The Cornish Heiress (13 page)

“Let me hear it,” Philip said cautiously.

He had heard Roger’s arguments about Pierre’s plans. Too
often the reason Roger would not listen was because the plan entailed Pierre
taking all the risk while Roger sat safely in a hideaway. Being eager for
action himself, Philip could understand how that would be easier on Pierre’s
nerves. It was always easier to face danger oneself than to permit a loved one
to do so.

“I can obtain for you papers that will identify you as of
the
Douane
, you understand, the Customs. That is better than a merchant.
An officer of the
Douane
is free to travel and also it is a good reason
to be curious and poke your nose into many matters. Unfortunately, this will
not make you free of military installations. Bonaparte’s grip on the army and
navy is much stronger than on any other part of the government. Of course,
there is much corruption on the procurement end. Even God, I think, could not
enforce honesty in the purchase of military and naval goods. However, there are
spies watching everywhere, and informers watching the spies. Moreover, the
number of military inspectors is smaller and too many are known to each other.”

“Do not bother apologizing,” Philip laughed. “I am
completely enchanted with what you offer. By God, if I cannot find a good
excuse to get into Boulogne’s port and naval yards as a Customs officer, I am
an idiot. There are so many—”

“Wait,” Pier interrupted. “I am not finished. Last July when
I went to sell cloth and shoes at Boulogne—that was when I discovered the spies
who spied on the spies and found an honest man could not make a decent profit—”

Philip snickered, and Pierre scowled at him but neither was
interested in reviving the familiar, comic argument about the distinction
between illegal and dishonest.

“It is not decent,” Pierre went on with real anger, “for a
price to be agreed upon and then a new official to come forward, all of a
sudden, and announce a tax on all sales. Always the tax is paid by the final
purchaser. That is the custom.”

“You see,” Philip teased, “there are uses for custom and
law.”

Pierre hit Philip gently on the head. “Quiet, whelp. Do not
be impertinent.”

Philip laughed. “But, Pierre, you are not reasonable. If the
government is the final purchaser—as it must be at Boulogne—it cannot pay tax
to itself. That is silly. But, still, money is needed to pay for the material.
So the seller pays the tax, which makes it possible for the government to buy
again.”

“I may or may not be reasonable,” Pierre remarked dryly,
“but I am not a fool. All such a procedure results in is raising the price of
the goods—and by far more than the value of the tax. I was willing to sell
direct to the government in Boulogne. Now I take my goods elsewhere, sell to a
private procurer. Sometimes he sells to the government, more often he sells to
still another private party. Each time the price goes up, and the final seller,
knowing he will be taxed, merely increases
his
price by the amount of
the tax or, perhaps, a little more.”

Philip made a moue of distaste and shrugged. He knew what
Pierre said was true, but he was not interested in trade. Although the attitude
was changing slowly, the heritage of the land-based aristocracy was strong in
Philip. He accepted that involvement in trade to make a living was
degrading—but not, naturally, in the course of an adventure. He felt his father’s
stint as a gunsmith in revolutionary France was a brilliant act, and was
himself quite prepared to be anything including a cowman or a street sweeper.

“That is not to the point,” Pierre went on. “What is
important is that I dealt with the master of the port in Boulogne, and he has a
daughter of whom he is dotingly fond.”

“Daughter,” Philip echoed, instantly alert. “Do you think—”

“Very likely,” Pierre assured him. “She is young, not very
attractive—less from bad features than from bad manners. She is awkward and
spoiled. She interrupted her father and myself several times with nonsense,
which a well-regulated daughter would never do, and her father did not
reprimand her. Now, it is possible she is affianced or married since then, but
I think her father is the stupid kind of man who wishes to hold his daughter
for himself.”

“But then he would scarcely welcome my attentions to her.”

“But no,” Pierre said, smiling, “on the contrary. If it is
clear that you will only stay for a short time, that you have come only to
investigate some particular problem, for example, and your permanent base is
far away, then the gentleman will be glad for you to escort his daughter. You
will not be a suitor for her, you see, only an amusement.”

