The Cornish Heiress (17 page)

She dressed in front of John without the slightest
embarrassment. Dr. Partridge had been right about John. He was not the least
bit interested in such things. He did look at her from time to time, but only
at her face and hands to see if she wanted him to do anything. It was
impossible to feel anything more about John’s occasional glances than about
those of her pony or mare.

When she was ready, John led the pony out. Megaera glanced
around to make sure no one was walking the hills. Shepherds sometimes came by
or boys from the village to snare rabbits or birds. Today, fortunately, the
hillside was empty. John lifted her to her pony and picked up the old
portmanteau. The elegant one had been placed out of sight in one of the
passages. It was difficult to ride in the tight skirt. Megaera could not fit
her knee over the rest. She could only perch on the saddle with one foot in the
stirrup. However, John walked beside her and she rested a hand on his shoulder.
He would catch her if she slipped.

They arrived by the blasted tree without any untoward
incident. Megaera was lifted down and the portmanteau set beside her. She
signed to John that she was going away for three days (he would not worry if
she came home sooner but would be frantic if she were late) and, that he must
take the pony back to the cave and keep the mare there until she returned.
There was no way she could tell him to meet her because she was not sure
exactly when she would return, but Philip would surely see her to the cave, so
that would be all right. Now she glanced anxiously down the road and pulled her
watch from a small pocket in her skirt. She was early, and it would be very bad
if someone saw her standing by the side of the road.

Megaera waved John away. As usual he was reluctant to leave
her alone anywhere except in the house. She had to push him on his way, but
having him around was the worst thing. He was just too noticeable. Megaera
herself could probably hide behind the tree if necessary. If anyone noticed her
at all, she would be thought to be a servant girl waiting to be picked up.
However, John was hardly out of sight when Megaera heard a carriage. She
retreated cautiously to the tree, but it was Philip and she came toward the
road, lugging the portmanteau.

As soon as he saw her Philip pulled up his horses, wound the
reins around the whip holder, and jumped down. He took the portmanteau from her
hand, looking somewhat stunned. He had convinced himself that she would be
swathed in purple satin, tawdry tinsel, and unsuitable, moth-eaten ostrich
plumes. A thin little hope, peeping through those images, showed a sweet little
maiden in pale sprig muslin and white lace mittens. What he saw was a beautiful
and dignified woman, most tastefully attired. Leonie could not have looked
lovelier nor more appropriate. Philip swallowed hard.

“What’s wrong?” Meg asked anxiously. “Is something the
matter? Pierre? Don’t tell me—”

“No, no. I have heard nothing, but I am sure he is safe
away. It is you—forgive me, but you are so exquisitely beautiful and so—so
right!”

She laughed, her creamy skin flushing deliciously. “That
isn’t very polite. You aren’t supposed to apologize for compliments.”

“Not for the compliment, but I did not wish that you think I
would—would take advantage because you are alone.”

Megaera did not answer. What could she say? She was
delighted by the proof that the respectful attitude was not generated by fear
of John, but she hoped he was not going to carry it too far. Not to scratch
dirt over a dead thing—Megaera
wanted
Philip to take advantage of her.
She contented herself for the moment by smiling brilliantly at him as he helped
her into the carriage. Philip asked her to take the reins while he went to the
horses’ heads to back them around. Normally he would have done it from his
driving seat, as he was a top sawyer, but he did not trust the hired horses to
respond just as they should. He told himself that he preferred Meg to think he
was less experienced in handling the ribbons than he actually was. Really,
however, she had become so precious that he could hardly bear that she should
be bumped on the rough road, not to think of tipping her into a ditch.

When they were facing in the right direction, he took the
reins from her. She had been about to ask if he would prefer her to drive,
seeing how cautious he had been about turning the carriage, but two minutes of
watching his hands betrayed his skill. Since it had not occurred to Megaera
that Philip had any secret to keep, she leapt to the correct conclusion—that
his excessive care had been to spare
her
the smallest uncertainty. She
blushed again with pleasure. Never in her life had she been treated with such
tender consideration.

