Miss Jacobson's Journey (10 page)

“I wish I could blow them all up,” said Felix passionately. “To think that they will soon be aimed at our men!”

“I daresay the absence of the gold we carry would do General Wellington more harm than the presence of a few more guns.”

He looked disconcerted. “I daresay,” he conceded with obvious reluctance. “That soldier you bandaged, was he a Jew?”

“I doubt it. Should I reserve my healing abilities for Jews?”

“He was an enemy.”

“He was in pain. Like the horse you shot.”

“That officer was a brute.” He paused, then went on stiffly, “I must beg your pardon, ma’am, for endangering you, and our mission, by my rash behaviour.”

“I quite understand that you could not bear to leave the horse to suffer, and no one else cared enough to put it out of its misery. It was a pity you forgot the French words in the heat of the moment but all’s well that ends well.”

He did not appear to take much comfort from her sympathy. Finding himself so clearly in the wrong was a blow to his self-esteem. Miriam decided it would be wise to wait until he showed signs of recovery before she attempted a discussion of personal matters. She turned to Hannah, and they talked about the Lévi children until the carriage stopped at the next posting house.

Felix stepped out at once. The change of horses was quickly accomplished, Isaac took his place, and they were on their way again.

“Did you rake Felix over the coals?” Miriam wanted to know. “He apologized for imperilling the expedition.”

“I should bloody well hope so! Of all the chuckleheaded things to do. No, I’d have liked to comb his hair with a joint stool but surrounded by French soldiers as we were it hardly seemed the right moment. Just wait till I get him somewhere private!”

“Since he is penitent, it will serve no purpose to reproach him now. Let it go, Isaac.”

“You are too forgiving. If that officer had been more confident of his recognition of English, we’d all be under arrest right now.”

“But we are not. Treating him like an errant schoolboy will only hurt his pride.”

“He needs taking down a peg or two.”

“Please?”

“Very well, I’ll consider it.” He still looked angry. “I don’t know why you are so concerned for the feelings of a Jew-hater.” He took a book from his pocket.

Obviously, it was the wrong time to try to persuade him that Felix was an agreeable young man. In fact, Miriam thought sadly, the breach between her companions seemed wider than ever.

  Chapter 9

 Luncheon was a sombre meal. Felix brooded and Isaac, though he held his tongue, had not forgiven him for his dangerous blunder. Miriam was glad to return to the carriage. She was almost beginning to think of it as home.

The road ran along the Vienne, a pretty river flowing between fields of sprouting grain and vineyards greening with new leaves. Before Miriam tired of watching the scenery, Felix tired of his solitary reflections and requested a French lesson. His ear for the language was improving steadily. She told him so as the berline rolled into Châtellerault and he flushed with pleasure.

He took his seat on the box, and Isaac replaced him inside the carriage.

“It’s like a country dance where one is constantly changing partners,” Miriam observed, laughing.

“You enjoy dancing?” Isaac asked.

“I hardly know. The lessons we had at school were fun, but of course we were all females. The girl chosen to partner the dancing master was an object of envy, though he was five foot two, the shape of a pear, and had bad breath. I was looking forward to the balls my friends promised to invite me to when they made their come-outs in Society--but I went off with Uncle Amos instead.”

“I’m sorry for any part I had in depriving you of the pleasure.”

She dismissed his wry apology with a wave. “My own choice. I am not too aged, I hope, to tread a measure when I reach England again! Do you like to dance?”

“I’ve never had any opportunity to find out.”

“You don’t disapprove? The Hasidic Jews in Poland dance, though they are the most hemmed about with restrictions of any community I know. Of course, they dance men with men and women with women.”

“They make women shave their heads when they marry, and wear wigs,” Hannah disclosed in accents of horror. “Did you ever hear the like? Now where’s the sense in that, I ask you. God forbid Miss Miriam should cut off her beautiful hair.”

“God forbid,” he echoed, with such fervour that Miriam blushed.

She rushed into speech. “The Hasidim live in another world, a medieval world. Actually, so do most of the Gentiles of Poland and Russia. The peasants who work the land are still the property of the landowners as they were in medieval times in England. Nothing has changed there for centuries.”

