The Cornish Heiress (15 page)

“What is it?” she asked.

“I have thought of a way to serve all our purposes,” Philip
replied. “When Pierre buys, he always takes whatever the factors who will deal
with him will give him. This is often heavy goods, sometimes, I suspect, stolen
or diverted from the port at Falmouth and, indeed, these goods might be useful
to the army and navy Bonaparte is forming. But we have two weeks. You heard
Pierre say he would prefer luxury goods. We can afford the time to look in many
different warehouses and to buy small amounts here and there.”

“Well, yes…“ Megaera had her doubts about the time, but she
didn’t want to discuss that now. “But buy what?”

“Indian goods,” Philip answered, his eyes glowing. “Rugs and
shawls, Indian muslin, fans and feathers. France must be starved for Indian
goods. Her trade has been blocked off since May. I do not suggest silks,
because silk is being made at Lyons again and the ladies of the court are
forbidden to wear anything else. However, my fa—someone I know told me that
Bonaparte’s own wife ignores the rule and appears in public in Indian muslins.
There are many new rich among the French, and they are all hungry for display.”

“But what if the factors Pierre dealt with do not handle
such goods?”

“Pierre dealt with men who would overlook the fact that they
were selling to a smuggler, and French at that. No one would suspect
you
of such a thing.” Philip laughed aloud.

“N-no.”

Megaera sounded uncertain, and Philip began to assure her
that no woman so young and lovely could ever be suspected, that if he had not
been assured by Pierre most seriously of her profession he would have believed
it a joke. Megaera smiled at the compliments, but of course, Philip’s
assurances were of little value. She was not in the least worried about being
taken for a smuggler, she was worried about just the opposite. What she was
thinking about was the possibility of being recognized as Mrs. Edward Devoran
in Falmouth.

Naturally she had never dealt with wholesalers, but what
about other tradesmen? After careful thought Megaera decided she had done no
business in Falmouth for years and had not even been in the town for a very
long time. Also, the chance of meeting anyone she knew socially there was
minimal. “Very well,” she said, tossing off the remainder of her drink with a
casual abandon that set her coughing. Philip leapt up and patted her
solicitously on the back and the paroxysm soon stopped. Meg stood up. “I
suppose you want to start tomorrow,” she said. “That will be all right, but I
must be back here before Wednesday night. I have deliveries promised that
night, and I like to be on time.”

Philip was considerably surprised by the early date she set,
but he did not allow it to show. In fact, he was well pleased. He could always
insist on returning some time later during the two weeks if he couldn’t think
of another way to spend time with her. He agreed easily and walked with her to
the stable. His eyes opened a little when the mountain of man that was John
rose from the bale of hay on which he had been sitting Pierre had said “giant”,
but Philip allowed for exaggeration. Actually the word was fairly close to the
truth. Philip was not surprised to see that only Meg had a mount. It would have
needed a draught horse to hold John, and it would be pointless since he could
surely keep up with Meg’s pony afoot, unless Meg chose to gallop.

His eyes opened even wider when Meg seized his wrist and
laid his hand to her cheek and then to John’s. In the next instant he
understood that she was introducing him as a friend to be trusted, which
permitted him to react properly when she kissed his cheek and said, “Kiss me.”
He therefore returned the salute as chastely as she had given it, but his
internal reaction was so much the opposite that, considering the circumstances,
it surprised him.

Megaera was equally surprised at her reaction. When she had
first been married, she had responded quite naturally to her husband. She had
never loved Edward, and she had disapproved of his method of winning her, but
he professed love for her and she had been very willing to learn to love him if
she could. Since Edward was normal sexually and Megaera was a beautiful girl,
he had made a modest effort during the first few weeks of marriage. Megaera had
just about begun to enjoy his sexual attentions, although she still did not
like Edward himself, when he had grown bored by her simplicity and begun to
look for variety.

Because Megaera had never loved Edward at all, in fact she
had not even liked him, she had not associated the pleasure of her body with
sentimental emotion. It was quite clear to her that any man with whom she was
willing to couple could wake similar sensations in her. Two things had kept her
chaste—pride and the failure of a sufficiently attractive man to appear.

