put her cloak about her shoulders, a
nd led the way out. There was a crush waiting outside for carriages, and Alastair frowned as people thronged about them. He put his arm lightly behind Sonia’s shoulders, to protect her.
“I say there, don’t push us into the street,” he said sharply to some men behind them.
They mumbled an apology, glancing at his stern face. Sonia felt sheltered behind his iron-hard arm. The carriage soon drew up, his coachman on the box. Alastair helped her in, then Leah. He sat opposite them as they were driven off.
All too soon, they were at her home again. He showed her to the door and waited until the sleepy-eyed footman opened to them. Then he bent and took her hand, and kissed the glove lightly.
“I have enjoyed tonight. I hope you will consent to another such evening, Miss Goldfine?”
“I should — like that,” she managed to say, and then she was in the hallway and he was gone, the carriage rumbling away over the cobblestones.
She went up to bed in a daze, feeling close to tears. He wanted to go out with her again! He had enjoyed the evening! He liked her! She had heard whispers as they strolled, even as they talked to his friends. She had heard the words, “Jewess! In trade!” several times, but Alastair had not seemed to hear.
Leah helped her undress, then left her. Sonia slowly put away the diamonds, then sat in the window seat for a while, watching the waning moon.
How could it be? She felt nervous, apprehensive. He could not be serious about her, not about her as a woman. He must want something from her uncle — yet — yet… What if he was serious about Sonia? What if he was? She wiped the tears from under her eyelids. Her nerves were on edge, she was excited about the opera and the beautiful, melancholy singing of the final songs. That was it. She was wrought up.
She closed her eyes, thought of the handsome, serious face of Alastair as he listened. He had smiled at the farces, frowned, was as rapt by the beautiful singing as she was. They had felt in tune, somehow. Yet — yet…
Star Sapphire: Love and wild adventure in Regency England Page 5