“I have been wondering what we should say at the hotel,” she
began, after a glance at Philip showed her he was looking at her with a bemused
expression whenever he could spare a moment from the road. “Do you think they
would believe my maid broke a leg?”

“I am sure they will believe anything you choose to tell
them,” Philip responded, “but I do not think we should pretend you are
accustomed to a personal abigail. We are supposed to be in trade.”

Since Megaera had not the faintest notion of the great state
in which rich tradesmen lived, she made no objection, merely looking respectful
of Philip’s wider experience. “Is it proper for a woman in trade to go to a
hotel alone?” she asked.

Philip passed his tongue over suddenly dry lips. “But you
will not be alone. Accompanied by your husband—or your brother,” he added
hastily, swallowing, “no questions would be asked.”

Megaera was silent, staring straight ahead. Her heart was
beating so fast and hard she was surprised that her pelisse did not flutter
with its violence. Philip had certainly wasted no time. Was he so sure of her,
Meg wondered, that he did not feel it necessary to woo her? A flicker of hurt
and anger stirred. She turned her head, prepared for a confident smile and
planning to wipe it off his face with a whiplash repudiation. Instead she saw a
flush almost as deep as her own, and lips tight with anxiety. The hurt and
anger dissolved into tenderness. It was not overconfidence but underconfidence
that had driven him.

“I don’t think,” Megaera said, her voice trembling between
nervousness and laughter, “that anyone would believe I could be your sister.”

A huge sigh whooshed out of Philip, and he turned his head
for a glance at her. He was smiling now, but with relief, not contempt. “I
thought you would hit me,” he said, looking back at the road, which was rutted
and bumpy. “I would have well deserved it, but I did not mean to say that right
off. The words just came out. Thank God you are an honest woman Meg, not a
simpering idiot. Now I can talk sense. You do forgive me for being so—so—”

“Importunate?”

Philip laughed. “I did not mean it that way.” Then he took
the chance to turn his head again, his face serious. “You are free to say no at
any time, my dear. I took an unfair advantage, I know, but I honestly believe
we will draw less notice as husband and wife. It is a common thing for a man to
have a shop where articles of dress are sold while his wife is a dressmaker in
the same establishment. In such a case they might well share the duties of
purchasing.”

“You’re quite right.” Megaera nodded agreement. “There was
just such a shop in Penzance.”

In the past, before her father’s gambling and Edward’s
chicanery had stripped them bare, Megaera had bought trifles for herself there,
although serious shopping had been done at Exeter. After the “fall”, Mrs.
Beeble had made for her the few dresses she absolutely needed. In fact Mrs.
Beeble had made her mourning clothes, the very dress she was wearing. There had
been neither time nor money to send to London for “blacks”, and even if she had
had both in sufficiency, Megaera would not have dignified Edward’s death by
spending more than necessary.

The knowledge that reason as well as desire had prompted
Philip’s suggestion removed the last of Megaera’s feeling of awkwardness.
Indeed, she began to feel wonderful. The worst was over—the embarrassment of
agreeing—the best was yet to come. Her spirits soared. She began to chatter as
she had not done since the knowledge of the debts Edward had saddled Bolliet
with had fallen on her. She asked Philip about Falmouth, and when she learned
that he had never been there and knew less than she, she speculated about the
town with such abandon that Philip begged her to stop. She was making him laugh
so much, he claimed, that he would drive them off the road.

“Besides,” he went on, “we must be sensible. We must think
up a story to explain why we, who have never bought there before, are now
buying in Falmouth.”

“To set up a new business,” Megaera responded promptly.
“That would be a good reason to buy in small quantities from a number of
different factors. Until we were established, we would not know exactly what
would sell best.”

They had time enough to polish their tale to perfection so
that all the details were firmly fixed in both their minds. Either could be
questioned or just talk idly without fear that any story would contradict the
other’s. A great deal of amusement was extracted from this practical purpose
also. They invented an entire family tree for both between gales of laughter.
There were sober parents, silly sisters, industrious brothers, eccentric aunts
and uncles, and wastrel cousins. Megaera was so happy that her breath kept
catching on tears. She had not laughed so much or felt so free since she had
married Edward. The long nightmare was over at last. This must be the dawn of a
new life.

