The Cornish Heiress (39 page)

Just above the temple on the right the bullet had struck,
but it had not entered. There was a horrid gash showing white bone under the
welling blood and matted hair. Philip nearly fainted. He had been saddened by
the pool of blood that marked John’s death, but not even that really bothered
him. He had toughened since he shot that first highwayman. Only, this was Meg!
His Meg—and he did not know what to do for her.

Turned idiot with fear, Philip could think of nothing but
Pierre. Pierre would know what to do. He wrapped Meg in her cloak and then in
both blankets and carried her out. Mounting was a nightmare, but fortunately
the sturdy ponies were shorter than horses and very placid. Holding Meg against
him with one arm, he got his foot in the stirrup. He nearly dislocated his arm,
but he managed to haul her up with him as he rose. Then they were off. If
Philip had not envisioned what would happen to Meg if they took a spill, he
would have whipped the beast into a gallop. As it was they went far too fast,
but the pony was surefooted as well as sturdy.

Eons of fear and despair passed, perhaps twenty minutes in
real time. Philip would have gone mad except that Meg moaned every so often so
that he knew she was alive. Still, he was shouting at the top of his lungs for
help and for Pierre by name by the time he was fifty yards from The Mousehole.
Several men came running from the inn, pistols drawn. That mistake was quickly
rectified, but all Philip could do was to keep repeating, “Meg’s hurt. Meg’s
hurt.”

“Give ’er to me, you fool!” Pierre bellowed, tugging at the
blanketed form.

At last Philip released his precious burden and slid from
the saddle, running to catch up with Pierre. “Her head,” he cried. “It’s her
head.”

“I am not blind,” Pierre snarled, but his hands were very
gentle as he laid her on a table and lifted her blood-soaked hair. Seeing the
injury, he sighed with relief. Philip bent to kiss her, crying now. Pierre
pushed him away. “Out of my light,” he ordered. “Paul,” he called to the
landlord, “give me, a tankard of brandy to wash this out with, the strongest,
and bring a lamp over ’ere. Then take away this fool!”

“No,” Philip choked.

Pierre looked up. “She is not badly hurt. You can see the
bone is not broken or dented. You are too much moved. I must sew this up. Do
you wish to watch?”

“No,” Philip gasped, and turned away.

One of the men, he never knew which, put an arm around him
and led him across the room to Pierre’s corner. He sank onto a seat, resting
his elbows on the table, his hands over his face. He could hear muted voices
and hurried footsteps. Time stretched again so that Philip could not guess
whether it was seconds, minutes, or hours that passed. Someone pulled at his
hand, thrust a tankard into it. He sipped, coughed, then pushed it away,
whispering, “Meg does not like me to drink brandy.”

“She won’t know nothin’ of it, cully, not for some while.
You knock that back and you’ll feel better. Yair, it’s a shaker to see a dimber
mort damaged.”

Philip looked dazedly at the speaker. He knew the man meant
well and was trying to comfort him, but all he could do was wonder how he had
ever permitted Meg to associate with such people. Why had he not sent her to
Leonie where she would have been safe and protected?

“I should not have allowed her—” he muttered.

“Nah, nah! It’s no use worritin’ that. You can’t stop ‘em.
If a mort sets her head to summat, save yer breath to blow yer porridge.”

For all his anxiety Philip had to smile wanly. The man had a
point. It was ridiculous to think about sending Meg—as if she were a package
without volition. Meg… Fearfully he turned his head to look. Pierre was just
straightening up. He swung around and caught Philip’s eye. Philip jumped up
overturning his seat with a clatter, and rushed over.

“Not so bad,” Pierre said as Philip bent over Meg. Pierre
had cut her hair away from the gash, but not widely, and sewn the torn skin
together quite neatly. Now that most of the blood had been washed from the area
and the horrible gleam of bone was gone, Philip could see that the wound was
not large. Meg looked terribly white, however, and was breathing very heavily,
almost snoring. Philip looked at Pierre, his eyes wide with fear.

“Her breathing,” he whispered.

“She’s drunk,” Pierre said in French, with a wry smile. “I
did not want her to come around, so we poured brandy down her. I tell you, she
is not hurt much, although she may be dizzy for a day or two and she may not
remember what happened. What did happen?”

“I do not know,” Philip sighed, stroking Meg’s face.

“You mean you found her like that?”

