General Well'ngone In Love (10 page)

“
Mr Oppenheim and Miss Taylor,” Mrs Lyon murmured happily,
apparently already seeing, in her mind’s eye, the happy couple
standing under the marriage canopy. “It is a brilliant suggestion,
Mrs Baer, but are you sure Mr Oppenheim will not mind that his
bride has no dowry?”

“
No dowry?” The light departed from Mrs Baer’s eyes. “Are you
sure?”

“
Mr Lyon has heard that Miss Taylor and her brother are
practically penniless.”

“
That does complicate matters. If it is not Boney, it is
something else,” said Mrs Baer with a sigh. “No wonder our Sages
say that finding a marriage partner is as difficult as splitting
the sea.”

At this second
mention of “Boney,” the English patriot’s name for the Frenchman
who has wrecked such havoc in these times, Napoleon Bonaparte, the
talk turned to news about the war and the battle that had recently
taken place near a Portuguese village called Fuentes de Onoro.
While Mrs Lyon lamented the fact that the Portuguese and Spanish
would insist on calling their villages and towns by the most
fantastic and unpronounceable names, Mrs Baer expressed an opinion
that Viscount Wellington was stretching his troops too thin. Or so
Mr Baer had said, and he was in a position to know since his coffee
house—a kosher establishment situated in the City—was frequented by
some who were privy to information not readily available to the
general public.

“
They say that more than a thousand of our troops were
killed,” said Mrs Baer, “and that the French losses were twice as
many, if not more. I do not see why Boney cannot be content with
being the Emperor of the French. Why must he insist on ruling the
entire world?”

While the
married ladies discussed this interesting question, Rebecca had
other weighty matters to consider. Somehow, she must repair the
damage she had caused to the Taylors and think of a way to transfer
payment for her sewing lessons into Miss Taylor’s hand without
causing the young lady embarrassment. As her brain was unusually
devoid of ideas, she decided to ask the opinion of Miss Harriet
Franks.

Ever since the
Franks family had returned to Devonshire Square—a happy event that
had occurred after Mr Franks had been cleared of the charge of
being a spy for Napoleon—the two young ladies had resumed their
friendship as though there had never been a separation. Thus, Perl,
the Lyon family’s housemaid, was not surprised to see Rebecca slip
on a pelisse over her muslin dress and then dash out the front
door. Nor was the housemaid of the Franks family surprised to see
Miss Lyon standing on the doorstep of the Franks’s residence, which
was only two doors down from Rebecca’s home. During the course of
almost any day there were any number of reasons why two young
ladies of not quite the marriageable age must consult one another
for sage advice and judicious opinion. On this occasion, though,
Rebecca was very surprised to be informed that she could not see
her friend.

“
Miss Franks is indisposed,” said the housemaid. “The entire
family is indisposed.”

Rebecca
noticed at once the girl’s anxious expression. “It is not serious,
I hope.”

“
I am sure I do not know, Miss. Perhaps Mr Taylor can tell
you, for I think I hear him coming down the stairs now.”

The housemaid
opened the front door wider, so that Rebecca could see inside. Mr
Taylor was, indeed, descending the stairs. Yet unlike the sweeping
wooden staircase, which had been polished until the steps shone
like new, the young physician looked curiously worn and
troubled.

“
Mr Taylor, perhaps you will remember me. I am Rebecca Lyon.
You and Miss Taylor were at my family’s Seder.”

Mr Taylor
bowed, in acknowledgement of her salutation. “I hope no one in your
family has taken ill, Miss Lyon.”

“
No, thank G-d. But Miss Franks is my very best friend in the
entire world. Please say that I may see her, and that her condition
is not serious. And that her parents will recover, as
well.”

For the first
time, Mr Taylor smiled. “I apologize that my gloomy expression has
needlessly alarmed you. I have every expectation that your friend
and Mr and Mrs Franks will recover. I believe it is nothing more
than an indisposition brought on by a tainted piece of fish. But
because they have all spent an uncomfortable night, I think it best
that they spend today resting undisturbed. If, however, you would
like to send a note to Miss Franks, I am sure it will do her much
good.”