With some effort Philip and Megaera presented a sober
appearance when they entered Falmouth. It would not have done at all to laugh
uproariously as they drove through the streets. The sobriety soon became real
enough because they had a little difficulty in deciding where to seek
accommodation. Philip had naturally gravitated to the most elegant
establishment, which was on the main street of the town and easy to find.
Megaera, wrenched from her happy delusion of freedom and a new life, realized
she could not stay there. Of all places, that was the most likely one for her
to meet a member of the social set in which she lived. Nervously she protested
that it would not be suitable for persons in a small way of trade.

Philip slipped an arm around her waist. “Perhaps not, but we
do not need to tell anyone here what we do. I want you to be happy.”

She hesitated. It was so strange to hear a man say he wished
her to be happy that she could hardly bear to frustrate his desire, no matter
how silly. But it would be too dangerous.

“I would not be happy,” she murmured “I would feel that
people were staring at me, wondering what I was doing there. Please, Philip.”

“Of course, Meg. Whatever you like,” he replied at once,
making her completely happy again. Megaera could hardly believe the good humor
in his voice. On the rare occasions when Edward had offered her a choice and
she had chosen differently than he would have done, he was scarcely civil, not
to mention good-humored. But Philip’s pleasant mood held even after the next
two places they examined were obviously hopeless. Megaera shuddered at the
looks of the loungers in the yard and at the appearance of the yard and hotel.
Philip took her away at once, one arm protectively around her. Back on the main
street he sat frowning for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Philip, Megaera whispered, trying to forestall
an outburst of rage. Perhaps—“

“What a fool I am!” he exclaimed, smiling at her. I must ask
one of the factors Pierre recommended.”

It was the solution of course. In another half hour they
were ensconced in a clean, quiet establishment on a peaceful side street
conveniently near the port and commercial area but screened from them. When
they were shown to their room, a large chamber with the bed screened off so that
it could also serve as a sitting room, Philip asked solicitously whether Meg
wanted to rest awhile. She burst out laughing. It was so ridiculous to think
she might be fatigued by a three hour drive in a carriage after her exertions
over the past year. The expression on Philip’s face when she laughed was not so
funny. It made her breath catch, and she stepped back a pace. Instantly Philip
turned away and walked to the window.

“Do you wish to go out at once,” he asked, “or can I order
tea or some wine for you? It is too early for dinner.”

“Let’s go out.” Megaera’s voice quivered slightly. She had
made him angry now, she was sure, and it was so stupid. What difference did it
make whether she yielded at once or a few hours later?

“It is not kind to laugh at me,” Philip protested, but he was
laughing himself as he turned back toward her. Since he had mistaken the
frightened shake in her voice for repressed mirth, he also misunderstood her expression
of astonished delight. “What did you expect,” he went on wryly, “when you are
so beautiful and we were sitting so close. Do you think I am made of stone?”

Megaera recovered quickly. She thought again she had been a fool
to refuse Philip, but now it was because her own desire had been awakened. He was
so handsome, so different from the fair men to whom she was accustomed.
Nonetheless she knew her instinct had been right. Another time a quick union with
half one’s mind on something else might be enough; for their first time, it
would be all wrong.

“I’m not laughing at you,” she said. “What makes you think
I’m any better than you are? But you know it wouldn’t be right.”

“Such devotion to duty!” Philip exclaimed, his eyes
gleaming. “I assure you Pierre would not expect it.”

“So long as Pierre gets goods to sell at a reasonable price,
he wouldn’t care if we took no longer than five minutes over it,” Megaera replied
tartly, realizing that Philip was teasing her again. “It was you who wished to
do Bonaparte a bad turn by buying only luxury articles.”

“I know,” Philip admitted sadly, “but my love of country has
been completely subverted.”

