The Cornish Heiress (25 page)

First Philip laughed, but he stopped abruptly to remark that
if what Pierre said was true, the identification papers he had were useless
until he discovered what uniform he would need and could obtain one.

“Yes, yes,” Pierre said. “It will be waiting for you in the
village. One of the women is a good seamstress and has prepared one, but it
could not be finished until you could be fitted.”

“She knows this?” Philip asked. “Is she to be trusted?”

“Do not teach your grandfather to suck eggs,” Pierre
snapped. “She knows only that I have need of a uniform for a false officer of
the Customs. And trusted?” He laughed. “Do you think anyone in this village
loves the Customs service? Besides, she was one of my women. Yes, she is to be
trusted.”

The overland journey to Boulogne was easy and pleasant.
Philip felt that Bonaparte’s penchant for uniforms, however much it might annoy
Pierre, was a most excellent thing. It enabled him to place nearly every
official he met, and it gained him courtesy from innkeepers and other
civilians. Of course, it made the common people chary of talking to him. But,
since be was not really a revenue officer, that did not trouble him at all. He
was not in France to collect hearsay information about smugglers but to see
with his own eyes what was taking place in the shipbuilding facilities and, if
possible, the armed camps around Boulogne.

After Pierre’s goods had been safely landed the night they
arrived, by much the same method as the casks of liquor had been landed on the
Cornish coast, Philip had spent almost two weeks preparing for his role. First
he had pretended to be a civilian who had come to visit a relative for a
holiday on the Breton coast. This relative was a friend of Pierre’s, a wealthy
local farmer of unimpeachable honesty, who happened to have an ineradicable
grudge against Bonaparte. His son had died in the holocaust created by General
Brune in response to the First Consul’s suggestion that “it would serve as a
salutary example to burn down two or three large communes chosen among those
whose conduct was worst”. Bonaparte meant that there had been uprisings against
his taking power in those places. Monsieur Luroec’s son had had nothing to do
with the anti-Bonaparte uprising, being solely interested in farming his land.
It was merely his misfortune to be in the local market town selling produce
when General Brune created the “spectacularly severe act” that Bonaparte felt
would be “the most humane method” of handling the situation.

Needless to say, this accident did not endear the First
Consul to Monsieur Luroec. He was too careful, too conservative, to burst into
violent opposition—and he had other children to protect—but whatever he could
do to undermine Bonaparte or his government was done with enthusiasm. He
welcomed Philip into his home, provided him with a horse and saddle, for which
Philip paid, introduced him to all the other men of substance in the
neighborhood and town as his “cousin” and wrote to his wife’s family in
Normandy asking that they offer hospitality to his young cousin who would be
passing through their area soon.

Philip told everyone that his mother was from the Côte d’Or,
which was quite true, and his father had migrated when young to Paris—which was
also true, in a way. He claimed that owing to the disruptions of the
Revolution, he had never traveled out of Paris before. He asked a million
questions about how things were done in the provinces, concentrating on the
Customs. This, too, seemed very reasonable to everyone. After all, Philip
claimed he had been newly appointed to a clerkship in the
bureau de service
in Paris. What could be more natural than that he should wish to know what was
done and how it was done by local officials. Obligingly his various hosts
invited men from the Customs service to meet their Parisian fellow worker.

The local officials were delighted to know someone who would
soon be working in the central seat of power. Philip had sensibly protested
that he had not yet been in the offices, that he had chosen to take a brief
vacation before beginning his new work, and that he did not yet know a single
person in the service. Nonetheless they told him all their problems, for future
reference. By the time he was finished listening, Philip knew a great deal
about Customs and, incidentally, about the officials in Paris who were
responsible for the orders that went out to the local officers.

Philip learned something else of great interest. Monsieur
Luroec might hate Bonaparte because he associated him with his son’s death, but
by and large the French did not. The First Consul had given them back
stability, reasonable laws, reasonable taxation, sound money. The
émigrés
in England were sadly mistaken in thinking that the people feared and hated the
Corsican. The truth was that they loved him—and had good reason to do so. He
was politically as incorruptible as Robespierre (as long as no one threatened
his power) but completely human, warm in his dealings with everyone, and, if
given to occasional bursts of temper, not above apologizing for them. Most of
all, of course, it was the economic security and growing prosperity that the
French loved. Philip might know that this was based on a false foundation—the
huge sums extorted from the conquered nations—but the French neither knew nor
cared. Bonaparte had put food in their stomachs, coins in their hands, and they
loved him.

