Read Online Miss Jacobson's Journey by Carola Dunn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carola Dunn
Tags: Regency Romance
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very persuasive and he promised to get us to England afterwards.”
“So you wish to return to England? Surely you could have done so years ago.”
“If it had been easy, I daresay I might have. But Napoleon was preparing to invade England, Uncle Amos had no desire to go, and I enjoyed seeing the world.”
Miriam found herself once again recounting the story of her travels and Uncle Amos’s death. Isaac was a more sympathetic, less disapproving audience than Felix. Nonetheless, by the time they reached the Coq d’Or at Blois she decided it was ridiculous that she had now told her life history twice while she still knew next to nothing about the others.
“It will be their turn to talk this afternoon,” she said to Hannah as they tidied themselves before rejoining the gentlemen for refreshments. “I’m beginning to like both of them, and I’m determined to see them on better terms with each other.”
“Tread carefully, Miss Miriam,” advised the maid. “God forbid you should offend them when you’ve just got them half way tamed.”
“I shall have the lion and the panther eating out of my hand yet,” Miriam vowed.
When they went down to the dining room, she discovered that whatever Felix ate out of her hand it wouldn’t be saucisson à l’ail. That the Coq d’Or’s sausage was exceptionally garlicky she had to admit. Its rich aroma met her as she entered the room. It made her mouth water and a number of other patrons were downing their shares with evident gusto, but Felix stared at the delicacy with glum disgust, his nostrils quivering.
She sat down beside him.
“I cannot,” he said, raising his napkin to his nose. He even looked a trifle green about the gills.
“And I ought not,” said Isaac. He looked relieved to have an excuse for not tasting the pungent sausage.
Miriam hesitated. She had acquired a taste for garlic on her travels, and she refused to let considerations of kosher and non-kosher rule her. But on the other hand garlic had a nasty way of lingering on the breath. Shut up in the berline with non-garlic-eaters, she’d be afraid to open her mouth.
“And I shall not,” she said, sighing. “I asked for cold meat.” She signalled to a waiter who removed the offending dish, returning shortly with a plate of cold chicken and a cheese board.
Oddly enough, neither Felix nor Isaac wrinkled their noses at the emanations from a ripe Camembert. A pair of crisp-crusted loaves rapidly disappeared, and the level in the carafe of vin rouge du pays had sunk to a bare half inch when Miriam saw two men in scarlet uniforms and white-plumed shakos enter the dining room.
Two others stood outside, blocking the door.
She felt the blood drain from her face. Felix dropped his napkin and began to rise.
“Soldiers!” he hissed.
“May God preserve us,” gasped Hannah, as Isaac reached across to lay a hand on Felix’s arm.
“Sit down. You’ll only draw attention to us. Perhaps they have come for a meal.”
Miriam shook her head. A swift glance had shown a glimpse of scarlet at every window and at the swinging door to the kitchen. “They’re searching for something...”
The gold-braided, black-moustached officer rapped on the nearest table with his cane. Abruptly the hum of conversation ceased.
“ Vos papiers, citoyens!”
Her voice trembling, Miriam completed her sentence in a whisper. “...Or someone.”
Chapter 7
With outward calm, Isaac took the package of papers from the inside pocket of his coat and laid it on the table. Seeing the sheen of sweat on Felix’s forehead, he was proud of the steadiness of his hands, his self-control in not swinging round to look at the soldiers. Or would it be more natural to look? Miriam, an artificial expression of mild interest on her face, was watching their every move.
He ventured to turn his head. The scarlet coats were startlingly bright against a background of smoke-stained walls and the sober apparel of
“So you wish to return to England? Surely you could have done so years ago.”
“If it had been easy, I daresay I might have. But Napoleon was preparing to invade England, Uncle Amos had no desire to go, and I enjoyed seeing the world.”
Miriam found herself once again recounting the story of her travels and Uncle Amos’s death. Isaac was a more sympathetic, less disapproving audience than Felix. Nonetheless, by the time they reached the Coq d’Or at Blois she decided it was ridiculous that she had now told her life history twice while she still knew next to nothing about the others.
“It will be their turn to talk this afternoon,” she said to Hannah as they tidied themselves before rejoining the gentlemen for refreshments. “I’m beginning to like both of them, and I’m determined to see them on better terms with each other.”
“Tread carefully, Miss Miriam,” advised the maid. “God forbid you should offend them when you’ve just got them half way tamed.”
“I shall have the lion and the panther eating out of my hand yet,” Miriam vowed.
When they went down to the dining room, she discovered that whatever Felix ate out of her hand it wouldn’t be saucisson à l’ail. That the Coq d’Or’s sausage was exceptionally garlicky she had to admit. Its rich aroma met her as she entered the room. It made her mouth water and a number of other patrons were downing their shares with evident gusto, but Felix stared at the delicacy with glum disgust, his nostrils quivering.
She sat down beside him.
“I cannot,” he said, raising his napkin to his nose. He even looked a trifle green about the gills.
“And I ought not,” said Isaac. He looked relieved to have an excuse for not tasting the pungent sausage.
Miriam hesitated. She had acquired a taste for garlic on her travels, and she refused to let considerations of kosher and non-kosher rule her. But on the other hand garlic had a nasty way of lingering on the breath. Shut up in the berline with non-garlic-eaters, she’d be afraid to open her mouth.
“And I shall not,” she said, sighing. “I asked for cold meat.” She signalled to a waiter who removed the offending dish, returning shortly with a plate of cold chicken and a cheese board.
Oddly enough, neither Felix nor Isaac wrinkled their noses at the emanations from a ripe Camembert. A pair of crisp-crusted loaves rapidly disappeared, and the level in the carafe of vin rouge du pays had sunk to a bare half inch when Miriam saw two men in scarlet uniforms and white-plumed shakos enter the dining room.
Two others stood outside, blocking the door.
She felt the blood drain from her face. Felix dropped his napkin and began to rise.
“Soldiers!” he hissed.
“May God preserve us,” gasped Hannah, as Isaac reached across to lay a hand on Felix’s arm.
“Sit down. You’ll only draw attention to us. Perhaps they have come for a meal.”
Miriam shook her head. A swift glance had shown a glimpse of scarlet at every window and at the swinging door to the kitchen. “They’re searching for something...”
The gold-braided, black-moustached officer rapped on the nearest table with his cane. Abruptly the hum of conversation ceased.
“ Vos papiers, citoyens!”
Her voice trembling, Miriam completed her sentence in a whisper. “...Or someone.”
Chapter 7
With outward calm, Isaac took the package of papers from the inside pocket of his coat and laid it on the table. Seeing the sheen of sweat on Felix’s forehead, he was proud of the steadiness of his hands, his self-control in not swinging round to look at the soldiers. Or would it be more natural to look? Miriam, an artificial expression of mild interest on her face, was watching their every move.
He ventured to turn his head. The scarlet coats were startlingly bright against a background of smoke-stained walls and the sober apparel of
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