That was irresistible Now Megaera had to laugh. Nonetheless,
she moved firmly to the door and opened it. Philip followed, sighing dramatically,
but he was really very pleased. It had occurred to him also that be wished to linger
over his pleasure. They set out on foot, visiting the recommended warehouses
first and asking for referrals to other factors who would be likely to carry
the goods they wanted. In a very short time Philip decided he knew why Pierre
had insisted that Meg do the buying. She had an eye for real quality and drove
a bitter bargain.

Philip was really amazed at what could be purchased for a
small sum. He had been thinking in terms of the prices ladies paid for single
items or a few yards of dress fabric in fashionable shops in London, since he
had no experience with wholesale purchases. But even when he corrected his line
of thinking, it seemed that Meg was obtaining a great deal for very little.
Soon he began to wonder whether Pierre would have sufficient cargo space for
what the gold he had been given would buy. Between warehouses he mentioned this
to her.

“I’m surprised myself,” she replied. “The prices are
reasonable to begin with, and they let me beat them down in the most extraordinary
way. With that first man, I thought perhaps the goods might have been stolen,
but they are all behaving alike.”

“Perhaps it is not so unreasonable,” Philip remarked slowly.
“I have just thought that much of what we are buying may have been lying in the
warehouses for a long time.” Do you think that perhaps these goods were
meant
for transshipment to France and the war stopped the sales?”

“You’re probably right,” Megaera agreed, looking with
admiration at Philip. “Now I’m really delighted. Think of all the good we’re
doing.”

“Yes, but could we not stop doing it now?” Philip pleaded. I
cannot see how Pierre will manage to stuff all that we have already bought into
his ship. What will we do with the extra?”

“I have plenty of storage space,” Megaera replied
heartlessly. “The ponies can bring the goods down when we pick up the kegs, and
the boats can run out with a load just as easily as running out empty.”

Her eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. Philip groaned, but
Megaera’s blood was up. She had not had a good shopping binge for years, and it
did not matter a bit to her that none of the articles would belong to her, it
was the shopping and choosing that she loved rather than the having. However,
Philip did not need to suffer much longer. It was growing late, and she was
wise enough not to wish to give an impression of hurry or urgent need.
Moreover, Philip found a source of private diversion.

While Megaera was examining a case of bird plumage and
haggling over broken feathers and other imperfections, Philip discovered a
display of Indian jewelry. The items were inexpensive. They were not of gold or
precious stones, but they were very lovely. Bracelets and necklets of polished
wood were inlaid with traceries of mother-of-pearl in delicate, exquisite
designs. Philip summoned a clerk and hushed him.

“For my wife,” he mouthed, “a surprise. She works so hard.”

A conspiratorial smile acknowledged the tribute, and the
pieces were laid out. Philip was enchanted. A marvelous fragrance wafted from
the wood. He felt like buying them all, but that would have been ridiculous,
and he finally chose three bracelets, a necklace, a pair of earrings, and two
combs that had a matching pattern of a green-blue mother-of-pearl that would go
magnificently with Meg’s red hair. He paid the full price the clerk asked,
which occasioned a look of surprise until he said, “Put the rest away. I do not
want my wife to see them. You will not make much more than I have given for
these after she is finished chaffering, I assure you.”

The clerk looked across the warehouse at his master, who was
wringing his hands at that moment and swearing he would be driven to the
workhouse if he acceded to Megaera’s demands. He heard her unshaken and
completely unsympathetic voice replying that she preferred it to be his master
than herself, and that since neither was in the least likely, his master should
stop complaining and apply himself to considering her offer realistically. The
clerk shrugged, smiled, and slid the trinkets into a box, which he closed. The gentleman
he served obviously knew his wife.

With his purchases wrapped and in his pocket, Philip
strolled back to Megaera who, flushed and triumphant, had concluded another
purchase. “Enough, my love,” he said firmly. “It is time for dinner. You must
not wear yourself out.” He turned to the factor, in whose eye he thought he
detected a gleam of satisfaction mingled with exasperation. However, the
respect with which he bowed to Meg as Philip paid the agreed-upon advance showed
he had not got the best of the deal. “We will arrange about transport tomorrow,”
he said to the man, cocking a cynical eyebrow. “You have quite worn out my
poor, frail Meg.”

