“You mean that is all he said to you?” she asked indignantly. “After all your trouble and danger!”
“Sir Edward Pakenham said the general tends to be abrupt in his speech, and after all he was preparing for a battle.”
“A battle! Thank heaven you didn’t arrive in the middle of it. I wonder what happened.”
“At least his soldiers went into the fight with gold in their pockets.”
“Thanks to you. It’s odd to think that the berline is no longer laden with gold.” She knocked on a side panel. It gave forth a hollow sound. “If we were arrested again, at least we’d not have to worry about that.”
The look of anger that crossed Isaac’s face startled her, but after a moment’s hesitation he said only, “It is easier to drive without the extra weight.”
She knew he was concealing something from her, though she could not imagine what. She did not venture to ask. His first coldness had not lasted long, but she was constantly conscious of a hint of wariness in his manner. Always kind and courteous and outwardly friendly, he was holding her at a distance.
It hurt, yet she could not blame him for it. Though she had only done what seemed to her necessary, in Isaac’s eyes she had chosen to stay with Felix rather than to go with him.
Her only consolation was that Felix’s shoulder was rapidly healing. She kept a solicitous watch to ensure that he did not overexert himself.
“Fussing like a mother hen,” observed Hannah. Hannah had regretfully agreed that Miriam was right to refuse Felix, though she thought the better of him for asking. “Now, if it had been Mr. Isaac as offered...”
“I cannot even be sure that he cares for me. Sometimes I wonder whether I truly know him at all.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t know himself what he wants. All men are fools. But it’s my belief he thinks you’ve fallen for his lordship.”
“If he is willing to yield to Felix without trying, he does not love me,” Miriam said unhappily. “There is nothing I can do.”
At Langon they rejoined the main road to Bordeaux, with its memories of Hébert’s sinister figure on their trail. Miriam suddenly began to wonder whether sailing from Bordeaux was such a good idea after all.
“We are known to the gendarmerie,” she reminded Kalmann. “Both the prefect and his lieutenant have good reason to bear grudges against us. Could we not go to some other port?”
“The sooner you leave France the better,” he grunted. “I shall not stay more than one night in Bordeaux, but my contacts there will give you shelter until they can smuggle you out. You won’t have to stay at an inn.”
She didn’t argue. Though the quiet young man was so different from his lively brother Jakob, he gave the same impression of being an irresistible force. Nonetheless, she insisted on his driving into the city, after sunset, while the rest of them hid inside the carriage with the blinds down. Surely a black berline was common enough not to be recognized in the dusk.
Kalmann took them straight to the Ségals. Suzanne welcomed Miriam with open arms and inspected Isaac and Felix with undisguised curiosity.
“So these are the charming young men you told me of,” she whispered slyly. “Which do you mean to have?”
“What makes you think I have a choice?”
“Chérie, it is plain to see they are both in love
à la folie.
But I shall not tease you now.” She raised her voice. “You are all tired from travelling,
sans doute.
My husband will be home shortly. If you will be so good as to follow my servant, messieurs, your chambers are already prepared.”
“You were expecting us?” Miriam asked, surprised.
“I did not know precisely who or when, but Ezra told me to expect guests.”
“I remember now, Monsieur Ségal mentioned that he was acquainted with Kalmann Rothschild. I should have guessed Kalmann would bring us to you.”
“I am delighted that he did.”
“So am I,” said Miriam fervently.
After that, she was not at all surprised when Ezra revealed that they were to be smuggled to England on a ship owned by the mayor of Bordeaux himself--along with a cargo of fine wine, naturally. Next day, after Kalmann’s departure and when Suzanne was out visiting, Monsieur Lavardac came to make final arrangements over a glass of wine in the Ségals’ elegant salon. His chasse-marée, he promised, could show a clean pair of heels to any ship of war or customs cutter.
“You’ve come at just the right moment,” he said. “L’Alouette returned from a voyage a week ago. We shall load her tonight and she’ll sail with the tide at midnight tomorrow night. By dawn you’ll be well out into the Gironde estuary and ten days will see you set ashore on the Cornish coast. So Grignol was right about you after all!” He laughed heartily. “We’ll drink a toast: to the Republic of France, and confusion to the Corsican usurper!”