“
You have relieved my mind immensely,” Rebecca
replied.

The housemaid
allowed Rebecca to enter the drawing room, where Rebecca knew that
paper and pen and ink would be at her disposal. While she wrote her
note, Mr Taylor requested that the housemaid escort him to the
kitchen so that he could give instructions to the cook.

Dear Harriet
(she wrote),

Your illness
has alarmed me to no end, and I should have been frantic with worry
had not Mr Taylor assured me that you will soon be well. Please
follow his instructions diligently, as I have a very important
matter to discuss with you. I will fly to your bedside as soon as I
hear that you are strong enough to receive a visitor.

Your faithful
friend who intends not to sleep a wink until she hears that Hashem
has sent you a complete recovery,

Rebecca

P.S. Isaac tried to say my name today. I am sure of it. But
that is not the matter I wish to
discuss with you.

P.P.S. Please
send my compliments to Mr and Mrs Franks and my best wishes for
their speedy and complete recovery.

When she was
quite sure that she had no more postscripts to add to her letter,
she carefully blotted the page and waited for the ink to dry. By
the time she was ready to hand the important missive to the
Franks’s housemaid, Mr Taylor was also ready to depart.

“
May I walk you to your door, Miss Lyon?”

Rebecca was
momentarily flustered. She had never walked alone with a man who
was not a member of her family—unless it was with their servant
Meshullan Mendel, who was almost like a family member—and even
though the distance was just a few steps away she was not sure if
she should accept the invitation or find a reason to remain in the
Franks’s home. But Mr Taylor was already leading her to the
pavement, and in an instant he made his intentions clear.

“
I did not wish to speak in front of the servants,” he said,
“but I am curious about one thing. Is their cook newly employed, or
has she been with the Franks family for some time?”

“
Oh, she has been their cook forever - or at least for as long
as I can remember.”

“
Thank you. Good evening.”

They had
reached Rebecca’s home at the same moment that Mr Lyon was
returning from his shop on Cornhill Street. Mr Lyon raised an
eyebrow, but before he could say a word his daughter told him the
distressing news concerning the Franks family.

“
Is there anything we can do?” he asked Mr Taylor. “Perhaps we
can send over some soup?”

“
I have spoken with their cook and she has assured me that she
has everything she needs to prepare the family’s meals according to
my instructions. Good evening, Mr Lyon.” Mr Taylor then bowed again
to Rebecca and said, “Good evening, Miss Lyon. I hope that tomorrow
will bring you happier tidings concerning your friend.”

Mr Taylor
turned to go, but Mr Lyon called after him, “Mr Taylor, will you
not join us for supper? We would be honoured if you would dine with
us.”

“
Thank you, but my sister is waiting for me in our
rooms.”

The young man
bowed again, and hurried out of the square.

CHAPTER
III

When Mr Taylor
returned to his rooms, his sister was waiting for him, as he had
said. However, Mr Taylor saw that standing at the doorway was
another person, as well.

“
Good evening, sir,” said the stranger. “I see by your
expression that you do not know me, but I trust that we will soon
be happy to have made one another’s acquaintance.”

Here the
merchant - for it was all too evident from the man’s familiar ways
that he was one of those who are friends with the world not because
he cherishes friendship for itself but because he sees in the world
a herd of potential buyers for his wares—showed the object he was
holding in his hand, a metal tin.

“
Yesterday, tea was the exclusive pleasure of the English
aristocrat,” the merchant babbled on, as he insinuated himself into
the room, “a beverage drunk only in the highest circles. Today all
that is changed, thanks to the enterprise I am proud to represent:
Amos & Amos. Remember the name, sir, for the next time you will
be coming to me, and not I to you. It is our privilege to have
found a way to make this drink of the gods affordable to those who
inhabit less lofty spheres. And I was just remarking to your wife,
who cannot hide her expertise in the housewifely arts from an eye
as skilled as mine, she will find no better quality tea for so
reasonable a price anywhere else in London. How many tins would you
like to purchase, sir? I usually am allowed to sell only one sample
tin to a household, but because I see that you are a man of some
intelligence and refinement I will make an exemption and sell you
two.”

