The Quality of Mercy by Faye Kellerman Read Free Book Online

God will hear them.”
    Rebecca started to unfold the paper. Dunstan placed his hand on hers. He whispered, “Not here, Becca, in private. They are written in the old language.”
    Rebecca paled and quickly stuffed the paper up her sleeve.
    Dunstan caught the eye of the fat Lady Marlburn and nodded. He whispered to Rebecca, “When alone, you must sit on the floor, even take your meals while sitting on the floor. You may sleep in your bed, however.”
    “What happens when my chambermaid comes in my closet,” Rebecca whispered back.
    “When she knocks, you get up. She mustn’t see what you are doing — ever. Our money is to be used for the mission, not for paying off suspicious maids. After she leaves, you must sit back on the floor.”
    “For just seven days or the whole month?”
    “Just the seven days, starting tonight. Then comes the month of lesser mourning.” Dunstan squeezed his cousin’s hand. “We cannot speak anymore. The grand dame Lady Marlburn has espied our conversation and is coming our way. Soon you’ll be besieged with ghouls. Unless you wish to converse with them, I suggest you feign exhaustion.”
    Rebecca slumped in her chair. It wasn’t a hard scene to play. She closed her eyes. Blessed darkness.
     

Chapter 4
     
    By midnight only the converso men remained — six tonight because Hector and Miguel had gone home early with the women to grieve in private. The men sat around the table and waited for the servants to finish tidying the mess that the visitors had made. The wooden plank tables upon which the massive feast had rested were barren. With the fifty-foot walls covered in black cloth and a strong wind whistling through mullion-glass windows, the room seemed as desolate as a crypt. Dunstan Ames suggested that the men retire to a smaller closet, but his father shook his head, feeling too tired to move. Servants and scullions scurried about the hall, their footsteps muffled by the rushes that blanketed the stone floor. Eventually Dunstan grew impatient with their presence and shooed his father’s lackeys away.
    Roderigo Lopez was nearly sick with exhaustion and worry. Thank God Rebecca had proved herself to be a strong girl. Not an easy chore. The funeral had been a long ordeal, the church service full of pomp and prayer that left the conversos noticeably uncomfortable. As professed Protestants but secret Jews, they were members of the local parish and attended sabbath services as required by the law of the land. But they tried to be as late for church as possible, sometimes not arriving until the conclusion of the service. Roderigo knew that the other parishoners noticed their tardiness. But the congregants never voiced a word of protest because the parish priest always greeted the conversos warmly. The secret Jews were paying him well. Though they breathed easier in England than in their native land of Portugal — there was no Inquisition here, praise God — they were still forced to hide their worship from prying eyes. An extremely difficult task. Like most landed gentry, Roderigo’s household — and that of his brother-in-law — contained many servants. Discovery of their secret religious services would brand them as Jews, which would mean deportation.
    Now, with the servants gone — privacy at last — the conversos could begin the true service of mourning. Dunstan closed the massive doors to the room and the assembled men stood up from the bench, retrieved black skullcaps from their pockets and covered their heads. Roderigo looked at the men — his son, two nephews, a brother-in-law, and a distant cousin. Five grim faces, worn but visibly relieved to be away from the Gentiles. He nodded for his cousin, Solomon Aben Ayesh, to lead the services.
    Lopez envied Aben Ayesh. Solomon was the only one amongst them who was an openly professed Jew — a luxury he was now afforded since he no longer lived in Europe. Solomon was short and as thin as a reed, with midnight-blue eyes which