The pride had not only prohibited Megaera from looking among
the lower orders for a lover but had prevented her from giving the slightest
evidence of dissatisfaction with her husband. Of course, every man and most of
the women in the neighborhood knew how unworthy was the recipient of this
seeming trust and affection. However, a decent man would not consider causing
Megaera the misery of exposing her husband just on the expectation that she
might then be induced to start an illicit love affair.

Those few who were unscrupulous enough to try it got short
shrift. Megaera by now had enough experience of weak and deceitful men to
recognize them within moments of their opening their mouths. Nonetheless, the
method she chose to drive them off, those who chose to undeceive her about
Edward’s character—an icy assurance that she knew her husband quite well enough
without outside instruction—only confirmed the neighborhood’s impression that
she was so bewitched by Edward that no other man had a chance.

After his death, Megaera had unwittingly reinforced this
idea still further. At first she had been besieged by suitors. She was her
father’s heiress; the Bolliet lands were in good heart. What could be more
appealing than a beautiful, rich widow who was known to be willingly blind to
her husband’s faults? In the beginning Megaera was both too sour from her first
marriage and too positive that the moment she confessed she was really penniless,
about to lose Bolliet, her current swains would melt away like spring snow. She
should have had more faith in her own appeal. Among the men were a number who
would have taken her gladly, paid off the mortgages, and made excellent
husbands. But Megaera was in no mood then for experimenting with any man and
turned all away, saying that she did not intend to marry again.

Once she had begun smuggling, she never gave the matter of
marriage—or of men—another thought. Occasionally she was aware of a vague physical
need, but usually she was too tired from her double life to feel desire when
there was no man to stimulate it. Now, suddenly, as she took Philip’s hand and
kissed his cheek, she was painfully aware of him as a male creature and a
desirable one. Mrs. Edward Devoran would have thrust that feeling away and
buried it. A lady could not desire the illegitimate son of a Breton smuggler,
no matter how handsome his face or elegant his manners.

Before Megaera could withdraw into herself, she became aware
of her surroundings as well as of Philip. At once, a weight of oppression
rolled off her. Mrs. Edward Devoran could not consider a smuggler’s bastard,
but for Red Meg he was a perfect match. She did not drop Philip’s wrist
immediately, merely signed to John that he should get her pony. As the big man
turned away Megaera opened her fingers and allowed her hand to slide down the
back of Philip’s.

Philip was far from innocent where women were concerned, but
his experience with ladies was limited. He avoided young marriageable girls
like the plague, having never seen one with whom he would consider spending his
life… Since he did not desire marriage, he feared to wake expectations that
could cause pain, being genuinely kindhearted. He had had one affair with a married
woman of his own class but had found it most unsatisfactory. She was lovely to
look at, and her husband was such that Philip could understand and approve the
lady’s desire for a lover. However, he had not enjoyed the sneaking, hiding and
lying and had been repelled by the totally unnecessary revelations the “lady”
had made. The last straw was when he discovered he was not her only stud.

Thereafter Philip had confined his attentions to the
professionals who worked in bawdy houses. These came in a wide variety, from
filthy, crude sluts who would do anything, to gracious “ladies” whom a man
needed to woo as delicately—and much more expensively—than any duke’s daughter.
Philip opted for the middle range—good-looking girls with enough veneer or
refinement to be clean and refrain from any disgusting behavior but who were
frank about their desires, both physical and financial. He had several
favorites, who greeted him with crows of delight—for he was a strong, patient
lover, and a generous one who nonetheless had proved that he was no chick for
plucking. He would pay well for good service but could be neither gulled nor
overawed.

The girls seemed to appreciate it, although Philip was too
wise to question deeply what they thought. It was enough that several had said
outright that, if he wanted sole possession, they would be willing. Philip had
considered it with one or two of those who made the offer. It would be a little
more expensive but a little more convenient in that he could be sure the girl
would always be free when he wanted her. He had discovered, however, that he
had no such inclination and did not mind at all that the girl he used on Monday
would be performing for someone else on Tuesday. Nor did he care that a girl he
asked for specifically might be busy. There was always another ready, and he
preferred variety.

