Read Online Miss Jacobson's Journey by Carola Dunn - Free Book Online

parts.
    “I’ve not the least notion what you are talking about, let alone what the French equivalents are,” she expostulated.
    “I don’t suppose you have,” he admitted, grinning. His face was transformed. If he had been handsome before, he was irresistible now, and Miriam found herself smiling idiotically in response. “Not one female in a thousand would know what a curb chain is,” he went on. “How does one say, `What’s that called?’“
    “ Comment est-ce qu’on appelle ça?“
    “Commong tess con a pell sah?”
    “Not bad. Try again.”
    “You say it again first.”
    “ Comment appelle-t-on cela?“
    “That’s not the same.”
    “Oh no, sorry. There are several ways of saying the same thing, just as in English you might say `What’s that called’ or `What do you call that’ or `What is the word for that’ . ”
    “I thought `what’ was `coy’ . ”
    “Coy? Oh, quoi!” She chuckled.
    Felix looked affronted by her mirth, but then, reluctantly, he laughed. “Coy--kwah. No wonder that ostler decided I was speaking German. But ‘four’ is also spelled q-u-, yet you said it is pronounced ‘katra’, did you not?”
    “Yes, sort of.” Miriam frowned in thought. “Of course, the `w’ sound doesn’t come from the q-u- but from -o-i, like toi et moi.”
    “I’m not ready yet for twah ay mwah,” he said in haste. “Where did you learn French?”
    “Où est-ce que vous avez appris le français?“
    “No, I mean where did you learn it?”
    “At school. At the Cheltenham Seminary for Young Ladies.”
    “They accept Jews?” His evident incredulity made her look at him askance, and he added stiffly, “I beg your pardon, Miss... Miriam. I don’t doubt your word.”
    She nodded acceptance of his apology and continued, her tone dry, “I emerged from that less than exclusive establishment speaking not much better than you, but I’ve spent a year and more in France since then. My uncle spoke Yiddish, and good German, and some Polish and Russian, but he’d had no occasion for French before I joined him. As I already had a foundation in the language he relied on me to interpret for him. I may not know about harnesses, but I have a superior vocabulary of medical terms.”
    “Your uncle was a doctor?”
    Whether his interest was genuine or by way of a peace offering, Miriam was not sure. Either motive was acceptable, she decided, and regaled him with a history of her travels.
    By the time they reached the next inn he was definitely interested, even somewhat admiring. If he was also somewhat disapproving, it only went to show that he was beginning to think of her as a gently-bred lady, not merely a Jewess, or so she hoped. Admittedly her life with Uncle Amos had not conformed to the highest standards of propriety.
    Tact--and the continuing drizzle--dictated that she stay in the berline while the horses were changed. She watched, though, and heard Felix say grandly, “ Je paierai bien quatre bons chevaux.”
    Once again Miriam winced at his accent, which seemed to her appallingly English, but the ostler simply gave him an odd look and moved to obey.
     Felix grinned in triumph at Isaac, descending from the box. Isaac said something, inaudible to Miriam, that wiped the grin from his lordship’s face, replacing it with a scowl. Sighing, she sat back against the cushions.
    “I wonder why those two are at daggers drawn.”
    “Jew and Gentile’s like oil and water,” said Hannah philosophically.
    “There’s more to it than that, I vow. Now that they are both on speaking terms with me, perhaps I’ll be able to find out why they loathe each other so.”
    “Let sleeping dogs lie, Miss Miriam.”
    “But they’re not sleeping. They snap and growl at each other constantly.”
    “Like that picture you drew at Mr. Rothschild’s house.”
    “Did you see it? The lion and the panther?”
    “I’ve got it right here in my reticule.” She patted the capacious drawstring bag of faded