Miss Jacobson's Journey

by Carola Dunn

  He looked back over his shoulder. The rider was closer now and Isaac was almost certain he was Hébert. That would make his job easier, he hoped. At least he had some idea of what to expect from the lieutenant.

  The inn he stopped at, though large, looked as if it had seen more prosperous days. Whitewash flaked from the walls and the faded sign was indecipherable. Doubtless Bordeaux’s loss of trade had reduced traffic from the interior. Isaac drew up before the door.

  At once an obsequious couple rushed out, bowing and curtsying and begging the travellers to step in. Felix emerged from the carriage, his hand raised to cover a yawn. He helped Miriam and Hannah down. A couple of servants appeared and the landlord began to direct them to carry in the luggage.

  “We do not need everything,” Miriam said, “but if we leave it with the carriage will it be safe? Is there an ostler on duty all night to watch for thieves?”

  “But assuredly, madame. Always there are two men alert to provide horses for the diligence. Your bags will be perfectly safe.”

  “Good. We shall need three chambers and a private parlour.”

  “At once, madame,” said the landlord’s wife. “If madame will be so good as to step this way, out of the cold.”

  Miriam disappeared into the inn. Hannah showed the servants which bags were needed, and Felix strolled forward to look up at Isaac.

  “Our man is still there?” he asked softly in French.

  “He was a moment ago.” Isaac glanced back. “I expect he’ll wait until we have gone in before he comes any closer.”

  Felix nodded. “I hope this...” not knowing the word he waved his hand at the mist, “...goes away soon.”

  “It is probably clearer away from the river. Are you rested?”

  “I slept a little, but Hannah insists that I must go to bed right after dinner. She treats me just as my old nurse does.”

  Isaac grinned at his indignant tone. There was something innately likeable about the dashing young gentleman allowing his old nurse to bully him.

  Hannah went into the inn with the servants carrying bags and boxes. Felix followed them, and Isaac drove the berline to the end of the extensive stable yard farthest from the building.

  A few minutes later he stepped into the warmth of the inn. Lingering by the doorway, he watched as a rider wrapped in a greatcoat rode into the yard and dismounted. By the light of a lantern now lit against the dusk, he caught a glimpse of the man’s face.

  Hébert.

  Chapter 16

  Isaac was hungry enough to eat a horse. Nonetheless he recoiled when the waiter started removing covers from the dishes, releasing a veritable miasma of garlic. He had thought himself inured to the all-pervasive odour, and he had come to tolerate, almost to enjoy, the unavoidable flavour, but this was overwhelming.

  Felix turned greenish and even Miriam wrinkled her nose.

  The food looked delicious: a tureen of thick soup, some roast fowl, a couple of ragoûts, a variety of vegetables, and crusty golden loaves.

  “Which dish is it that contains garlic?” Miriam asked the waiter.

  He stared at her in surprise. “But everything, mam’selle. How is it possible to cook without garlic?”

  “The soup is the strongest,” said Hannah. The steam from the earthenware tureen before her wafted straight towards her quivering nostrils.

  “Pray remove the soup,” Miriam requested.

  The waiter shrugged his shoulders and obeyed. There might have been a slight diminution of the smell as the door closed behind him, but Isaac wouldn’t have taken his oath on it. He started to carve a duck and discovered that it was stuffed with whole cloves of garlic.

  Naturally the meat of the bird was impregnated with the stuff. He and Miriam and Hannah managed to eat a reasonable meal, but Felix, though he bravely tasted several dishes, ended up with bread. He swore that it, too, tasted of garlic, as did the wine.

  So did the cheese, when the second course arrived, and Miriam pushed away a sugar-glazed pastry after one bite.

  “Even that,” she said with a shudder. “I don’t dare try the coffee.”

  “Nor I,” Isaac agreed. “That settles it, Felix, we shall have to use your cognac. Garlic-flavoured brandy doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  Felix sighed. “Come up to my chamber and I shall give you the flask.”

  “I’d best make sure Hébert is actually in the coffee room or the tap room,” Isaac said. “If he has retired already we’ll have to change our plan.”

