Page 75 of The Grand Mistletoe Assembly
For now, she turned her attention back to the Jews shopping alongside her. Sophia twirled around, admiring herself in the set of three tall, wood-framed mirrors positioned so she could see even the bustled back of her gown. It was exquisite. And what she liked best was that she was decently covered—unlike her ballet costumes, which encouraged men to ogle her, making her most uncomfortable.
A young woman stepped onto another tufted stool right next to Sophia. “This is a charming gown.”
The dressmaker kneeling at the woman’s feet started to push little pins into the hem of her dress. Sophia sniffed; it should have been the other way around, with the Jewish woman kneeling.
“I’m Rachel Pearler. Pleased to meet you.”
Sophia already knew who she was—Eve Pearler’s darling daughter-in-law. She was soft-spoken with her children and seemed to tutor them herself. Sophia had seen them reading with their golden-haired father, Feivel Pearler, in Green Park for hours. They huddled together like bunnies in a burrow, smothering the children with tender kisses and caresses while reading leather-bound books to them. Probably epic fairy tales. The entire image made Sophia shudder. The Pearlers were like too much candy, so sweet they gave Sophia a stomachache.
And they had the most disgusting nicknames. Feivel Pearler, for instance, Eve’s son, was called Fave—because he was everyone’s favorite. Blah! Sophia knew all about them and hated all of it. They oozed sweetness like an overstuffed Piroshki pastry.
“I am Sophia.” She gave a well-practiced smile to Rachel, who was fumbling with the bodice of her opulent gown. “Pleased to meet you, too!” Sophia knew how to handle girls’ talk from years in the dressing rooms at the ballet academy. “For which occasion are you purchasing this beautiful dress, milady?”
“Oh, I’m not milady, just Rachel, please.” She was not just beautiful, rich, and educated, she was so nice that Sophia couldn’t think why she had to hate her so. But she did. “I’m attending a charity ball this month. My mother-in-law is hosting it.”
“You don’t say, the Grand Mistletoe Assembly?” Sophia feigned amazement, but she knew all too well, of course.
“Indeed. You’ve heard of it?”
“The whole Town is aflutter about it. I hear it’s going to be lavishly decorated and quite scandalous for a charity event.”
“Scandalous? How so?”
“Oh my, because of the mistletoes, of course. You are going to hang them, aren’t you?”
“I suppose, yes. But we are Jewish, you see. We don’t kiss under a twig,” Rachel said to Sophia’s mirror image.
Sophia flinched. Little did Rachel know that Sophia had seen her kiss her children. And even her husband that time when … Sophia’s insides stirred. She preferred to witness acts of brutality over the procreation of Jews. It was sickening to think of a husband with such an appetite for his wife. Such tenderness as if she were a fragile doll. Ugh! Sophia was used to spying, never to be noticed. But that didn’t mean that she had to stomach all she witnessed.
Back to the job.
“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to dance at the ball and sway to the music, gathered in the strong arms of a handsome gentleman until he kisses me under the mistletoe,” Sophia said with a well-rehearsed dreaminess that she’d observed in the naïve ballerinas back home.
“You’re quite romantic, Sophia!” Rachel laughed and turned to her. “I wish I could give you an extra ticket, but we ran out. The house is at maximum capacity already.”
“Yes, I’d heard there are no tickets left. Expensive they were, too.”
“All the proceeds will go to charity,” Rachel said self-gratifyingly.
Sophia shuddered. “What kind of charity, may I ask?” But she knew, of course. She’d been spying on the Pearlers for months now.
“A foundling home. Poor dears. I go there weekly to bring them fresh fruit, toys, and books. But nothing can take the place of motherly love.”
Sophia knew that to be true. She’d missed her mother since she died of something she contracted in her line of work. If her own experience was any sign, Sophia knew all too well that the orphans didn’t appreciate the gifts. They mourned their mothers’ tenderness and cried at the loss when kind visitors left. Orphanages were waiting rooms for prison, death, or a life of sorrow. The latter had been Sophia’s fate. She’d never stopped feeling sorry for herself and blaming the world for her misfortune. And if she couldn’t be happy, then nobody else deserved to be.
Rachel hopped off the stool and thanked the seamstress. She wasn’t like other members of thetonSophia had met. She spoke kindly to the help. Maybe she secretly knew she was no better than a lowly seamstress. Jews didn’t belong where Rachel Pearler was. None of her clan did. The only question was, how could Sophia get them all off their thrones?
“I wouldn’t want to intrude, but may I see the decorations before the ball?” Sophia hopped off her stool and followed Rachel to a rose-colored settee.
Rachel took a biscuit, and Sophia followed suit. She didn’t like the crumbly English cookies, but she hadn’t eaten yet today. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“You want to see the decorations?”
“I’d love to!” Sophia clutched her hands under her chin like the dull-witted dreamy girls did at the academy.
“I suppose that could be arranged.” Rachel picked up a cup of gold-rimmed china and took a sip of tea. “Why don’t you come for tea the day before the ball?” She crinkled her nose. “I promise to serve something better than this brew.”
“Better than English tea?” Sophia thought she’d peaked her voice too much in her role as the chatty girl. If it didn’t come from a samovar, it wasn’t worth another thought of hers.
