Miss Jacobson's Journey (8 page)

He glanced at his companions. Miriam gave him a pale, strained smile; the only other sign of her tension was her clenched fist on the table top. Catching his eye she lowered her hand to her lap. His admiration for her composure redoubled his anger at Jakob for embroiling her in this adventure.

Felix reached for the carafe and poured the last drop of dark red wine into his glass. His taut posture, the very woodenness of his motions in one accustomed to move with vigour, bespoke his uneasiness. He raised the glass to his lips, then suddenly set it down and pushed it across the table towards Miriam’s maidservant.

Isaac saw that Hannah was shaking with fright, her terrified eyes fixed on her beloved mistress as she muttered over and over in English, “May God spare her, my dove, may God spare her.”

He put his arm round her shoulders and picked up Felix’s glass. “Drink,” he commanded in Yiddish, authoritative yet gentle.

She gulped convulsively, spluttered and coughed as the wine caught the back of her throat. Tears rose to her eyes and her colorless cheeks turned crimson. Miriam jumped up and sped round the table to dab at her face with a napkin, while Isaac patted her on the back.

His expression sardonic, Felix watched them fuss over the abigail. He appeared relaxed, and Isaac realized that the incident spurred by his unexpectedly kind gesture had lessened the tension.

It had also drawn the officer’s notice. The little man strutted towards them, his bearing so expressive of pomposity that Isaac would have laughed had he not held their fate in his pudgy hands. Twirling the waxed end of his moustache, he bowed to Miriam, who stood straight and tall with one warning, comforting hand on Hannah’s shoulder.

“
Vos papiers, s’il vous plaît, messieurs.”

Isaac handed him the package. He leafed through the passports with agonizing slowness, paused to peruse every word of the letter signed by the Minister of Police. Then he folded them and dropped them on the table with a nod to Isaac. Isaac began to breathe again.

“
Continuez,”
the officer ordered his heavyset sergeant with a wave. Taking off his shako and smoothing his thinning black hair, he turned to Miriam with a gleam of admiration in his sharp little eyes. “So mademoiselle is Swiss. A beautiful country, and a people of independent spirit.”

She smiled at him. “Under the protection of the Emperor, monsieur. May one enquire as to what a captain of the Emperor’s army is searching for here?”

“For deserters, mademoiselle. Alas, not all Frenchmen are willing to put their duty to the Emperor and to France above their personal concerns.”

“I am shocked to hear such a thing. The more honour to those who serve willingly.” Miriam batted her eyelashes in a coquettish way that made Isaac fume, but he didn’t dare intervene.

Leering, the repellent little man preened his moustache. “I thank mademoiselle for her good opinion.”

“No doubt your vigilance deters many deserters, monsieur?”

“Would that it were so! You know, perhaps, that conscripts are chosen by means of a lottery? You will not credit it, mademoiselle, but as many as three quarters of the eligible young men do not put in an appearance on lottery days. Then there are those who pay another to take their place, those who riot when the names are called, even those who cut off a finger or blind themselves to evade service.”

“Disgraceful!” Despite the censure in her tone, Miriam looked a trifle sick at this last revelation, Isaac thought.

“And of those who join the army, fully one in ten later deserts. Last year alone sixteen thousand runaways were caught, convicted, and fined.”

“You must be proud to be entrusted with work of such importance to the Empire, monsieur.”

His chest swelled, but he said modestly, “I do my duty, mademoiselle.” Swinging round, he addressed Felix and Isaac. “And you, messieurs--the Grand Army has no prejudice against foreigners, not even against Jews. Do you not yearn to fight for our glorious Emperor?”

“Oh, monsieur!” Her eyes wide with unfeigned distress, Miriam neatly recaptured his attention. “Pray do not tempt my brother and my cousin to abandon me unprotected.”

“I should count it a pleasure to offer mademoiselle my protection,” he assured her, gallantly lascivious.

She produced a convincing simper. “You are kind, but our families await us at home. Besides, there is a great deal of your magnificent country we have yet to see.”

“You are travelling to admire the glories of France? I trust you are enjoying your stay in Blois, my home town.”

“We have only just arrived, monsieur.”

“Ah, then there is much pleasure in store for you. You are aware, I am sure, that it was here Jeanne d’Arc raised her standard against the accursed English pigs.”