“That will be an interesting experience,” Philip remarked,
laughing. “Every papa I have ever met seemed positively panting to unload his
dear daughter—or daughters.”

“I may be wrong. Be careful what you say in the beginning,”
Pierre warned. “If he
is
looking for a husband, do not deceive him.
Murmur hints that you have influential friends—”

“So I have!” Philip put in, grinning.

“—and that you could obtain a transfer,” Pierre continued,
ignoring Philip’s mischievous interjection.

“Yes, all right, but I hate…I mean, it seems unkind to raise
such hopes in a young woman,” Philip said.

“Omelets cannot be made without breaking eggs,” Pierre
replied indifferently. His opinion of women, except for Philip’s stepmother and
Red Meg, both of whom he had come to admire and appreciate, was very low. “Soon
enough she will find someone else—or do you believe your charms are fatal?”

“Not that,” Philip said, still a bit disturbed, “but one
does not like to imply a promise to a woman… However, you are right, of course.
One cannot consider such things when the welfare of one’s country is at stake.
I shall do my best not to wound the poor creature, but I will not allow that to
stand in my way.”

“Bravo! Spoken like a true patriot.” Pierre laughed. “You
are very like your papa, but I think a
little
less silly about women.
Now, let us go back to the inn. I will have to return to France to obtain the
papers. It will be safer if my crew thinks you are a refugee who will do some
purchasing for me and then come back with the goods to France. I have had
trouble buying in England these last few months because the fools think I am
French and either believe refusing to sell to me is patriotic or believe they
will be called traitors if they sell. I will explain to you what is necessary
for you to do. It would be good for the crew to hear us talk about that. Also,
there is a problem with the—the lady who is my contact here in Cornwall.”

“Lady?” Philip repeated, grinning. “A female smuggler is
scarcely a lady.”

“Not by birth, perhaps,” Pierre admitted, but there was a
note of doubt in his voice that Philip did not pick up. Pierre had certain
suspicions about the girl known to him as Red Meg that he did not choose to
examine because he felt it was none of his business.

“Nonetheless,” he went on, “Mademoiselle Meg is a lady in her
dealing with me and in her behavior.”

They had walked back much more quickly than the slow pace
they had kept to while moving away. Still, Pierre had enough time before they
reentered the inn to explain what had happened between Black Bart and Meg and describe
his uneasiness about her safety.

“I was going to ask her if she would be my purchasing
agent,” Pierre finished as they entered and resumed their seats at the table in
the corner. Pierre signaled for drinks to be brought and went right on talking,
ignoring the landlord who brought the tumblers of brandy to the table. “She is
most certainly English and could buy without question. However, it would be
better if someone I know went with her.”

Philip understood that. It was for the benefit of the
landlord, to demonstrate his trust in Philip. Actually Pierre had made it clear
that his purpose was not to check on Meg’s honesty but to protect her. John’s
devotion was no match for his limitations. Once they were sure Bart was out of
the area or caught by the law, the need for protection would probably be over,
but if Philip could be with Meg for the next two weeks, Pierre said, it would
be a big load off his mind.

“I will do it gladly,” Philip answered, smiling.

“Good, then you had better drink up and get back to where
you are staying. Mademoiselle Meg will be here tomorrow night, about the same
time you came. We will all speak together then and settle one way or another.”

Although there had been no sign of Black Bart in the two
past weeks, even when she and John had made several large deliveries, Megaera
was shaking with nervousness as she prepared to meet Pierre. She knew it was
ridiculous. Certainly Bart would make no attempt on her tonight of all nights.
He must know that she would be doubly on guard after what had happened. Knowing
it was ridiculous, Megaera still took every precaution, having John drive the
pony out first and emerging herself in the shelter of the animal with pistols
drawn.