Accustomed to the straightforward advances of such young
women, Philip might well have missed the significance of the delicate,
suggestive touch of Meg’s fingers on the back of his hand. He did not, because
he was already thinking along the same lines himself. Ever since he had made
that teasing remark about importuning her, he had been thinking about her as a
woman rather than as Pierre’s smuggling partner. And everything she had said
and done had made her more desirable.

Long used to Leonie’s intelligence and practicality, Philip
was enchanted by Meg’s business sense and quick understanding. One reason he
had never considered marriage was his horror at the thought of being tied
permanently to one of the giggling simpering misses presented as marriageable.
When Meg had taken hold of his wrist, made him touch her, kissed him, and asked
to be kissed, he understood there was no sexual significance to her actions.
Nonetheless, a surge of desire had gripped him, stronger by far than any
induced by the most blatant overtures of any light-skirts.

Thus, when the tips of Meg’s fingers slid over his hand,
Philip shivered. The gentle touch affected him much as the “electric” fluid
with which some of his friends at Oxford had been experimenting. His skin
tingled and he felt the hair on his body rise. There was, too, a wash of heat
in his genitals, but that, although more violent and demanding, he could deal
with more readily than that subtle tingling. It was the latter which rendered
him breathless and mute so that he could only stare down into Meg’s face and
swallow hard, like a cursed fool.

The momentary awkwardness did Philip no harm with Megaera,
who, as aware of him as he was of her, recognized his response. In fact she was
much flattered because she knew—had even expected—she might be seized and
mauled about as soon as she offered the invitation. Instead Philip seemed
doubtful—not that he lacked eagerness, but he seemed to be uncertain she had
intended an invitation. That was very pleasant. Megaera’s knowledge of casual
relationships between men and women was virtually nonexistent, but from the
maidservants complaints against Edward she assumed they were brief and violent.
Her protest to Edward had brought the defense that the girls had “asked for
it”. But when Megaera tried to discover how they did so, it appeared that a
glance or a slight hesitation in leaving a room was sufficient.

Only when John brought her pony did Megaera begin to wonder whether
Philip’s hesitation might have been owing to his fear of John rather than his
respect for her. The discussion they had had about “importuning” came to her
mind, and she bit her lip with vexation. By then Philip had fetched Spite, and
they set out northwest over the sharply rising land to pick up the road that
led to Bolliet. Both were silent. Megaera was wondering how she could test
Philip’s reaction to her, and Philip was wondering whether it was fair to
embark on a love affair with her when he would be gone in two weeks and might
never return.

“This is where we leave the road,” Megaera said after about
fifteen minutes. “Look carefully at that lightning-struck tree. Beyond it is a
tall peak that shows between the two remaining living branches. You cannot see
that now, of course, but it is clear in daytime. We go by west of the tree.
There is the crest of a hill, but we go around, keeping on the low side. If you
climb too high, you will find yourself lost.”

“I am lost already.” Philip laughed awkwardly. “I will never
find it. This is not my kind of country at all, and a lot of my time has been
spent in Town—I mean towns.”

Megaera peered at him through the dark when he said “Town”,
recognizing it as an unintended reference to London. She put the odd remark
aside. There were, as usual, many explanations, and she did not really care
much about Philip’s background. He was the son of a friend and had proved
himself, despite his origin and his trade, no enemy of her nation. The slight
mystery merely lent additional charm to his elegant French-accented speech and
manners and to his handsome countenance.

“Tomorrow you won’t need to come farther than the tree,”
Megaera said. “That’s where I’ll meet you. If you need to come to the cave,
I’ll send John to meet you in daylight. You won’t have any trouble.”

Philip frowned. “If it is so easily found, is it safe for
you?”

“How do you mean, safe? The men all know it, of course. They
have to bring the goods here. It just isn’t possible for John and me to unload
fast enough by ourselves. It’s safe enough from the local people. Many don’t
know about it, but most are just scared to death of the cave. There are all
kinds of stories about ‘creatures’ that live ‘under the hill’. But I’ve never
seen or heard a thing. For all I know those rumors were started on purpose
before I came here. If you mean safe from the revenuers—no place is safe if an
information is laid. I move the stock as soon as I can. Most of the time the
cave is empty. It’s just a place I can be reached—if you want to reach me.”