“No. No, I was at the cave—the place where the kegs are
taken. We were—we were saying goodbye. Suddenly there were men in the cave.”

“What men?”

“I have no idea. I only saw one.” Philip swallowed and
shuddered, then laughed a little hysterically. “His head was on backward, so
I—I did not look long.”

“His head was on backward!” Pierre echoed.

“John—oh, God! John is dead, but before he died…”

“Customs officers?” Pierre asked. He needed no further
explanation after John was coupled with the backward head.

“I do not think so. Surely they would have called out when I
fired.”

“It is very strange,” Pierre muttered. “Mademoiselle Meg
said nothing to me of any trouble.”

“She would not,” Philip said, his voice shaking. “She is so
brave. Not once did she cry out, and she used her pistols—”

“But on whom? Ah! The Black Bart?”

“I do not know,” Philip repeated helplessly. “I never saw
the man before, and Meg—” Philip swallowed convulsively. “I would not have let
her look at what John did anyhow.”

Privately Pierre thought Meg might be less affected than
Philip. There was a hard core inside that delicate-looking woman that had
permitted her to take on a dangerous trade and manage it with great efficiency.
He said nothing of that, however, having learned through broken friendships and
other sorrows that it was not wise to try to destroy the illusions of a man
about the woman he loved. Besides, he did not think Philip’s vision of Meg was
all that illusory. For only the second time in his life Pierre regretted that
he could not try to make a woman his own. The emotion was very brief. He was
nearly old enough to be Meg’s grandfather not to mention her father, and he was
comfortable enough without a woman who thought she owned him and would be
forever telling him what to do.

Then suddenly Pierre blinked, realizing that he was, or at
least should be, surprised to see Philip, a thing he had not had time to notice
previously. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Megaera made an indistinct sound and moved a little. Philip
bent over her. Her eyes flicked open, her brow wrinkled and she mumbled
something. Philip kissed her gently, and her lips twitched toward a smile.

“All safe now,” he murmured softly. “Go to sleep, darling.”

Her eyes closed, and Philip sat back with a deep sigh. He
finally believed she would be all right. He started to run a hand through his
hair, then realized he was covered with dried blood and asked where he could
wash. By the time he returned, he was pretty well back to normal. First he
asked the landlord whether he knew where laudanum could be obtained. A golden
guinea changed hands, and the landlord’s son went out to ride to Penzance,
where he could wake up an apothecary. Then Philip went back to Pierre and told
his story, starting from his return to Kent.

“Eh, well,” Pierre said when he was finished, “I will be
glad to take you, and your idea about selling the woolens and shoes openly is
good. We have time to talk about that, but what is to be done about Miss Meg?”

“She cannot be left here. For one thing, that sister of hers
must not know about me. For another, I am afraid if I brought Meg to her house
in this condition, her sister might refuse to receive her. I do not know who
those men were, and now that John is dead, she has no one to protect her.”

“The cargo?” Pierre asked.

“That is safe, and I think she has the money with her—”

“I did not ask for that reason,” Pierre interrupted. “I was
thinking that if you leave her here she will try to deliver, and without the
poor John…“ He sighed. “The men will not like it, Philippe, for her to be on
the ship. And also, that is not safe for many reasons.”

“I think I will take her with me,” Philip said slowly. “I do
not believe what I have been sent to do is at all dangerous. Only to tell
someone that ‘it is all off, every man for himself!’ It is an act of courtesy
on the part of my government. They do not wish it to be said of them that they
abandoned without warning or a hope of escape one to whom they made promises.
However, the information must reach the man before the New Year, and it is
already the second week in December. I cannot take Meg home, and I cannot leave
her here; thus I must take her with me.”

“But she has no French!”

“So?” Philip grinned. “I will be the envy of every man
alive. I will have a wife beautiful, intelligent—and mute as a stone! We have
the signs she used with John.”

Pierre burst out laughing. “Wonderful! That is wonderful!”
Then he frowned. “But do not say she is mute—only dumb, unable to make words.
She might forget herself once or twice, and when you are alone you will not be
able to stop her from speaking. If someone should hear, it will not be so
suspicious. Let her tongue be in some way at fault. Perhaps let her even say a
word or two, badly garbled, so that people will think she is ashamed to speak
in public but, naturally, not to her husband in private.”