“But we live in a changing world. Our ancestors adapted to changing circumstances--the ways of life and worship of Abraham, the herdsman, evolved into those of the city-dwellers who built the Temple, and those were later adapted to the needs of the Diaspora. The history of Judaism is not static.”

“I know so little!” Miriam exclaimed in frustration.

Hannah patted her hand. “There’s an old saying, that a man who teaches the Torah to his daughter spreads heresy.”

“But why shouldn’t women learn too, whether it’s the Torah or Latin and Natural Philosophy? I would have liked to be a doctor, like Uncle Amos. Both Jews and Gentiles shut women out of full participation in life,” she challenged Isaac.

He took the wind out of her sails. “I agree. If you are not acquainted with the laws and their background, how can you decide which were more appropriate to another age and place, and which remain meaningful to you in today’s world? I eat non-kosher food, and to wash my hands after meals and say a blessing aloud in Hebrew would draw unwanted attention, but I never fail to say it silently to myself.”

“You do?”

“It’s important to me. Yet in the end, all that’s important is to love God and to love your neighbour as yourself. That is the foundation of our faith.”

His declaration made Miriam feel more Jewish, and more proud to be Jewish, than any amount of Sabbath observance. She saw that tears stood in Hannah’s eyes. For a few minutes they were all enveloped in their own thoughts.

Miriam broke the silence, her mind returning to a more immediate concern. “Then you don’t really mind having to give up the life of a Talmudic scholar?”

Isaac hesitated, then said in a surprised voice, “To tell the truth, no. My father pushed me into religious studies. I believe he hoped his son’s piety would atone for his worldliness. Once set on that course, I threw myself into it heart and soul, persuaded myself it was my choice. I even persuaded myself I resented having to quit it.”

“But you are not truly distressed?”

“I suspect I was never really suited to a life devoted to book-learning.”

“I’m glad.” She was thinking of his transformation from stooped, weak-eyed boy to attractive, vital man, but his look of quizzical enquiry drew a different explanation from her: “I mean, I’m glad that you are not still grieving over your abandoned books.”

 “I would not have you think I now avoid books altogether. I brought Maimonides Guide to the Perplexed with me, since it’s in Hebrew and will not raise suspicions.” He patted his pocket. “And at home I have been reading English translations of the works of Moses Mendelssohn, the German philosopher who advocated dispensing with practices that keep Jews apart from society at large.”

“Uncle Amos credited his ideas with making it possible for a Jew to study modern medicine without converting to Christianity.”

Miriam was pleased to note that Isaac was impressed by her recognition of Mendelssohn’s name and awareness of the significance of his teachings. Putting together Uncle Amos’s occasional comments and snippets recalled from her distant schooldays, she managed to ask an intelligent question about the influence of the Enlightenment on Judaism.

The subsequent discussion lasted until the berline rumbled into Poitiers. Returning Isaac’s smile as she took his helping hand to descend in the inn yard, Miriam realized she was happier than she had been since Uncle Amos’s last illness.

Isaac’s agreeable company and stimulating conversation delighted her. If only he would acknowledge Felix’s good points the rest of the journey might prove unexpectedly enjoyable.

Recovered from his megrims, Felix climbed down from the box with an air of complacency. Miriam wondered why he was so pleased with himself. He started to say something, but three ostlers converged on the carriage, forcing him to hold his tongue. Though the inn he had chosen, the Tête-de-Boeuf, was an imposing brick building facing the town square, there were few carriages in the yard. The landlord himself came out to greet them.

Isaac requested a private parlour and four bedchambers, only to be firmly contradicted by Hannah, who understood enough French to know when she disapproved.

“I’ll sleep in Miss Miriam’s room,” she insisted in Yiddish, adding darkly, “The place looks respectable enough, but you never can tell.” Her concern was all for propriety. Inquisitive soldiers had already become a commonplace in her mind.

Promising three comfortable chambers, an elegant dining parlour, and a superb meal, the solicitous innkeeper ushered them into the Tête-de-Boeuf and summoned his servants to attend them. While Miriam ordered dinner, Felix and Isaac went upstairs, cheerful at the prospect of not having to share a bed as they had for the last two nights.

