The Day of Atonement by David Liss Read Free Book Online

house was out and would return in an hour or two.Hastings handed her a letter for her master and accepted, in return, an offer of wine. I asked for nothing and refused all offers with the fewest words good manners would allow.
    The room was unlike anything I had ever seen, even in the houses of English merchants in Lisbon. There were no tiles upon the walls, no gilt or silver-plated ornamentations. There was only a settee and a few padded chairs upon a fine-looking rug, a cabinet with some china inside, and a few paintings upon the papered walls. The room did not appear poor, but it did strike me as plain and utterly without the desire to impress.
    We waited for only three-quarters of an hour. I heard the front door open and a deep voice and some whispers. Then, after a few minutes, a tall man in fine English gentlemen’s clothes entered the room and bowed to Mr. Hastings. He held the open letter in one hand. This man was quite old—at least fifty—but he was fit and broad in the shoulders and carried himself with energy. When he shook Hastings’s hand, his forearm, thick and coiled with muscle, protruded from his coat sleeve. Unlike most English gentlemen, he wore his own hair, which was dusty brown, streaked with gray, and pulled back in the style of a cue wig. He had a distinguished face that had aged well, with a square jaw and intense dark eyes. Despite his many years, there was something commanding about him. It wasn’t the authority of station but something else entirely, a kind of easy confidence, and I found it instantly fascinating.
    After exchanging a few pleasantries with Hastings, the man extended his hand to me.
“Olá, Senhor Raposa. Eu sou Benjamin Weaver, e eu sou amigo do Senhor Settwell. Bem-vindo à minha casa.”
His Portuguese was strangely accented but I understood him.
    I took the man’s hand without enthusiasm. “Sir, I speak English.”
    Benjamin Weaver smiled thinly. “Quite well, too.” He turned to Hastings. “My thanks to you for seeing the boy here safely.”
    Hastings tugged at the lapels of his jacket. “It weren’t trouble.Nothing out of the way, that is. The boy don’t talk much and didn’t make a nuisance of himself, which is all one can ask of children.”
    “And the funds Mr. Settwell provided for you proved sufficient?” Mr. Weaver asked. His voice was full of good cheer, except there was something else there too, and it made me glad it was not me whom he addressed.
    Mr. Hastings glanced at the window. “We got by tolerably, I should say. A bit of a pinch here and there, but I shan’t complain.”
    Mr. Weaver looked at me. “Mr. Raposa, did you advance any of your own coin to Mr. Hastings?”
    I looked away. I did not wish to say anything. I bore Hastings no ill will for the money he had taken. And this Mr. Weaver, who meant only to help, was presumably a Jew. Yes, he appeared to be a Jew of some means, but Hastings was an Englishman, and I did not want Mr. Weaver to face any difficulties on my behalf by making accusations against a Christian. I searched for the right words, but I could think of none, and so I remained mute.
    Hastings, however, had no difficulties expressing his sentiments. “Just a moment,” he cried. “Boys, as is well known, are none the most truthful of creatures.”
    Mr. Weaver held up a hand, and I understood that it would take considerable courage to disregard the implied threat. Mr. Hastings, the Christian and the Englishman, was silenced by the Jew. It was remarkable.
    “Yes,” I now said. I was apprehensive about what all this might mean and where it might lead, but I was curious too. “Mr. Hastings asked for money to pay our expenses, and I gave it to him.”
    “How much?”
    I shrugged. “I did not keep accounts. I paid as he asked.”
    “May I see your purse?”
    I handed it to Mr. Weaver, who emptied the coins into one of his large and calloused hands. He counted the money, returned the coins to the sack, and then turned to Mr.