Megaera stirred and moaned again. Philip looked at her
anxiously, patted her shoulder, and whispered reassurances into her ear. Pierre
assured him that she felt nothing, or at least she would remember nothing. When
she had quieted, Pierre suggested that they move her to the ship.

“Yes, that would be best. We can put her in your bunk—you
will not mind?”

“I did not intend to sling a hammock for her among the men.”

Philip laughed. “No. Clearly my head is still not working
quite right. But Pierre, I will have to stay ashore and come later. There are
several dead men in the cave and a pony tied up outside. I cannot allow the
poor beast to freeze or starve, and I cannot simply leave the bodies. John at
least, deserves a decent burial. And I had better leave a letter for Meg’s
sister—no, I think I will write to her father. He is not good for much, but she
says he loves her, and he is still the head of the household.”

“You will write—but what?”

“Um—I think that Meg has been invited to stay with Leonie
and that she will herself write and explain everything as soon as she is
settled. I will have to write to Leonie also. If I leave the letters with the
landlord here, will he send them off?”

At that moment the boy who had gone for the laudanum came in
and brought the bottle to Philip. He passed it to Pierre.

You will see her safely to the ship? I must go and see that
the pony is released and John and the others whoever they are, are placed where
someone will find them. If she becomes restless, give her some of the laudanum.
She will be mad as fire that I have abducted her this way, but I cannot see
anything better to do.”

Philip was absolutely correct about Megaera being furious
when she discovered what he had done. He had kept her dosed with laudanum all
the while she was aboard ship. That was not only because he wished to avoid
argument. Philip also wanted to be sure both her hangover from the brandy
Pierre had poured down her throat and the worst of the headache from the blow
of the bullet on her skull would be over before she was fully conscious. Thus
it was not until they were safely lodged at Monsieur Luroec’s farm that Philip
let her wake naturally.

She stared at him for a long moment, so long that Philip
began to fear she did not recognize him. Then she said, “I’ve had some very
queer dreams.”

“They were not—at least not all of them dreams,” Philip said
gently.

Megaera raised her brows, exclaimed wordlessly, and lifted a
hand toward the healing wound. Philip caught the hand. “That part was not a
dream then? My head did hurt. What happened?” she asked.

“You remember being at the cave?” Philip asked in turn.
Pierre had warned him that people who were hit on the head sometimes did not
remember what had happened just before the blow.

“The cave?” Megaera repeated. Then she looked around the
room. “This isn’t the… Philip, where are we?”

“Now, do not get all excited,” Philip warned. “Let me tell
you what happened.”

He did not quite get through the tale without interruption,
but he had the advantage that when Megaera began to scream at him, her head
began to ache. She contented herself with glaring after that. Philip shrugged.

“I could not bring you home all bloody, with a bullet hole
in your head. I do not even know exactly where Bolliet Manor is. For all I
knew, you could have bled to death before I found the place.”

“John would have taken me. What did you do with him?”

Philip hesitated, then said softly, “I am sorry. I tried to
get to him in time to warn him, but I could not. I was behind the flames when
the lamp spilled, and he may not have been able to see me. And it happened so
fast… He is dead, my love. I am so sorry.”

Megaera’s eyes filled with tears, but they did not fall.
“Poor John,” she whispered.

“I do not think he suffered,” Philip lied, blanking the
memory of John’s open mouth, screaming soundlessly. He could see no reason to
tell her that the deaf-mute had lived with that dreadful hole in him long
enough to wring one enemy’s neck. “It was so quick.”

“Very well,” she said, quietly now because the news of
John’s death had taken the edge off her anger. “But after Pierre had—” she
touched the wound on her head gingerly, “had sewed me up, why did you carry me
off to France, you idiot? Everyone will go mad worrying about me at home.”

“Oh, no,” Philip replied. “I am not stupid. I wrote a very
polite letter to your father, purportedly from my stepmother, to say she had
taken you to stay with her for a few weeks and that you would write later.”

Megaera just stared. His stepmother? But Pierre was not
married. Was there some cuckolded father who had married the woman Pierre… No,
that was far too complicated. Anyhow Philip’s parentage was a side issue of far
less importance than this stupid abduction. She protested again, but Philip
kept repeating calmly that it was far too late to worry about it now, that
Pierre was gone to get them false papers, and that he would not take her back
to The Mousehole alone because there was no one to take care of her with John
dead.

