Miss Jacobson's Journey Read Online Free

permitted.
    “Monsieur speaks only German and Yiddish, mademoiselle. You may tell me...”
    “I speak both languages. My business with Herr Rothschild is private,” she insisted.
    With a slight bow he departed, returning a moment later to usher them into an elegantly appointed drawing room.
    “Monsieur will join you shortly, mademoiselle.”
    Glancing round at the elaborately ornate Louis XV furniture, the delightful Fragonard hanging over the rococo mantelpiece, Miriam felt shabbier than ever. Herr Rothschild would laugh at the pittance in her reticule. She must rely on her feminine wiles.
    She pinched her cheeks and went to warm her hands at the fire. Hannah stayed by the door.
    It opened and in came a short, slim, red-haired youth, clad in the latest Parisian fashion--the English swallow-tail coat as influenced by French military uniforms. He bowed gracefully.
    Miriam stared in dismay as she curtsied. He was far too young for her to flirt with, no more than eighteen or nineteen, with a boyish spring to his step and an air of scarce-suppressed energy. Surely this was not the man she had come to beg for passage to England!
    But it was. He introduced himself in excellent Hessian German: “Jakob Rothschild, at your service, Fräulein.”
    Abandoning her prepared opening, she said bluntly, “I understand that you have connections in London, Herr Rothschild. I am anxious to travel to England, and I hoped you might be able to help me.”
    “You are English?” he enquired, suddenly intent. “You speak German well. Bitte, setzen Sie sich, Fräulein Jacobson.”
    She took a seat on a gilt and brocade chair by the fireplace. “I spent the last several years travelling around Europe with my uncle. I speak several languages.”
    “French, of course.” He stood opposite her, leaning against the mantel with a natural elegance. “Spanish?”
    “A little, and some Italian.”
    The latter he brushed aside as of no account. “You know the south of France? The Pyrenees?”
    “My uncle and I spent some time among the Jews of that region,” she admitted with some caution, beginning to wonder at his interest. “I have crossed the Pyrenees more than once.” Twice, actually; once in each direction.
    He gazed at her consideringly. “But you are an Englishwoman. You would like to help your country?”
    “Miss Miriam!” Hannah stepped forward, an urgent warning on her lips.
    “It’s all right, Hannah. Mein Herr, at present my only wish is to return to my country.”
    To her surprise, the young Rothschild laughed. “So, you have heard that I and my brother Nathan are smuggling gold from England against the wishes of the government. I believe I must trust you with the truth, Fräulein, for you appear to be the very person I need.”
    “The truth?” she asked, bewildered. “You need me?”
    “The truth is that Nathan, who is a naturalized Englishman, has been commissioned by the British government to convey a very large sum of money to General Wellington in Portugal. I have received the gold here in Paris and now it must be transported through France and across the Pyrenees.”
    “I’m delighted to hear that you are working for the British government, but what has it to do with me?”
    “You have asked a favour of me, now I shall ask a favour of you. I need a guide to assist in this venture. You speak French and Spanish, you know the country. Help me in this and I shall see that you reach England safely.”
    “Surely you can hire someone!”
    “For this task, I cannot trust anyone I might hire in France.”
    “I suppose not,” Miriam unwillingly agreed.
    “You see, Fräulein, your government sent a guardian with the shipment, an English goy to make sure that we Jews do not cheat. But this gentleman,” he said the word in English, “Lord Felix Roworth, knows nothing of France. There is also Nathan’s agent, who must accompany the gold so that he can take Wellington’s receipts back to my brother. He too is