Philip made only one mistake and that, fortunately, was
after he had obtained most of the information he needed. Quite casually one of
the men asked how he had obtained his appointment, since he seemed to have no
connection with or knowledge of the service. Philip had thought that out in
advance, but he did not realize the effect his answer would have.

“My father knows Joseph Fouché,” he said.

Instantly there was a deathly silence. Those men who had
complained of inefficiency or corruption went pale. Philip had known, of
course, that Fouché had been Minister of Police; he also knew that Fouché had
been very powerful. It had not occurred to him that the name would
still
inspire such terror. Philip had been thinking of men in England who had been
influential and were now out of office. Often they still had friends and could
do favors. It was fortunate that Philip was a quick-witted young man. He
realized at once that a disclaimer would get him nowhere, that he was already
branded as dangerous to talk to. Thus, when one of the men asked stiffly
whether the nation would have the infinite happiness of seeing Monsieur Fouché
back in office, Philip replied, “We hope so.”

The guests stayed another uncomfortable half hour to prove
they had nothing about which to be guilty or fearful. Later some sought private
interviews with Philip, to assure him that they adored their superiors in Paris
and considered every official of Bonaparte’s government perfect. Philip did his
best to calm their unspoken fears. He was sorry to have caused them, but he was
too sensible to deny he was a spy in Fouché’s service. First of all, no one
would believe him anyway; second, no one would talk about him or “wonder” about
his appointment to any other person as long as he was thought to be Fouché’s
man.

Sooner or later it would occur to everyone that, if he had
been Fouché’s spy, he would never have permitted his master’s name to come into
the conversation. However, the fear Philip saw was so powerful that he hoped he
would be finished with his task and back in England before anyone had the nerve
to mention him again. As he thought over his “gaffe”, he became better and
better pleased with it even though it had cut off the flow of information. He
moved on to Normandy two days later, hoping that his rather sudden departure
would fix the idea that he was an agent of the police and had obtained all the
information he wanted.

In Normandy, Philip learned some very disquieting news.
Bonaparte himself was said to be in Boulogne. He had established himself in a
small chateau, Pont de Briques, right at the gate of Boulogne and was
personally overseeing the preparation of an army and a fleet of invasion. In
this situation the First Consul had shed the imperial splendor of the court he
held at the Tuileries and with which he had toured Flanders and Holland. He was
visiting in person the workshops and camps to raise enthusiasm for the invasion
of England to the highest pitch.

This was not good news, and at first Philip was gravely
disturbed and considered making his way back to Brittany at once to bring a
warning of imminent invasion. When he rethought the matter, however he realized
there could be a second reason for Bonaparte’s presence. If, in fact, the
preparations had been lagging behind schedule, the First Consul might have felt
it necessary to prod them forward in person.

Philip’s next impulse was to rush to Boulogne at once. This
idea he also dismissed on second thought. It would do England no good at all if
he were caught and killed. Thus he followed his original plan, except that he
did not claim total ignorance of the central office of the Customs this time.
He said instead that he had always been chained to a desk and wanted to know
the realities behind the reports he read. He asked more intelligent questions
and received further enlightenment. When asked how he had come into the
service, this time he was evasive until he felt he had drained the wells dry.
Then he let slip the “connection” with Fouché. It worked just as well the
second time, and Philip left for his final goal with confidence that he would
not fail out of ignorance of the role he was playing.

Before he introduced himself to the
Chef du port maritime
,
Philip made a number of quiet visits in the surrounding area. He avoided the
various army camps and concentrated on the coastline, particularly the little
bays and inlets so useful for small vessels that wished to land cargo without
“benefit” of government supervision. He made these little trips in civilian
clothing and escaped challenge, although he would not have minded being asked
to identify himself.