Felix’s face darkened, nostrils flared, chin rising aggressively. He must have understood the captain’s words. Isaac glared at him and after a moment fraught with danger he subsided, his shoulders slumping. Oblivious, the captain continued to expound upon the splendours of Blois until the stolid sergeant appeared at his elbow to announce that everyone present had been checked.

With a low bow, the captain pronounced himself delighted to have made mademoiselle’s acquaintance, desolated to have no excuse for lingering. He kissed her hand with unnecessary fervour, saluted Isaac and Felix, and departed.

Miriam sank into her chair, her smile wry. “How fortunate that it has stopped raining,” she said softly in English. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to tour Blois.”

The gentlemen groaned in unison.

“Why did you let him draw you into conversation?” Felix snapped.

“A female cannot have too many admirers,” she teased. “No, actually I thought it would serve to divert any suspicion he might have felt. Surely he would not expect fugitives to chat with him.”

“Let alone to flirt,” muttered Isaac, too low for her to hear.

He paid the reckoning and they went out. Despite Felix’s disparaging comparisons with English towns, castles, and cathedrals, Isaac enjoyed strolling about the steep streets of Blois. The Loire sparkled in the sun and the air, though fresh and clean after the rain, yet bore tantalizing traces of foreign odours.

When they returned to the Coq d’Or, it was his turn to drive. A new team was hitched. Taking the reins from the ostler, who rushed off to serve another patron, he mounted to the box whistling.

Felix, about to hand Miriam into the carriage, turned and scowled at him. “Not ‘Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill,’ you numskull,” he hissed. “You’re lucky the ostler did not hear you.”

Isaac scowled back. Admittedly he had not realized what he was whistling, but he considered it most unlikely that a French ostler would recognize the tune as English.

“Try ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow,’“ Miriam suggested. “It is the same tune as ‘Malbrouk s’en va-t-en guerre,’ a most patriotic, if inaccurate, French song.”

But Isaac had lost the urge to whistle. Damn the man for an arrogant, condescending bigot! At least, prejudiced as he was against Jews, Felix would not take advantage of his proximity to Miriam in the berline, even if she had not Hannah to guard her. Isaac grinned sourly.

Inside the carriage, Felix requested an explanation of “patriotic, if inaccurate.”

“‘Malbrouk’ is a French version of Marlborough,” Miriam said. “The song is about the Duke of Marlborough going off to the wars, and it boasts that he will never return.”

“But of course he did. In fact he was created duke as a reward for defeating the French!”

“I daresay they prefer to forget that.”

“I daresay.” He laughed. “Teach me the verse.”

So Miriam found herself once more embroiled in a French lesson. Whenever she tried to steer the conversation to more personal matters, Felix determinedly ignored her hints. Hannah gave her an anxious look that said as clearly as words, “Don’t set his back up.”

So she abandoned--temporarily--her attempt to delve into his past and concentrated on teaching pronunciation.

A couple of hours later, the berline pulled up in a village street, in front of a building with an indecipherable inn sign hanging over the door. Felix reached for his hat.

“Thank you, Miriam.”

It was the first time he had addressed her by name. She felt an infuriating flush of pleasure rising in her cheeks.

“You are a rewarding pupil, Felix.”

“I doubt anyone will take me for a born Frenchman.”

“Perhaps not, but how you would dislike it if they did! You try hard, and what more can a teacher ask?”

“I never imagined a lesson could be so enjoyable. You are an excellent teacher. I find it difficult to believe that you are Jewish.”

“I am, I assure you,” she said firmly, not sure whether to be annoyed, amused, or pleased. At least he was beginning to exempt her from his deplorable prejudices, to see her as a person, not just as a Jewess.

“Of course, there are exceptions to every rule,” he added, and stepped down from the carriage before she could voice an exasperated protest.

“Drat the man!” she exclaimed.

“He’s not a bad-hearted lad,” Hannah said unexpectedly. “God willing, given a chance he’ll learn not to judge people he doesn’t know.”

“Why, never say you have fallen for his pretty blue eyes, Hannah. He is a handsome fellow, is he not?”

“Handsome is as handsome does, Miss Miriam. You’ll do well to remember he’s a goy, and too young for you into the bargain.”

