Miss Jacobson's Journey

by Carola Dunn

  She was tempted to fling her arms about Isaac and Felix, and had they been alone she might have succumbed to temptation. As it was, she turned back to Ezra Ségal.

  “I fear we are keeping you from your business,” she said.

  He frowned. “I shall stay with you until you depart.”

  At once her elation fled. She prayed his cautiousness was unjustified, but Hébert’s sly eyes disturbed her.

  The lieutenant ushered them into a room opposite the prefect’s anteroom, furnished with a scratched deal table and several plain wooden chairs. He stayed by the open door while the jailer waddled over to a window and squinted at his jangling keys.

  “This is the one,” he said triumphantly. “It is too dark below to make it out.”

  Shuddering at the thought of the gloomy dungeons, Miriam watched the fat man unlock Felix’s handcuffs, puffing and grunting as he turned the stiff key. The fetters clanked on the table-top and Felix rubbed his wrists, grimacing. Miriam hurried to examine the damage.

  Red indentations and some chafing were the worst of it. “We’ll put on some of Hannah’s witch hazel,” she said, clasping his warm, strong hands and looking up into eyes as blue as southern skies. His gaze caught her, held her in a sudden stillness, burned into her, through her, stopped her breath. Her heart lurched.

  And then a second pair of cuffs struck the table. Felix pulled her into a brief, exuberant hug and let her go.

  The world started moving again but it seemed unreal. In a daze she checked Isaac’s wrists, again prescribed witch hazel, and enquired solicitously about the limp she had noted. When he dismissed it as mere stiffness, she smiled at him in sympathetic gladness. And all the while her whirling mind demanded wildly, Am I in love with Felix?

  “The lieutenant is gone!” Monsieur Ségal’s sharp words dragged her back to normalcy. “I believe you ought to leave with all speed.”

  Isaac and Felix swung round to stare at him and Miriam realized they had no idea who he was.

  “I shall introduce you later,” she said hastily, starting towards the door. The jailer was ahead of her, panting along with the handcuffs under his arm. He squeezed through the doorway and disappeared.

  “Where is the carriage?” Felix asked in his painstaking French.

  “They brought us here in it,” Isaac clarified, “but I don’t know how to find it.”

  They turned to the banker. He shrugged his shoulders, obviously worried. Miriam stepped out into the hall and looked hopefully in each direction. To the left she saw the jailer’s back view. Isaac and Felix had appeared from that direction, whereas she and Ségal and the mayor had come the opposite way. Neither seemed promising.

  Someone had to decide. She turned left, leading the others into the unknown. Then they came to a cross corridor and there was Hannah, trotting along followed by her faithful gendarme.

  “What has been keeping you?” she asked in Yiddish. “I’ve waited and waited, may God spare me.”

  “You know the way to the berline?” Miriam demanded.

  “It’s a regular maze, but Étienne here knows the way.” She patted her youthful companion’s arm. “He’s a bit slow but he’s a good-hearted lad. Just follow us.”

  Étienne took them to a walled courtyard behind the building. Stepping out into the heat of the midday sun, reflected from the cobbles, Miriam blinked at the brightness. The berline awaited them, with a team already harnessed.

  The groom holding their heads announced that he would go with them the first stage so as to bring back the police horses.

  “And to report on which road we’ve taken,” Felix muttered.

  “They could as easily follow us,” Miriam pointed out. She turned to Ségal. “Monsieur, have the goodness to give us directions to the Toulouse road. Oh, Felix, Isaac, this is my friend Monsieur Ségal, who was instrumental in obtaining your release.”

  The little banker demurred, giving all the credit to his friend the mayor, but the men shook his hand with hearty thanks. He hurriedly explained the way out of Bordeaux.

  Felix looked blank. “Did you not understand?” Isaac asked. “I’d better drive first, then.” He headed for the box.

  “I’ll check the harness.” Felix followed him.

  Miriam kissed Ségal’s cheek, making him blush again. “Give Suzanne a kiss from me,” she requested. He handed her into the carriage, where Hannah was already ensconced, having bidden her pet gendarme farewell.