Felix raised his glass. “To the vineyards of France, and long may their products find their way to England, in defiance of tyrants and taxes!”
The mayor roared with laughter and clapped Felix on the back. “A man after my own heart,” he exclaimed.
“Have you heard any recent news from Spain?” Felix asked. “Isaac, what was the name of the village where...”
Isaac frowned at him. “...Where I heard Wellington was encamped? Fuentes de Oñoro.”
“That’s the place. Your lord general beat Masséna, with the aid of a regiment of French émigrés, I’ve heard. The Chasseurs Britanniques, they’re called. Masséna retreated to Ciudad Rodrigo, and then claimed victory because the garrison of Almeida blew up the fortifications and escaped.”
Miriam looked at Isaac, but he seemed as unsure as she was whether the news was worthy of celebration.
Monsieur Lavardac left soon after, taking with him as much of their luggage as they could manage without overnight. He promised to send a carriage the following night to pick them up an hour before midnight and take them to the ship.
Ezra saw him out. As soon as they left the room, Felix turned to Isaac and said with some indignation, “He knows who we are. I cannot see that it matters if he knows where you went.”
“It is unfortunate that he had to be told we are English. The less information he has, the less he can disclose inadvertently, and I doubt this is the last time the Rothschilds will be sending gold to Wellington.”
“I daresay you are in the right of it,” Felix acknowledged. “And I daresay we ought to stay closeted in the house until tomorrow night. Deuced dull!”
He soon found a way to relieve the tedium. When Ezra went off to his bank and Suzanne returned from her unavoidable engagement, Felix embarked upon a flirtation with his hostess.
Compared to Rachel Abravanel, Suzanne was a sophisticated woman and a practiced coquette. Miriam found their sparring amusing, even instructive. Isaac, however, seemed uncomfortable. After a light luncheon, when they returned to the salon, he begged permission to investigate Ezra’s library.
Though Miriam would have liked to go with him, she felt uneasy about leaving Felix and Suzanne alone together. Not that she thought anything would happen--after all Felix was a gentleman and Suzanne a married woman. But then, that was really the problem. Surely Felix ought not to address those rather warm compliments to a married woman, or indeed to any respectable female, especially as, just a few days since, he had claimed to be in love with Miriam.
She was beginning to be disturbed, almost embarrassed, when Suzanne was called out of the room to deal with some domestic emergency.
“Your friend is a charming lady,” said Felix, in high good-humour. “I’m glad my French is now sufficient to entertain her.”
“How can you flirt with her like that!” Miriam couldn’t help reproaching him. “You are her husband’s guest.”
“It’s all a game,” he said with a careless gesture. “She’s no peasant girl; she understands that it doesn’t mean anything. After all, there can be no question of marriage. It is you I love and want to marry, Miriam.”
His ardent look made her blush, but it did not change her distaste for his behaviour. Suzanne came back with a gay complaint about servants and Miriam made an excuse to go and join Isaac.
When she entered the small, book-lined study, he rose politely to his feet, one finger marking his place in the volume he was reading. After one glance at her face, he at once asked, “What is wrong, Miriam?”
“Nothing, really,” she said uncertainly. He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I daresay I am being over-nice. It is just that I cannot be quite comfortable with the way Felix flirts with Suzanne, though of course I know it means nothing, as he has explained.”
“I am sure he is simply amusing himself to pass the time.” Isaac hesitated. “Do not forget that he is a member of London Society, even if he does work for a living. I believe such games are commonplace in the Polite World, as they like to call themselves.”
Miriam smiled. “Yes, you are right. I should have recalled the stories I heard at school. I suppose flirtation is a reasonable way to treat females if you consider females to be unreasonable creatures.”
“As I do not. Did you come looking for something to read? Monsieur Ségal has a choice collection encompassing everything from religion and philosophy to poetry and novels.”
“If you don’t mind, tell me about what you are reading.”
“As a matter of fact,” he admitted sheepishly, “it is a novel I should hesitate to discuss with even the most reasonable of females.”