  He and Felix went together to peer through the open doors of the powerfully garlicky coffee room--no sign of their quarry--and then the tap room, which smelled more of alcohol and tobacco. The lieutenant slouched on a settle in a corner, a nearly empty wine bottle on the table before him.

  “It looks as if your job is half done,” said Felix, grinning, as they turned away.

  “He doesn’t look as if he’s happy with his job. Poor chap, I’d hate to have to face Grignol and tell him I had failed.”

  “Don’t feel too sorry for him. His failure is what we’re hoping for, remember.”

  “I’m not likely to forget. We’d best pay the reckoning now. I shall tell them we want to leave early.”

  “Good idea. If we don’t have to find someone to pay later, we might be able to slip away without rousing anyone but the ostler.”

  Isaac settled with the landlord, rejecting his offer to send someone to wake them at first light. “I have an alarum-watch,” he explained.

  The landlord nodded wisely. “Of course, Swiss watches are famous. In case you depart before I myself am about, I wish you bon voyage, messieurs.”

  “Well done,” said Felix in a low voice as the innkeeper hurried off about his business. “With luck he will never realize that we left at midnight rather than five in the morning.”

  Returning to the private parlour, they found that Miriam and Hannah had left, presumably retired to their shared chamber. Isaac couldn’t blame them, for though the table had been cleared the aroma lingered.

  “Thank heaven we’ll be gone before breakfast,” Felix muttered. “I’ll be damned if I could face it first thing in the morning.”

  They went up to his chamber. From his portmanteau he took one of the precious bottles of cognac and a chased silver pocket flask. Careful not to spill a drop of the nectar, he filled the flask and screwed on the top.

  “What a devilish waste,” he mourned, passing the flask to Isaac and drinking a mouthful from the bottle. “Ah, that will help me sleep. Good luck, old fellow.” He shook Isaac’s hand and clapped him on the back.

  Reflecting on the change in Felix’s attitude since they had left London together, Isaac crossed the corridor and raised his hand to tap on Miriam’s door. He caught himself just before his knuckles struck the wood. Miriam’s door. Miriam’s bedchamber. A wave of heat flooded his body.

  Was she expecting him, or had she returned to the parlour? Worse, was she in her chamber but expecting him to meet her in the parlour? If he knocked would she be embarrassed? Angry?

  Somewhere in the village a church clock struck nine. There was no time for hesitation. He glanced up and down the corridor and then knocked.

  The door opened at once. By the light of a pair of candles he saw that Miriam’s usually pale face was flushed, her smile tentative, with a hint of uncertainty in her wide eyes. However she reached out to take his arm and tug him into the room, closing the door behind him.

  Hannah stood guard, her face disapproving.

  “I was afraid someone might interrupt us in the parlour and see what we were doing,” Miriam said a trifle breathlessly. “Did Felix give you the flask?”

  He passed it to her. Their hands touched, sending a flash of lightning up his arm. For a moment she stared at him, her soft lips parted, then she swung round and set the flask on the dressing table.

  “Hannah, you have the vials and the court plaster?”

  “Right here, Miss Miriam.”

  “We decided that
if we put the laudanum into the flask, Hébert might taste it and be suspicious, or he might take a dangerous amount, or you might accidentally swallow some. So we have put just enough into this little vial to send him to sleep for twelve hours, or more since he will take it with alcohol. I’ll stick the vial to the flask with the plaster, like this. Be sure to keep the other side turned to him until you reckon he is drunk enough not to notice the taste, then pull out the stopper of the vial before you pour the cognac into his glass. You see?”

  Isaac moved closer to look. “You are ingenious...” and beautiful. He struggled to resist the desire to take her in his arms.

  Hannah spoke. “I made sure the stopper’s in firm, sir, so as it won’t fall out before you want it out. It’ll come out easy if you give it a bit of a twist.”

  “I see. I’m off then, and if all goes well I shall wake you as soon as the inn quiets down.”

  “I shall try to sleep, but Hannah will stay awake, just in case you are forced to drink more than you mean to. She can go down to the tap room to see what has happened without arousing suspicion.” Miriam gave him a quizzing look. “If she finds you under the table, she will fetch Felix to rescue you and carry you out to the carriage.”