Nothing happened, but Megaera was exhausted by the time she
and John reached The Mousehole. She had been obliged to be doubly alert, for
she could not count on another pair of ears—or even eyes, because there was no
way Megaera could think of to explain to John that he must watch for an ambush.

Megaera’s face was so blanched, her eyes so wide when she
entered The Mousehole, that her fear was apparent even in the dim light. Pierre
jumped to his feet and went over to her, asking anxiously whether she had been
attacked again. As she laughed shakily and disclaimed, honestly blaming her
nerves for her appearance, Philip had also risen and turned. He barely
restrained a whistle and a grin of appreciation when he saw the woman to whom
Pierre was speaking. No wonder he called her “a lady” and worried about her. His
father had always said Pierre was completely impervious to feminine charms,
but, of course, he was growing older and the girl—what a beauty!

No, Philip thought, bowing with grace when Pierre brought
her to the table, it would be no hardship at all to guard her. He murmured
something polite in French, noting her surprise that Pierre was not alone. She
smiled at him, however, and interest seemed to drive much of the fear out of
her. Philip, who had never seen Megaera before, had thought her beautiful even
while she was pale and her expression rigid and distorted by fear. As the fear
dissipated, animation filled the large eyes, the corners of the pretty mouth
curled up, and the lips resumed their normal rosy color. Philip was enchanted.
He had probably seen more beautiful women, but never in an overlarge and
unclean man’s jacket and well-fitting but stained and worn buckskin breeches.

Megaera was not as impressed with Philip’s appearance, but
that was because she did not pay it particular attention, not because she
thought him unhandsome. She had first glanced at him only briefly when Pierre
asked permission to introduce her to someone “very close” to him. He had a
proposition to make, he said, that might increase Meg’s profit, but this young
man, Philippe Saintaire (Pierre simply used the name Roger had adopted when he
was in France) would have to be involved.

It was a mark of Megaera’s trust in Pierre that she felt no
more than a deep interest in who “Philippe” was as she agreed to meet him and
listen to Pierre’s proposition. What in the world could “very close” mean?
Surely Pierre would have simply said so if the young man were his nephew. And
he could not be Pierre’s son because the names were different…or could he? As
they approached the table Megaera studied Philip’s fine-featured, dark-eyed,
dark-skinned face. There was certainly a Gallic look to him, not particularly
like Pierre but not unlike either.

There was no rule that a son needed to resemble his father,
and why should Pierre conceal the relationship? Then Megaera had to be careful
not to giggle aloud or smile too broadly. Dear Pierre, he must be afraid of
shocking her. She remembered that he had said once when they were talking that
he was not married. Very likely this Philippe was his natural son. As a
countrywoman who managed her father’s estate, Megaera could scarcely be shocked
by an illegitimate birth, but it was sweet of Pierre to think she needed
sparing.

They all sat down together. Pierre, speaking in English for
Meg’s benefit, began to describe his problem and his need for a purchaser who
was plainly and clearly English—which Philip was not. Megaera was definitely
interested, especially when Pierre mentioned the commission to which she would
be entitled. Pierre was intrigued by her interest. He knew what kind of profit
she must be making on the smuggled goods. He knew she drove the hardest bargain
she could. It was obvious she was not spending the money on herself. Even
though simple caution would prevent a clever woman like Meg from coming to a place
like The Mousehole in silks and jewels, she could have bought a new coat or
some trinkets to show him privately. Pierre knew Meg trusted him.

The natural assumption was that Meg dressed as she did
deliberately and that she needed money desperately for some important purpose.
Once or twice Pierre, who was a rich man, had hinted that he might be able to
help if she would tell him what the problem was, but she had frozen up
instantly, becoming distant and different. That “difference”, a hauteur of manner,
plus the clothing that did not fit and almost disfigured her person, added to
her rigid and painstaking honesty, made Pierre reasonably sure that Meg was no
common farmer’s wife or dishonest lady’s maid driven from her place.