“This smuggling must end, sweetheart. It is too dangerous
for you. Pierre agrees with me. He will find a new distributor or move his base
back to Belgium so that he can trade from Kingsdown again. No, do not begin to
worry about your precious sister and her home. I swear I will find a way to pay
the interest, at least. My father’s man of business will work it all out.”

“Your father’s man of business?” Megaera echoed faintly.

An adoptive father? But Philip was French—no, he had said he
was English. It began to seem as if she had jumped to a wrong conclusion. Yet
Pierre had called him
mon fils
, and she knew enough French to recognize
that meant
my son
. Also, Pierre went to extraordinary lengths to oblige
Philip and to protect him. But Philip gave her no time to think out the
problem. He had changed the subject and was reminding her that he had to carry
a message to Paris.

Megaera had accepted that without doubt when he first said
it, but suddenly she realized she knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about
Philip. Everything she believed she knew had been cast into doubt. “To whom?
For what purpose?”

There was a hard suspicion in Megaera’s eyes now. She might
cheerfully defraud the government of taxes she felt they had no right to
collect, but she was a loyal Englishwoman in any contest with the French. She
had no intention of aiding and abetting a spy. What if the message he was
carrying to Paris would in some way injure her country?

“Sweetheart,” Philip began, and reached for her hands.

She snatched them away. “You have been using me,” she
whispered with horror.

“No!”

Philip had been about to tell her he could not answer her
questions. After all, the plot to unseat Bonaparte was a state secret, and he
really did not dare to mention the name Cadoudal. What Meg did not know could
not slip out. However he could see she would not accept a simple statement that
he was a loyal Englishman. She must be reassured, and words alone would not do
it. Philip pulled off his boot and pried open the glued leather, so that he
could show her the pass signed and sealed by the Secretary for Foreign Affairs.

Megaera sighed with relief. In fact she was so impressed
that she hardly noticed the different spelling of his name. Even if she had, it
would not have meant anything to her. Because of her father’s “little” weakness
and her early marriage, Megaera had never had a London “Season”. She had no
acquaintance among the
ton
, and if the other families who did, like the
Moretons, had ever mentioned the St. Eyres, it had passed over her head. She
passed back the paper and watched Philip work it carefully into his boot again.

“But I will be the greatest danger to you,” she protested.
“My French is—is schoolgirl stuff, and I’m sure my accent would scream
‘English’ to anyone who heard me. How could you be so foolish as to drag me
along with you?”

“I have answered that four times already,” Philip said
reprovingly, “but I will tell you once more. Because I love you. And I cannot
see why you should be a danger to me. Since married men are not called up for
conscription, you are a ready excuse why I am not in the army. Moreover, Pierre
and I together have thought of an excellent reason for you not to talk in
public—you are afflicted of the tongue; not mute but unable to say words
normally. We can use the hand signs we used with poor John. Think about it a
few minutes, love, while I get some glue from Monsieur Luroec to fix this boot
again.”

By the time Philip returned, Megaera was not only reconciled
but was bright and cheerful. She had at first been worried about the servants’
reaction to her absence, but she realized that her father’s valet would read
any letter addressed to Lord Bolliet. Usually such letters were invitations,
and Colson knew which to refuse outright and which to mention to his lordship.
When he found the letter announced Megaera’s visit to Leonie, he would inform
Rose, the housekeeper, and the butler. It was a stroke of luck that Philip had
taken such a dislike to Mrs. Edward Devoran. If he had addressed the letter to
her, it would have lain unopened and the household would have been frantic.

With that worry off her mind Megaera realized that she was
thrilled with this chance for adventure. She had got used to doing rather
unusual things, and it seemed to her she might be of real use to Philip. Who
would suspect a man traveling with a mute wife to be a spy? Spies did not customarily
bring along their womenfolk. As to the muteness, it would be easier for her
than for many because of the long hours she had spent working with John, to
whom it was useless to speak. She would be able to do an excellent imitation of
a person with a speech impediment. And if she could not speak the chances were
that people would believe she was sort of simple. That might be valuable.

The only thing that bothered Megaera was the lie she had
told. It was tenderly amusing that Philip should be so fiercely protective and
have taken her nonexistent sister in such aversion, but it would not be funny
at all when he learned the truth. She could not forget that icy fury that had
taken him when she had implied he might take unfair advantage of knowing who
she was. This time would be even worse. He would be convinced that her
apologies then had been all false. Megaera did not believe he would abandon her
in France, but she could not bear the thought of his hurt and rage when he
discovered she had not trusted him.