  “I’ll do my best to avoid that fate, even if it means pouring the stuff down my sleeve. Wish me luck?”

  “I wish you luck, but I know very well you will be successful even without it.”

  He put the flask in his pocket, raised her hand to his lips, and departed.

  Lieutenant Hébert was slouched a little lower in his corner of the tap room. The bottle in front of him was empty. As Isaac paused in the doorway, a buxom barmaid went over to him, picked up the bottle, and said something.

  Hébert took a handful of coins from his pocket. Counting them, he scowled. He waved the girl away. She grabbed his glass and flounced off, disappointed.

  Isaac sauntered across the room. He felt silly and conspicuous, for his usual gait was a stride or a pace. No one took any particular notice of him though--except the lieutenant, who regarded him with a sour grin.

  “So, the Englishman.” His consonants were slightly slurred.

  “Swiss. No hard feelings, eh? I’ll treat you to a drop.” Signalling to the waitress, Isaac sat down.

  “Where’s your cousin?”

  “He and my sister have retired already, exhausted from our contretemps with Monsieur Grignol this morning.” The waitress arrived and he ordered a bottle of red wine, then continued, “He sent you after us, I take it?”

  “Monsieur le préfet never gives up. I’m to follow until I find proof you’re English spies. He’ll have my head if I don’t bring you back, and monsieur le maire will have it if I do,” he added gloomily.

  “You’ll have a hard time proving we are English spies, since we are Swiss tourists.”

  The girl returned with the wine and two glasses. Isaac paid her while Hébert filled the glasses.

  “Salut!” He downed his wine.

  “Santé!” Isaac sipped his and grimaced. The stuff was harsh to a palate Felix was beginning to educate. He refilled Hébert’s glass.

  “If you’re jus’ Swiss tourists, you won’t min’ saving me some trouble by telling me where you’re going.”

  “Not at all. Toulouse first, then Carcassonne. My cousin wants to go to Marseille but my sister doesn’t, so I cannot be sure after that.”

  “Rough place, Marseille.”

  “So I’ve heard. We shall probably just go to Avignon and then homeward up the Rhône valley.”

  “No side trip to view the Pyr...Pyrenees?”

  “We are Swiss. We live among the Alps.”

  “Hunh. Drink up, drink up, you’re not drinking,” said the lieutenant irritably, pouring his fourth glassful. He was leaning with both arms on the moisture-ringed table, his long, lank hair dangling about his face.

  Isaac manfully swallowed his wine and filled his own glass again. The bottle was nearly empty. “To tell the truth, this is not much to my taste. I’ve got some good brandy here if you’d like to try a nip.” He took the flask from his pocket, careful to keep it the right way round.

  “You’re a goo’ fellow even if y’are English. Waste of my time following you ‘roun’ if y’ask me. Waste not, want not.” Hébert poured the last drop of wine, swilled it, and held out his glass.

  It was sacrilege to put the cognac in a dirty glass, but Isaac was afraid the barmaid might object to his bringing a full flask into the tap room. He poured half an inch of the amber liquid. Hébert sniffed, tasted, and a dreamy look came over his face. He warmed the glass in his hands, breathing deep of the heady vapours before he sipped again.

  Isaac eyed his own glass with distaste. He’d have to empty it before he could drink any cognac, but he knew his own limits. If he drank the wine he’d be in no fit state to start on the spirits, yet the notion of dumping it in his sleeve did not appeal. Philosophically returning the flask to his pocket, he raised the glass to his lips and took a small sip. After all, he consoled himself, superior brandy was a newly acquired taste and Felix still had several bottles.

  Hébert’s eyelids were drooping. Isaac wondered if he had drunk two bottles before the one they shared. He didn’t want the man to pass out before he dosed him with laudanum; there was too much risk that he would wake too soon.

  “Spare a drop more?” Hébert unsteadily pushed his glass across the table.

  As Hannah had promised, the vial’s glass stopper came out with a quick twist. It proved less easy to tilt the flask in such a way that all the laudanum flowed out without a flood of cognac overfilling the glass. Isaac managed to pour no more than half a glassful. He pushed it back across the table.