It did not take long to find what he wanted, an abandoned
rough shed mostly overgrown with brush and weeds now sere and dead. He was
careful not to disturb the herbage at that time, but when he returned, far more
secretively, late that night, he boldly broke away a path. Having deposited in
the shed the contents of one large portmanteau, carefully wrapped in an
English, woolen blanket, he cautiously retraced his steps to the local road.
Once on this he no longer took any precaution against being seen, but rode back
to his lodging and wakened a servant to let him in. He knew such behavior might
rouse suspicion, but he did not deign to explain himself, and the next morning
he came down to breakfast in his uniform.

After that there was no need for explanations. Philip rode
directly into town and inquired for the
Chef du port maritime
. When he
gained admittance, identified himself, and the usual amenities had been
exchanged, he asked the obviously puzzled harbor master whether, to his
knowledge, the Customs officers in the area were honest.

Monsieur Fresnoy immediately became more cautious than
puzzled. He did not wish to say he did not know. The harbor master was not
responsible for the behavior of the Customs officers. His duties were with the
ships, assigning mooring and regulation of the building and repair—but no
senior officer likes to admit ignorance. Least of all did any official wish to
fail, even in peripheral duties, when Bonaparte was virtually breathing down
his neck.

Moreover, Monsieur Fresnoy’s nose was just a shade out of
joint. Since it had been decided that the main portion of the invasion fleet
would be built at Boulogne, he had been pushed very much into the background.
The work was being supervised directly by the First Consul. Fresnoy did not
resent that, of course, but when Bonaparte’s other duties drew him elsewhere,
matters were not passed back into his hand. Monsieur Decrès, Minister of
Marine, had special deputies to direct the work. Monsieur Fresnoy thought that
was a mistake because he knew the people and the area; however, he understood
the Minister’s action.

Before the First Consul had decided to invade England,
Boulogne had been essentially a commercial port (except for the brief interval,
in 1797 when the Directory had also envisioned an invasion). In addition the
Revolution had taken an enormous toll of naval officers; a great many had been
executed for royalist sympathy. Thus there were too few experienced officers
available for manning port facilities. Men of proper rank and experience were
found for the great naval ports of Cherbourg, Brest, and Toulon, but for
Boulogne it was thought sufficient to have a man who knew the sea. Monsieur
Fresnoy, retired from his career as captain of a merchantman because of an
injury, honest and knowledgeable seemed ideal.

When the plans for invasion of England had been revived,
Monsieur Fresnoy had expected to be dismissed to make way for someone better
fitted to oversee such an enterprise. This was not, however, the way Bonaparte
worked. Honest men who had given good service were not cast aside—at least not
unless they appeared to embody some kind of challenge to Bonaparte himself.
Since the latter did not apply to the totally apolitical Monsieur Fresnoy, he
was not deprived of his position. Merely, the necessary work was separated from
his duties and given into hands Bonaparte thought more expert. Monsieur Fresnoy
was grateful that he had not been dismissed, but having watched the work for
five months, he had begun to feel that he could have done it just as well, and
that would have brought him into intimate association with the First Consul and
perhaps led to greater things.

Thus, Monsieur Fresnoy was undecided as to how to react to
Philip’s inquiry. His first instinct was to temporize, and he asked, “Why do
you ask such a question?”

Although Philip could have grinned with delight because the
answer was exactly what he wanted, he maintained a slight, worried frown. “I am
of the Customs,” he replied, “and I have been on vacation in Brittany and here.
Last night I was—ah—er—out rather late.”

The harbor master smiled very slightly and nodded. Philip
was a very handsome young man. It was perfectly reasonable for him to be out
late on vacation. Monsieur Fresnoy loved and admired the First Consul, but his
preachments and efforts to establish “morality” left the former sea captain
totally indifferent. Philip smiled back tentatively and then looked worried
again.

“Well, I was passing a little cove—I do not know its name; I
am a stranger here—and I saw a boat. I was a little—er—ah—a little drunk, I am
afraid, so it seemed very strange to me that a boat should be out late at
night. I never thought about it being a fishing boat, you see.”