  Felix returned. As he set his foot on the step, he glanced down with a look of absolute horror.

  “Au diable!“ he swore. “Those damned chains have ruined my boots!”

  Miriam giggled. “I never taught you those words,” she chided him.

  He sat down opposite her, grinning. “I picked them up myself,” he said with becoming modesty, “but I beg your pardon for using them in your presence. All the same, my boots will never recover from this. It’s been bad enough having them blacked by inn servants, using soot from the kitchen chimney, I daresay. My valet will never forgive me.”

  “You must be shaking in your mistreated boots.” She smiled at him, glad to return to their previous easy relationship, dismissing her earlier overwrought sensibilities as the effect of the morning’s frightening happenings.

  She turned to the window to thank Ezra Ségal once more and bid him a final good-by. The berline began to rumble across the cobbled yard. Leaning forward to wave to the banker, she saw standing in a doorway, watching them, the ominous figure of Lieutenant Hébert.

  Chapter 15

  “The groom is leaving us here, but someone is following us.” Isaac joined Miriam and Hannah in the carriage, handing each a napkin containing a roll and a piece of cheese.

  Miriam spared a mournful thought for the hamper she had left behind at the Prince de Galles. “How do you know?” she asked. “Perhaps he is just travelling the same way.”

  “There is little enough traffic for me to be certain it’s the same man, and even an inexpert horseman on an inferior horse could have passed us. I’ve had to drive slowly because the road is in a shocking condition.”

  “So we have noticed, though the berline is well-sprung and a vast improvement over the diligence we travelled in last time we came this way. The Garonne floods every winter, I believe, and washes out the road. Do you think it’s Hébert?” She nibbled distastefully at the hard, dry cheese.

  “Following us? It could be. Yes, quite likely. Felix told me just now you saw him watching us when we left. He speaks English, you know, so he would be an obvious choice to follow and try yet again to trap us.”

  “Felix said he was waiting in the cell when you arrived. They were all prepared for us, were they not? Do you think the Paris prefect has arrested Jakob Rothschild?”

  “The Minister of Finance is a powerful man. He should be able to protect him.”

  “I daresay he will talk himself out of danger as easily as he talked me into it.” She shivered, though the afternoon was still warm. “I wish we were safely hidden among the foothills of the Pyrenees! I had hoped to disappear as soon as we turn off the main road at Langon, but now they will know which way we have taken.”

  “We have escaped them once, we’ll do it again. Tell me how you found Monsieur Ségal, and how he persuaded the mayor to aid us.”

  Isaac’s obvious attempt to distract her succeeded for a while. She even laughed when she described Grignol’s discomfiture.

  “So your uncle Amos saved our skins again. I’m sorry I never knew him.”

  Miriam flushed as she recalled how she had used Uncle Amos as an excuse for rejecting Isaac. He might have forgiven, but she could never forget her unconscionable unkindness.

  “Amos Bloom was a saint,” Hannah declared. “Now eat your nuncheon, child, before you faint from hunger. And then Mr. Isaac will excuse you if you take a nap, as I mean to, for if ever there was a wearying day this was it.”

  Of course, the overwrought sensibility that brought the past so vividly to mind was du
e to hunger and exhaustion. Obediently Miriam gnawed on the cheese, then gave up and tore off a piece of the roll, scarcely less hard.

  “I’m sorry,” Isaac said with a wry look, “it was the best I could get in a hurry. You did warn us that the country inns cannot be relied upon.”

  “What I wouldn’t give for a cup of tea to wash it down! Suzanne Ségal gave us tea. That reminds me, I wanted to ask you what is the purpose of a mezuzah?”

  He explained, and she listened while she chewed away at the roll. At last the last crumb disappeared. She did feel better with food, however unsatisfactory, in her stomach. Hannah was nodding in her corner and Miriam was ready to join her. She leaned back against the squabs.

  “Sweet dreams,” said Isaac. His voice and his dark eyes were filled with--was it tenderness?

  She smiled at him, too sleepy to wonder. Her eyelids drifted down...