  “Too full.” The lieutenant squinted at it with bleary-eyed reproach. “No room for bouquet. Too bad, English don’ unnerstan’ wine.” He raised the glass for a toast. Isaac winced as a little brandy slopped over the side. “Vive Napoléon!”

  It seemed wise to second the toast. “Napoléon,” Isaac murmured, and finished his wine.

  Hébert took a hefty swallow of cognac, perhaps with the laudable aim of leaving room in the glass for the bouquet. He grimaced, staring at his drink with a puzzled air. “Same stuff? Tas’ differen’.”

  “Same stuff.” Isaac poured himself a little and sipped, barely wetting his tongue. “The best.”

  “Mus’ be ‘cos you filled it too full,” he complained. He rolled another swig around his mouth, pulled a face, swallowed, and toppled face down on the table.

  Too late Isaac grabbed for the glass. An ounce of superb cognac and half a dose of laudanum sloshed onto the floor.

  Isaac groaned. Left to himself the man would probably sleep through the night, but here in the busy tap room he was not likely to be undisturbed. He had only taken half the drug. A good shaking might well rouse him.

  The barmaid stalked over, scowling. “Dead drunk, hein? Your friend can’t stay here. This is a respectable house.”

  “He’s just overcome by fatigue. I shall help him up to his chamber, if you can find out for me which it is.”

  “Jean-Paul!” she called to the tapster, “which room is this citizen in?”

  “He didn’t take a chamber. Said he had to keep watch all night or his patron would hang him.”

  “Watch what?”

  The tapster shrugged. “Who knows?” He turned away to serve a customer.

  “Zut alors!” The girl turned back to Isaac. “Our patron will chuck him out. He won’t stand for drunks littering the place. You want to share your room with him?”

  “God forbid!” That was the last thing he wanted to do, for more than one reason. He eyed the snoring man with distaste. Yet he couldn’t let Hébert be thrown out. The chill night air was bound to revive him. “I’ll hire another chamber for him,” he decided.

  “Don’t blame you. He’s going to be sick as a dog by the looks of him. I’ll tell the patronne. She’ll send someone to show you the way.”

  The landlad
y came herself. “If monsieur will be so good-- payment in advance? With such a one as your friend, you understand, and my husband says you mean to depart early tomorrow...”

  “Of course.” Isaac paid her, adding a sizable tip. “My friend does not travel with us, however. You will permit him to sleep as late as he wishes in the morning, I trust.”

  “But naturally, monsieur. He can have the second room to the right on the third floor. Here is the key. You will want someone to help you, without doubt?”

  He looked at Hébert. The lieutenant was not a particularly large man. There was always a chance he might start talking when he was moved. “Thank you, madame, I can manage him.”

  She shrugged. “As you will.”

  Taking Hébert by the shoulders, he leaned him back on the settle. The landlady helpfully pulled out the table as she left. Isaac bent down and draped one of Hébert’s arms across his back, put his arm around the man’s waist, and awkwardly raised him to his feet. He was not accustomed to assisting drunkards. No doubt this was something else Felix would do better.

  As they started across the tap room, Hébert’s feet moved automatically in step and he began to mutter. Only a couple of words were comprehensible, but those were “...English spies....” Cold all over, Isaac raised a prayer of thanks that he had rejected assistance.

  A few heads turned to glance at them as they passed, but no one was interested in so commonplace a sight. They reached the bottom of the stairs without incident and began the climb.

  If he had dared leave the lieutenant unattended, Isaac would have gone to wake Felix. The staircase might as well have been the Matterhorn, so difficult was the ascent. In the end, he hoisted Hébert right up onto his shoulders, head hanging down one side, feet the other. This brought Hébert’s face into close proximity with his own. He reeled as a blast of alcohol-laden breath struck him.

  Labouring up the stairs, he cursed the landlady for sending him to the top of the house.

  When he reached the chamber, he guessed the reason. The room was little more than a garret, the straw mattress covered with a sheet that had seen better days, and by the look of it more than one use since it was last laundered. He couldn’t blame the woman. It was all too likely that the lieutenant would cast up his accounts when he awoke, if not before.