She went off into peals of laughter. “I was quite certain it was some weighty philosophical tome. Show me where Ezra keeps his novels and I shall choose one for myself.”
They settled in the comfortable leather chairs but, despite her mirth, Miriam found it most distracting to know that Isaac was reading a naughty French novel. She kept peeking across at him, only to find him peeking at her. In the end, she thought he was as relieved as she was when Suzanne came in.
“It is a beautiful afternoon. Come and walk in the garden. It is walled so you will be quite safe there.”
Miriam had almost forgotten their dangerous situation. Just one more day and they would be aboard the Alouette, as safe as they could be until they set foot on English soil.
The next evening, shortly before eleven, the travellers gathered in the dimly lit entrance hall with the Ségals. In hushed voices they exchanged thanks and best wishes.
Suzanne embraced Miriam. “It is a difficult choice,” she whispered, “but I believe Monsieur Cohen is the one for you.”
“So do I,” Miriam whispered back.
“Chérie, I wish you luck and bon voyage. But you have said nothing of my hair. You do not like it?”
“You dyed it? It is so natural I did not even notice.” With an affectionate smile, Miriam kissed her good-bye.
Somewhere a clock began to strike. There was a tapping on the front door. Dousing the single candle, Ezra opened the door. A boy stood silhouetted against the lamp-lit cobbles, and behind him waited a small closed carriage with a pair of horses. The coachman on the box had his hat pulled low, his collar turned up --at night, even in May, a chill breeze blew off the estuary.
“Ready, monsieur?” whispered the boy.
A last flurry of good-byes and they set off through the dark, eerily silent streets. No one spoke, and even the wheels and the horses’ hooves, muffled with rags, made little sound.
Miriam was surprised when, rather than heading for the docks, they soon left the town behind. Now and then a gibbous moon appeared between racing clouds to show a gleam of water on their right. They were driving north along the Garonne.
A mile or so beyond the town, the carriage stopped in the shelter of a clump of trees close to the river. The boy jumped down from the box and opened the door.
“Get out now,
s’vous plaît, messieurs, ‘dames,“
he said in a low voice, “and wait here. I got to make sure the boat’s come.”
Felix stepped out and helped Miriam and Hannah down. Isaac followed with their few bags. He closed the door behind him and immediately the carriage started off again. It was pitch dark under the trees, but Miriam made out the boy a dozen yards off, kneeling on the edge of the grassy bank, apparently speaking to someone below. She glanced back. The carriage had pulled out from the trees to turn, and as it turned the moon conspired with its own reflection in the river to cast a pale light on the driver’s face.
“Hébert!”
In her shock she cried the name aloud. The driver whipped up his horses, thundered towards and past them, and disappeared into the night.
Chapter 22
“Come on, let’s go.” Isaac didn’t pause to confirm that Miriam had seen the lieutenant. He grabbed their bags and they all dashed across the grass.
The boy had stood up and was staring after the carriage. “
Que diable a-t-il?“
“
Gendarme,”
said Isaac curtly. “Hurry.”
A boat rocked gently on the water a few feet below the bank, with two men at the oars. Isaac picked up Miriam in an undignified flurry of skirts and lowered her into an oarsman’s arms. Hannah squawked with alarm as he dispatched her after her mistress. The boy dropped the bags over then slid down the bank to join them, and Felix and Isaac followed suit. Seizing the boathook, the boy pushed off. The boat glided out from the bank.
The men bent to the oars and for a few minutes the only sounds were the rhythmic creak of the rowlocks and the lapping of ripples against the boat’s sides. Then, somewhere in the darkness, a chain clanked.
“There actually is a ship out there,” said Miriam softly, with a sigh of relief.
Isaac peered ahead. The moon shone hazily behind a thin veil of cloud at present but he saw a black shadow that might be a small vessel at anchor in the middle of the wide river. “Yes, I think I see it. The way the moonlight comes and goes, it’s difficult be sure of anything.”
“Impossible,” Felix agreed. “Miriam, are you sure you recognized the lieutenant? You didn’t imagine it?”
“The coachman looked just like Hébert.” She sounded uncertain.