  ...And flew open as she sat up with a start. She had been sound asleep. It took her a moment to realize that she had been roused by the rattle of the shutter above Isaac’s head.

  “I thought you ought to know,” said Felix, sounding worried, “that rider is still following us.”

  Though Hannah continued to doze, the news drove sleep beyond Miriam’s reach. She was the one who knew the country; it was up to her to devise a way to elude their pursuer. Should they drive on beyond Langon, hoping he might lose interest before they turned south? That would take them out of their way and they had already lost half a day in Bordeaux. Could they evade him in the maze of country roads, even if he knew which direction they were heading? They would need to get far enough ahead to be out of his sight for long enough to disappear.

  As she gazed out unseeing at the wide, blue river and the vineyard-covered hills beyond, an idea came to her. A plan began to form.

  “Can Felix drive in the dark?” she asked Isaac. He looked surprised. “I mean, we have always stopped at dusk, but I don’t know if that was because we happened to reach a good place to stay, or because you were both tired? The diligence continues day and night.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll ask him.” He turned his head and reached up to open the shutter. Catching herself admiring his long-fingered, elegant hand and wide-browed profile, she hastily glanced away. “Felix, Miriam wants to know whether you can drive the carriage in the dark.”

  A snort answered him. “Of course I can drive in the dark.”

  “Along country lanes?” asked Miriam.

  “Along country lanes?” Isaac transmitted.

  There was a pause redolent of caution. “Narrow country lanes? With ditches?”

  “Narrow, yes,” said Miriam. “Ditches, I cannot be sure.”

  “Narrow and winding with deep ditches,” Isaac informed him, grinning. “And hills, and streams to ford.”

  “If we can get hold of good lanterns, and you aren’t planning to break any speed records, then yes.”

  “Then if you are rested, Isaac, I think you had better take the reins as far as Langon. Felix will be driving half the night.”

  “He will?”

  “Unless you feel able to drive in the dark?”

  “Not me!” He shuddered.

  “As I guessed. Just a minute.” Miriam gently disengaged the strings of Hannah’s reticule from the maid’s wrist and delved into it. Taking out a handful of small brown glass vials, she read the labels then held one up to the light. “Good, there’s plenty left. Tell Felix to stop and I’ll explain.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Felix, Miriam wants us to change places.”

  “Far be it from a lowly coachman to question madam’s orders,” came Felix’s response and the berline drew to a halt at the side of the road.

  The cessation of swaying and jolting woke Hannah. As Isaac opened the door, Miriam said to her, “Can you pretend to have the headache? Or I shall and you must support me.”

  Hannah blinked at her. “The headache? But I feel very well, thank God. All I needed was forty winks.”

  “Pretend! Our follower must suppose that you are travel sick, to give us a reason for stopping.”

  “Sick of travelling I am, right enough,” she grumbled.

  “Come, let me help you to step down.”

  With Isaac lending a solicitous hand, Hannah descended to the dusty road. She stood hunched, holding her head and her stomach and groaning artistically. Felix had climbed down from the box. Holding the reins, he looked back along the highway.

  “You can cut out the wailing and gnashing of teeth,” he announced. “Our man has stopped a good furlong back. That proves he’s after us, though. Is someone going to tell me what is going on?”

  Hannah stopped groaning but kept her hand to her head. Miriam put an arm around her waist and walked her slowly towards Felix, with Isaac following. “Has either of you a proposal for losing that fellow?” she asked.

  Isaac shook his head.

  “Hit him on the head and run,” suggested Felix.

  “May God spare us!” Hannah moaned.

  “I have a notion how we may contrive.” Strolling up and down supporting Hannah, she outlined her plan.

  “I’d rather hit him on the head,” Felix complained. “Must you use my brandy? I wish I spoke better French.”

  “So do I.” Isaac was doubtful. “I daresay I can manage it, but I’d rather not. On the other hand, I cannot possibly do the driving.”

  “If we do it at all,” said Miriam impatiently, “there is no choice about who does what. The only question is, have you come up with a stratagem more likely to succeed?”