Although his curiosity was aroused, Pierre knew it was none
of his business. It was Meg’s secret, and he had neither the right nor any
reason to pry. He glanced at Philip, wondering whether the young Englishman
would note the incongruity between Meg’s dress and manner and be able to guess
the cause. Then he had to struggle against laughter as, previously, Meg had to
struggle against suppressed giggles. The attention Philip was bestowing on Meg
was scarcely owing to his recognition of a problem. However, Pierre thought
mischievously, it might certainly lead to the disclosure of Meg’s secret—any
secret.

None of these thoughts had prevented Pierre from detailing
what he needed and the easiest way to go about getting it. Megaera listened,
frowning. The dealers were mostly in and around Falmouth, which was about
thirty miles away. That meant two days away from home, and it would not be
possible to take John. Even if he were not frightened to death by the many
carriages and crush of people, he would be in danger through his deafness and
his ignorance of what dangers to watch for. Megaera shrank from the thought of
riding thirty miles alone, seeking a hotel without her maid and footmen.

One half of her brain was calculating how much the
commission would reduce the principal on the mortgages. The other half was
telling her she was an idiot. How could she worry about going to a hotel alone
when she was not afraid to direct a smuggling operation? But it was not
physical things Megaera feared, really. Anticipation of an attack by Black Bart
set her nerves on edge and set her trembling, but the haughty contempt of a
landlord made her soul shiver. What if she should be turned away from the
decent hotels? Her eyes roamed over The Mousehole, and she shuddered a little.
Would she have to stay in a place like this? Only by coming here to deal with
Pierre had she grown accustomed to the place. The first times, John had been
with her and no one had dared insult her. Now, of course, she was known. No one
would think of interfering with Pierre’s business partner, even if she was a
woman.

“I am afraid,” Pierre said, hesitantly, “that you would ‘ave
to—er—pretend to be—er—ah—a woman of substance. Otherwise, English as you are,
the factors might not wish to deal with you. There ees great demand now for the
goods I usually buy, but I gladly take luxury goods—only I do not know the men
‘oo deal een them. Een the past an old Breton smuggler was not the kind they
wished to sell to. And I prefer to deal weeth ‘onest men. Also,” his eyes
twinkled, “eet ees less expensive that way, even weeth your commission.”

Megaera bit her lip. That meant hiring a carriage, some kind
of servant. No, she did not dare do such a thing locally, and where she was not
known it might not be possible. She made a rapid mental review of her own staff.
They were loyal, but it would be impossible to hope they would not slip, and
call her, by her real name. Regretfully, she began to shake her head.

“Philippe ‘ere would do all the necessary, except actually
bargaining with the factors,” Pierre urged. “I promise you ‘e ees ‘onest and
trustworthy. All you would ‘ave to do in addition ees arrange for storage of
the goods until I return.”

For a long moment Megaera stared across the table at Pierre.
It seemed that he had guessed she had some reason for not wanting to be seen
locally. His face was impassive, but behind his eyes some expression lurked.
Distrust? No, not that. It did not matter. He had solved her problem.

“Very well,” Megaera agreed, “but do you intend to wait? Is
that safe for you, Pierre?”

“No, no. I said you would ‘ave to store the goods. I will
sail again—tonight, in fact, with the tide.”

“But—”

“Philippe does not go. ‘E will stay ‘ere to assist you in
any way you desire.”’

“Here?” Megaera looked around The Mousehole with an
expression of horror.

“No,” Philip said in English, grinning. “I will find a
place; or perhaps you could recommend one?”

“You speak English!” Megaera exclaimed with relief. She had
just started to wonder how Philippe could do what Pierre, promised when the
only words he had said were a polite greeting in French.

Pierre laughed. “Mees Meg, you think me a fool? Of course ‘e
speaks English, as well as you do,” he added mischievously. “Now let us arrange
the signals and then Imust go. Philippe shall see you safe wherever you
weesh to go. No, do not shake your ‘ead. I tell you, ‘e will not betray you.
Eet ees no longer enough, the poor John. I see ‘ow you look when you come een.
For a little while, until thees black devil ees taken or we are sure ‘e ‘as
fled, you must ‘ave weeth you a man who can ‘ear and theenk quickly as well as
see.”