A rich color suffused the factor’s face, and Megaera opened her
violet eyes as wide as they would go. Before an explosion could erupt from
either, Philip hastily shepherded Meg out of the building. She began to laugh.

“How could you?” she gasped. “Why did you? I thought the poor
man would burst.”

“I am sorry,” Philip said, but with a quite unrepentant
face. “You
look
fragile and delicate. You
should
be worn to a wraith
by all that arguing.”

Megaera laughed again. “No woman is worn out by chaffering. I
have known some die-away creatures, who did nothing but lie on a sofa and whine
all day, to leap to their feet and shout like fishwives for a bargain.”

“Very strange,” Philip mused. “It is considered very bad
ton
for a man to argue about the price of anything. Oh, he might say ‘too much’ on
a horse, but for clothing, or a gun…“

It did not occur to Megaera that it was odd that Philip should
talk about the
ton
any more than it struck Philip odd that Megaera
should be acquainted with ladies who could afford to spend all day lying on a
sofa. To Pierre, who was not of their class, it had been immediately apparent
that Megaera was a “lady”, just as he would have recognized Philip as a member
of the gentry even if he had not known him. The factors, too, knew they were
dealing with gentry, but they were not surprised.

Although they did not believe the tale of the new shop and
dressmaking establishment, they pretended to do so. Many impoverished families
did some backdoor trade, which they concealed from their equals. It was none of
the factors’ business; all they were interested in was selling their goods.
Only Philip and Megaera, who were, so to speak, born to the speech and manners of
their class, found them so ordinary as to be unnoticeable.

“Well,” Philip continued, abandoning discussion of the
inexplicable differences between men and women to further a far more pleasant
result of that difference, “you
must
be tired even though you do not
feel it now. I think we should dine quietly in our chamber.”

Megaera dropped her eyes. She had been so absorbed in what
she was doing that she had lost awareness of Philip as a desiring and desirable
male. His voice, however, was only friendly, still carrying a hint of laughter.
There was nothing at all suggestive about his tone. Megaera remembered the
times she had used words with double meanings without recognizing that fact until
it was too late. So she nodded her head, not daring to answer for fear her
voice would betray her.

Betray what? Alone in the bedchamber, where a maid had already
lit candles to supplement the dying light of the short autumn day, Megaera was
thrust back into the indecisions of the previous night. Philip had seen her to
the door, murmured that she should make herself comfortable while he went down to
order dinner. “Comfortable.” What did he mean by that? But again there had been
nothing in his face or voice, no offensive leer or suggestive glance. He had looked
happy, his dark eyes alight, his fine mouth gently curved, not quite smiling
but hinting at it.

But there was no excuse for indecision. Philip had said she
could back out at any time, but Megaera knew she could not—not now. When they had
first arrived, she could have done so. Philip had offered her the opportunity.
Possibly she could even have said she had changed her mind any time during the afternoon.
Her last chance had been when he suggested they dine in their bedchamber. If
she had refused, she could have told him while they ate that she was not
willing.

Suddenly she laughed aloud. It would have been a lie. In
fact she was not at all unwilling, and the only reason she was shilly-shallying
was her old-fashioned notion of propriety. There was always a great outcry against
the reading of novels and the harm they did to the delicate minds of young
females. In fact the damage they did was to promote overdelicate feelings and overscrupulousness.
The heroines were either so lachrymose over their tiny indiscretions or so
horribly punished for them that any normal woman was filled with guilt for
normal feelings.

As she removed her hat and gloves and hung her pelisse in the
press standing against the wall, Megaera became indecisive again. She now admitted
to herself that she wanted Philip and intended to yield to him, but she was
embarrassed at the thought of needing to say so. The solution presented itself
as she turned from the press and hit her foot against her portmanteau, which
the servant had left beside the bureau when she had unpacked it. There was no reason
in the world why a “wife” should not relax in dishabille after a hard day’s
work.