  “No.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, we have until later this evening to decide. But I do think Isaac had best drive now, in case.”

  Passing the reins to Isaac, Felix handed the women into the carriage and joined them.

  “Put your feet up, my lord, and try to sleep,” Hannah advised in the motherly voice she used when she called Miriam “child”. A few days more, Miriam was ready to wager, and she would be addressing his lordship as “lad”.

  Felix smiled at the abigail. “Yes, ma’am, if Miriam will excuse me?”

  “Of course.” She couldn’t help contrasting his response with his haughty disapproval the first time Hannah had joined them at the dinner table. Now that he had come down off his high horse, he really was as charming as she had told Suzanne.

  He turned sideways, leaning back against the squabs, and raised his legs onto the seat. The movement brought his battered boots into his sight. “Desecration!” he lamented.

  “Better your boots than your skin,” Miriam pointed out with a chuckle.

  “Certainly not. Under your knowledgeable care my skin would heal. Even my valet and the best champagne blacking could not render my boots presentable, alas.”

  “Champagne! You are bamming me.”

  “Not I. Oh, I gave it up some years since, but Beau Brummell claims to use champagne in his blacking and I once was one of the many aspiring young dandies who ape him. I believe he made it up, along with the story that it takes three men to make his gloves.”

  Miriam laughed. “How absurd! Why should anyone want to copy him?”

  “For the most part it’s all to the good. He made elegant simplicity fashionable, and clean linen, at which one can hardly quibble. He’s a good fellow, though he does give himself airs. I’d hate to be the butt of one of his witty remarks.”

  “I’ve heard of him. Is he the gentleman who spends an entire morning tying his cravat?”

  “If it takes an entire morning to perfect it. He believes that like a butterfly a gentleman should emerge perfect from the cocoon and then give no more thought to his appearance. You never see the Beau primping before a mirror in public.”

  “That an odd mixture of sense and nonsense.” As a schoolgirl she had yearned to be a part of that Polite World in which Felix never doubted his place. He made it sound attractive and amusing, whetting her appetite.

  “All nonsense I call it,” snorted Hannah. “I
f you have any sense, my lord, you’ll stop worrying about your boots and try to sleep.”

  Felix grinned and obediently closed his eyes. Careful not to dirty the cushions, he had left his booted feet, white with road dust, sticking out over the edge of the seat. Miriam thought he’d be much more comfortable if he took the boots off altogether, but somehow it was impossible to suggest such a thing. Boots first, then coat, then neckcloth...

  Hastily she tore her gaze from his powerful body, emanating masculine vigour even in repose. Outside, a grey mist was rising from the river, blotting out the far bank and hiding the westering sun. Miriam shivered.

  On the box, Isaac shivered. Even so far south, the spring evenings were chilly and he had packed away his greatcoat. One more foolish mistake.

  Why had he admitted his uncertainty over his ability to play his rôle in Miriam’s plan? Given a decent command of French, Felix would have done the deed without blinking. Felix was competent and sure of himself, torn by no doubts as to the rightness of his actions. In normal circumstances Isaac considered himself competent, but he couldn’t pretend he was cut out to be a hero--and a hero was what he wanted to appear in Miriam’s eyes.

  She made him think of Miriam the sister of Moses, in the Book of the Exodus--Miriam whose ingenuity had saved her baby brother; who had led the women in celebrating the escape from Egypt; who had supported Moses throughout the wandering in the wilderness, yet had not hesitated to reproach him when she disapproved of his actions.

  Isaac smiled to himself. Yes, his Miriam was well named--if only she was his Miriam and not Felix’s. His smile faded.

  It didn’t help that he had heard her laughing just now. The sound still rang in his ears. And before him floated a vision of her gazing up into Felix’s face, clasped, however briefly, in his arms.

  He was not going to find it easy to continue to treat Felix with complaisance.

  The mist from the Garonne was blowing across the road by the time he drove into the village of Langon. If it grew any thicker it would hinder their pursuer, but it would also make Felix’s task more difficult. Unfortunately, Isaac was denied the consolation of wishing his rival to fail.