Before the attack Megaera would have fought such a
suggestion tooth and nail. Now she bit her lip and looked uncertain, but the
memory of that horrible ride expecting every minute that someone would spring
out at her, tipped the scales. She watched while Pierre passed Philip most of
the little sacks of gold.

“He can come to the place the kegs are brought,” she said
slowly. “All the men know that, but I… It isn’t that I don’t trust you, Pierre…
It’s just… I have a reason…”

“No reason you should trust
me
anyway,” Philip put in
cheerfully. “After all, Pierre might be prejudiced in my favor. In fact, he
is—anyone could see that. I might have concealed my evil nature from him all
these years. S’truth, he does not know
everything
about me.”

Pierre snorted and hit Philip in the head. Philip laughed up
at him. Megaera’s eyes widened in surprise. If her father had had a sense of
humor, it had been drowned in the bottle long before she was old enough to
recognize it. Edward certainly had none. Thus it took her a few seconds to
realize that Philip was teasing rather than actually warning her against
himself and confessing something bad to Pierre.

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” she said tartly as soon as the notion
became clear. “However, it’s useless to think you can jolly me. If you have
gone to all the trouble of concealing your worst side from Pierre for many
years, you will not expose it to me. I have no sense of honor at all, I warn
you. I would immediately lay an information and betray you to your—er—friend.”

Pierre smiled at them indulgently and recalled Megaera to
the matter of the light signals. She named the blinks arid he wrote them down,
thinking with—satisfaction that she and Philip would get along well. He rose
and said goodbye. Both nodded absently and returned to their wary yet
interested contemplation of each other. Pierre shrugged and strode away.

“Well,” Philip began, “can I not convince you to take me as
a guest—a
paying
guest?”

“Not as a guest, a tenant, or anything else,” Megaera said,
but her eyes twinkled. “You may or may not have an evil nature, but you
certainly have a
curious
one, and I am not going to satisfy it. I will
tell you that I am not hiding anything
shameful
—”

“That is not clever,” Philip interrupted, shaking his head
sadly. “Really, you do not appear to be at all experienced at concealment.
Perhaps you hope to convince me you are a murderess or something equally awful
by such a statement, but your effort at a sly leer is not at all the thing.
Now—”

“Don’t be so ridiculous,” Megaera laughed. “Why in the world
would I want you to think I was a murderess?”

“To inspire awe in me, of course. Also, to keep me from
contemplating cheating you or—er—importuning you.”

“I have the best guarantee against ‘importuning’ in the
world,” Megaera said dryly. “John may not be able to hear any distant threat,
but he can see one close by.”

“No, no,” Philip protested. “Never would I do anything so
crude as to importune you by force. Have you not already warned me that you
would split to Pierre? And has not Pierre warned me about your giant—and not
too clever—protector?”

“Then what did you mean, Philippe?”

“You had better call me Philip,” he remarked, avoiding her
question.

The truth was that he hadn’t meant anything. He had merely
been waltzing around his notion that she wanted him to fix on some reason, even
a discreditable one, for her secretiveness so that he would not seek out the
truth. However, the jesting remark about importuning her had brought to his mind
the actual possibility of doing so—not by force, naturally Philip would not
have dreamed of doing that, not even with a girl he picked up in the street.
However, there were much pleasanter ways of “importuning”.

“Will you not have something to warm you before we leave?”
he went on hastily, before Megaera could repeat her question. “It is really
quite chilly out.”

Megaera looked around at the inn again, wrinkling her nose.
It occurred to Philip suddenly that her speech was very fine, not a false
gentility spread over a common accent, and also that she was not accustomed to
the crude surroundings of The Mousehole. This increased his curiosity about
her, but he knew it would be a grave mistake to allow that to show.