Why, oh why, had she not told the truth at once? Should she
tell him now? Megaera shuddered. He would be so angry. Perhaps he would leave
her here until his mission, was finished. Perhaps he would be so upset that he
would be thrown off balance and betray himself to the authorities. No, it was
too late now. She would have to wait until they were back in England. There
Philip would be safe and it would not matter as long as he was safe if he never
spoke to her again.

To divert herself Megaera plunged into a discussion of how
Philip’s mission was to be accomplished when he returned to the room. He was a
little surprised at her complete about-face, but put it down to sweetness of
disposition and most willingly told her what he had outlined and Pierre had
elaborated.

As soon as their papers were ready Philip and Megaera would
travel by road to Paris. They would be
nouveaux mariés
on their
voyage
de noces
. He would keep his old role as a Customs officer, but now one
stationed in the provinces who wished to show his new wife the great city of
Paris. Meanwhile, Pierre would sail around to Dieppe. There he would linger,
selling his legal and welcome cargo of leather, boots and shoes, heavy woolen
cloth, and other such necessities. He could drag out negotiations for some
time, seeming to be looking for the best price. If Philip and Meg had not
arrived at Dieppe before he disposed of his cargo, he could pretend his crew
was off on a spree, or do some fishing. Possibly the weather would oblige by
being nasty. In any case he would return to Dieppe every evening or every other
evening.

Exactly how Philip and Meg would come aboard ship had been
left to the spur of the moment. Pierre had several plans ready. There would be
no trouble about Philip finding the ship. Dieppe was not a naval base, and
there was no reason why people should not walk the docks just to look at the
vessels there. Philip knew the
Bonne Lucie
as well as he knew his own
yacht.

Megaera had no quarrel with any of this, but she pointed out
that Philip had snatched her away without so much as a change of linen and in
boy’s clothing. What was she to do about that? It had all been arranged, Philip
said with a touch of pride. Monsieur Luroec’s daughter had already gone to
Rennes to procure suitable clothes and would be back tomorrow or the next day.
Meanwhile, Megaera was to get back her strength. She laughed at him at first,
saying she felt fine, but in fact she found when she got out of bed that she
was shaky and tired easily. It took her all that day and part of the next to
get the clotted blood out of her hair and find a style for it that would
conceal the gash in her scalp.

In this endeavor Philip was no help at all. He was willing
enough to assist in washing, drying, and combing her hair, but he looked at her
with a perfectly fatuous expression each time she asked whether she had hidden
the bare spot and said she was more beautiful—bare spot or no—than ever. This
led Megaera to ask tartly, but with laughing eyes, whether he was hard up
again. She expected to put him out but found she had underestimated her lover.
Philip merely opened his dark eyes wide and said, “Always, when I am with you.
How could it be otherwise?” which made her blush.

Active or idle, the two found great pleasure simply being
together. Pierre returned with the necessary forged papers. Monsieur Luroec’s
daughter brought clothing suitable to a new bride. If the style was a little
more flamboyant than Megaera herself would have chosen, that was all to the
good. It was truer to what a girl of the class Megaera was pretending to be
would have chosen. Only the most minor alterations were necessary, and Megaera
was delighted with the rich Lyons silks, which were not obtainable in England
or brought prohibitive prices.

Neither Philip nor Megaera had ever stopped to wonder how
they would deal together over the long run when their time was not filled with
urgent tasks. Their attraction to each other had been intense and largely
physical, and had been markedly heightened by the feeling that they would soon be
parted again. During the five days it took them to reach Paris over the muddy
rutted roads of winter, they had adequate time to realize that they liked each
other’s company even in dull and uncomfortable circumstances. They barely made
twenty miles a day, for the hours of light were short and it poured icy rain.

However, they had no trouble aside from the condition of the
roads and the weather. Philip was armed to the teeth, remembering the attack on
the road from Ambleteuse, and Megaera now carried one of the quick-loading
Lorenzonis in her pocket and the muff gun in her muff. There was not the
slightest need. No threat of any kind troubled them. Virtually no riders
appeared on the road; everyone who could not travel in a sound carriage simply
postponed business until the weather should improve. Even carriages were few
and far between, and these were as tightly closed as Philip’s, the drivers as
indistinguishable as he was himself.