“Too young? I put him at just about my age.”

“And it’s an older man you need, as can control your starts. But if I’m not mistaken his lordship’s no more than four or five and twenty, though he looks older when he’s on his high ropes.”

“I bow to your judgment. His lordship is a mere stripling, young enough to learn the error of his ways.”

A waiter appeared at that moment with a tray of coffee and biscuits, ordered presumably by Isaac since his youthful lordship’s command of French did not as yet extend so far. Miriam realized it was a long time since their nerve-racking luncheon in Blois. Gratefully she gulped down the milky brew and nibbled on a biscuit.

“What I wouldn’t give for a cup of tea,” sighed Hannah, sipping her coffee. “I do believe it’s what I’ve missed most all these years. How I wish we were home safe already.”

“It has been an exhausting, alarming day, my poor Hannah. I daresay we shall not go farther than one more stage today, which will take us to Tours. Seeing the sights in Blois delayed us.”

“Will we stay at an inn in Tours? I vow I’ll never feel safe at an inn again.”

“Where else should we... Oh, you are thinking of Monsieur and Madame Lévi. They would certainly find room for you and me, but I hesitate to ask them to put up the men. Their house is small and they are far from well off.”

“Let the men go to an inn without us.”

“A poor time they would have of it, speaking French as they do. It is not a bad idea, though. Let us see what Isaac thinks of it.”

The waiter came to retrieve the tray, and then Isaac joined them. As they continued along the banks of the Loire, Miriam laid the proposal before him. “After the soldiers at the Coq d’Or, I doubt I should sleep a wink at an inn,” she explained.

He shook his head in smiling disbelief. “That’s odd, I’d not have guessed you to be of so nervous a disposition.”

“It’s me, sir,” Hannah confessed. “Made me quake in my shoes, they did.”

“Perfectly understandable, Miss Greenbaum,” he said sympathetically. “I was a trifle worried myself!”

“And that nasty little man making up to Miss Miriam and her not able to give him a set-down for fear of him taking against us. You never know who you’ll meet in a public inn. But I wouldn’t want to put anyone out, sir.”

“A night spent with friends in Tours will give you an opportunity to recover from the fright. I’ll tell Felix to drive straight to their house when we reach the town.”

“I’ll tell him,” Miriam said quickly. “I can give him directions. Besides, sparks are bound to fly if you presume to instruct him.”

He acknowledged the truth with a rueful grin.

Moving across to the seat beside him, she reached up to open the little panel in the front of the carriage. Her arm brushed against his shoulder. His eyes met hers and for an endless moment sparks flew between them--not sparks of anger and distrust but a tingling excitement that raced through Miriam’s veins.

She tore her gaze away. Her voice was a trifle breathless as she explained the plan to Felix.

He grunted his qualified assent. “As you will, so long as I’m not expected to stay with your Jewish friends.”

“I cannot imagine that they would want you,” she responded tartly, slamming the panel closed.

Careful not to touch Isaac, she returned to her seat, only to find that he was laughing at her. “And you were afraid he and I might come to cuffs?” he teased.

“Well, I did not ruffle his feathers, he ruffled mine. He can be utterly infuriating! But sometimes he is companionable, even charming. Why do you dislike him so?”

The quizzical smile vanished. “His kind ruined my life. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, brought up to consider the world his oyster, and when he finds the pearl is missing, borrows with no thought of how he is to repay.”

“Ruined your life?”

“Did you know that peers cannot be imprisoned for debt? That if a minor lies about his age to borrow money, the contract is unenforceable and the lender cannot recover a penny? My father lent vast sums to some of the bluest blooded families in England. He was bankrupted by noble spendthrifts unable or unwilling to pay their debts to the Jew moneylender. He died in poverty.”

“I’m so sorry.” Leaning forward, Miriam held out her hand in earnest commiseration and he clasped it briefly. “So that is why you are working for Nathan Rothschild.”

“His wife is my cousin. He took me into his business, but of course I had to abandon my studies.”

“That must have been a fearful blow.”

To her surprise, he looked a trifle discomposed but he said only, “It was a great disappointment, and my father was much grieved.” He changed the subject. “Tell me about Monsieur and Madame Lévi. How do you come to know them?”