A chambermaid bearing cans of hot water led Miriam and Hannah to a spacious room furnished with a huge featherbed. She assured them that their luggage would be carried up at once.

“Both Felix and Isaac are in a good humour,” Miriam said, taking off her grey cloak as the maid departed, “and likely to remain so if their chambers are as comfortable as this, and dinner as good as the landlord promised. As we have a private parlour, Felix will be able to speak freely. Perhaps tonight I shall be able to persuade them to cry friends.”

“Better be quick about it, then, afore they realize they’re rivals.”

“Rivals? What do you mean?”

“I’ve got eyes in my head, Miss Miriam. I’ve seen what I’ve seen. All men are fools, and if there’s one thing they’re more foolish about than others it’s a pretty girl.”

“Me?” Miriam laughed, but uneasily. “Nonsense. I’m not a girl any longer and my clothes are anything but smart. Besides, neither of them wanted me to go with them.”

“Changed their minds, haven’t they?s”

“Well, I have proved useful to them. I only hope they will change their minds about each other, for I like them both.” She was glad when a knock at the door interrupted the disturbing conversation. A wheezing old man brought in their boxes and Hannah’s attention turned to unpacking.

Once again clad in forest-green satin, Miriam regarded herself in the mirror. Her figure was still good, her pale skin flawless, her red hair thick and shiny, but no one could have taken her for an eligible damsel fresh from the schoolroom, she thought wistfully. Handsome young men like Isaac and Felix surely had their pick of the prettiest girls. If they found her attractive, it was because she was at present the only female other than Hannah with whom they were safe.

When she reached home, she would probably have to be satisfied with a widower for a husband. That wouldn’t be so bad, she told herself, if he was kind and loving.

She picked up her shawl and Hannah helped her drape it to hide the worn patch.

“Do you reckon you’ll need a chaperon?” said the abigail. “Being as how it’s a private room and there’ll be two gentlemen present.” She managed to convey without quite saying it that she wouldn’t trust either gentleman alone with her mistress.

“I need you as a chaperon, but still more, I need you with me as my friend. You can help me encourage them to be friends. Come on, I’m hungry.”

The private room was as elegant as the bedchamber was comfortable. Miriam felt out of place in her plain, shabby gown amidst Louis XV furniture and gilt mirrors she suspected must have been looted from some château during the revolution. In fact only Felix seemed entirely at ease, though he had conscientiously not dressed in full evening finery.

The food, however, was so delicious as to banish discomfort. Felix regarded the ubiquitous sauces with some suspicion, but in the end he had two helpings of everything and three of the trout à la Provençale. He pronounced the wines, chosen by mine host, superb and consumed a considerable proportion of each bottle.

Conversation languished until the waiters withdrew, leaving dried figs and raisins, nuts, pots de crème, and a selection of cheeses, along with coffee and brandy.

“What a splendid meal,” sighed Isaac, cracking a walnut. “No one can deny that the French excel in the kitchen.”

“And the cellar,” Felix said with a grin, warming a glass of cognac in his hand, “if in nothing else. Do you realize where we are?”

A vague memory stirred at the back of Miriam’s mind. “Wasn’t there a battle here?”

“Poitiers?” Isaac sounded blank.

“Don’t you know your history?” Felix asked impatiently. “Poitiers is where the English under the Black Prince trounced the French and took their king prisoner. We’ll do the same for Boney yet.”

“When was that?”

“1356.” Miriam recaptured memorized details of a lesson on the Hundred Years War. She could have cited the number of troops on each side at the Battle of Poitiers.

“Not our history then,” said Isaac in an even, noncommittal voice. “The Jews were expelled from England in 1290. We didn’t return till Elizabeth’s reign, and we were not welcome until Cromwell and the Commonwealth.”

Felix stared at him with a sneer. “I always doubted that a Jew could be a loyal Englishman.” He set down his glass, pushed back his chair, and rose. “Pray excuse me, ma’am.” He strode from the room.

Miriam gazed after him in dismay. What an ending to an evening she had expected to be a time of reconciliation! Isaac, his face a little pale, continued to pick the nutmeat from the shell. Hannah shook her head with a reproachful expression, as she had when Miriam was naughty as a child.