The merchant
had already set down upon the table the tin he had been holding in
his hand and was about to reach into his great coat’s pocket for
the promised second tin, when Mr Taylor stopped him. “You need not
trouble yourself, Mr …”

“
Amos, sir. My brother, Mr Lazer Amos, is the genius behind
our manufacturing process, while I, Baruch Amos, am merely his
humble representative in the marketplace.”

“
We do not drink tea, Mr Amos. Good evening.”

“
That is my point exactly, sir,” replied Mr Amos, refusing to
be so easily rebuffed. “Why should not respectable working people
such as yourself and your Missus be able to drink a refreshing cup
of tea at the end of a long and tiring day? Why should tea leaves,
which grow in such abundance in G-d’s glorious world, be priced so
high in the desultory world devised by mortal man? These are the
sorts of questions my brother and I asked one another. This is the
answer.”

Two tins of
tea were now sitting on the table. Mr Taylor could see that his
sister—he had not bothered to correct the merchant’s mistake—was
looking at the tins with a longing eye. But he remained resolute.
Returning the tins to the merchant’s hands, he said, “I shall not
repeat myself a third time, sir. We do not drink tea.”

Mr Amos
received the rejected tins with solemn dignity, and bowed his way
to the door. But before he departed in defeat, he shot off one last
salvo into the fray. “Amos & Amos. Mark my words, one day you
will be coming to me, sir, and not I to you.”

The door
closed. Mr Taylor gave a weary sigh of relief as he sank down onto
a chair. “Why did you let him come inside, Elisheva?”

“
It has been so long since we have had tea with our supper.
And he said the tea he was offering was so reasonable. And …” Her
voice drifted off into silence.

“
And you hate having to live in poverty, watching every penny,
not being able to afford a new dress or pay social calls to the
other young ladies in the neighbourhood, such as Mrs Hannah
Goldsmith.”

“
You are not being fair, Gabriel. I have never complained
about helping you advance in your career. But you, at least, are
out in the world. You see people. You converse with them. I remain
inside these four walls every day.”

Mr Taylor
loosened the stiff cravat wound about his neck, and as the linen
folds gave way his stern expression softened, as well. “I
apologize. I should not have spoken so harshly to you. But,
Elisheva, if I ask you to economize, I ask it for your own good. If
you are to marry, you will need a dowry. The few pennies saved on a
tin of tea may not seem much in and of themselves, but over time
the money saved will accumulate.”

“
When? When I am an old woman ready for the grave?”

Elisheva
Taylor was not a young lady who often allowed herself the luxury of
a good cry, but the deprivations endured during the last several
years had accumulated to such an extent that the barriers she had
erected between her sense of duty and her natural sensibilities now
tore apart and a torrent of tears ushered forth. Her brother waited
patiently for the storm to subside, and then gently asked, “I know
it is not the tea you are weeping over, Elisheva. What has
happened? What has changed?”

The young lady
wiped away the few remaining tears with the corner of her apron and
said, “I was invited to the home of Mrs Lyon, to Devonshire
Square.”

“
For what reason?”

“
I am not sure I know. The ladies were all doing some sewing.
We talked. We had cakes, and tea.”

“
It was pleasant?”

“
Yes, it was pleasant to be in company again. But when I
returned home and all was so silent …”

“
Mrs Goldsmith was there, with her child?”

Elisheva did
not reply.

“
I promise you, Elisheva,” said Mr Taylor, rising from his
chair to place his hands on his younger sister’s shoulders, “that
one day you shall also be a happily married woman, surrounded by
your children. And it shall be when you are still young. It shall
be soon.”

They were
interrupted by a knock at the door.