“Good!” Philip said emphatically. “But should I not see you
safe to where you live? I mean—what good is my bringing you to the cave, if—”

I’ll stay here tonight,” Meg said abruptly “I have a bed and
blankets and such. With John sleeping across the opening and a noise trap that
will wake me, I’ll be safe enough.”

Her tone did not invite argument, and Philip rode on in
silence. It seemed odd to him that the girl should be so secretive. Her looks
were so distinctive, and her servant more so, that it didn’t seem possible she
could hide her identity, but if that was the way she wanted it…

“I did not mean to pry,” he said softly. “Believe me, your
safety is of great importance to me, and I agree that what I do not know I
cannot tell. That is wise. I only wish to be sure this Bart person does not—”

“There’s no danger of that now,” Megaera remarked. “He
wouldn’t try to get me at any time except when I go to
meet
Pierre.
Silly, that’s the only time I carry any large sum of money.”

“Then why—“ Philip began and shut his mouth abruptly,
flushing at his own stupidity.

Although he could not see it, Megaera had blushed hotly
also. She had not meant to sound so blatantly inviting. Actually she had not
intended any invitation, she had only answered with the direct truth, not
thinking how it must sound. They rode on in awkward stillness, but fortunately
the level area narrowed and Megaera kicked her pony into a trot for a few steps
so that she could precede Philip. That made speech difficult and was an
adequate excuse for the silence.

After her first appalled reaction, Megaera told herself it
was all to the good. She was
supposed
to be coarse and common. She had
thus done just what she believed such a woman would do. It was ridiculous to
care what the bastard of a common fisherman smuggler thought of her. She was
not Mrs. Edward Devoran, with a family name and honor to protect and noble
standards to live up to. Now she was Red Meg, who wore an old, dirty, man’s
jacket and breeches that would have caused Mrs. Edward Devoran to faint with
embarrassment and horror. So what if Philip thought her a common whore! The
defiant thought was accompanied by a rush of tears and a stuffed nose, which
made Megaera sniff.

First mute with embarrassment at his gaucherie, Philip had remained
silent because of confusion. There was so great a dichotomy between that
delicate, thrilling touch on his hand and the crude suggestion of Meg’s remark.
The two simply did not go together. The open invitation was the sort of thing
one of the girls in a whorehouse might have said. The touch on his hand was
something a shy girl might do to encourage a hesitant suitor.

Had that gentle touch been an accident? Philip could not
believe it—partly because he didn’t want to believe it. There was something exciting,
exciting in a clean, fine way, about the delicate invitation that he could not
bear to discard in exchange for a crude pleasure he could find anywhere. But if
the shy desire to encourage him was the truth, what could Meg’s purpose be in
permitting him to accompany her, saying she intended to sleep in the cave had a
bed there, and nail the whole thing together by admitting she knew Bart would
not attack her on the homeward journey?

At that moment Philip heard the sad little sniffle. Perhaps
if he had not heard, he would not have noticed the surreptitious gesture with
which Megaera wiped tears from her cheeks. He did see, however, and the quick
motion plus the sniff was so eloquent and so satisfactory an explanation that
Philip nearly laughed with joy. He would have spurred Spite forward to comfort
her at once, except that John was between them and Philip did not know the
ground. He dared not go around in the dark where, if Spite put a foot wrong
they might tumble over a drop. It might not mean much but a few bruises to
Philip, but the horse could break a leg.

It did not matter. When they came to the cave, he could show
that he understood. Philip was now sure that the three things had nothing to do
with each other at all. Meg had allowed him to accompany her for several
reasons—because Pierre had suggested it, because (he hoped) she enjoyed his
company, because she had to show him where to meet her, and also because,
however sure she was Bart would not try to attack her when she had no money,
she was woman enough to be nervous. In this light the remark she had made was
no more than the simple truth—a confession rather than an invitation.

Fool that he was to have hurt her. Obviously in her
innocence she had not realized the implications of her simple statement until
his crude half question had made them plain. He hoped the aftermath of her
tears of shame would not be so much anger that she would not listen to his
apology. Philip opened his mouth to call out, but at that instant John trotted
around from behind Meg’s pony. Philip pulled up Spite as he saw Meg slide down
from her mount. However, as he rose in the saddle to dismount also, Meg said
coldly, “Don’t bother to get down. John is just going to look over the cave.
Then I’ll tell him to take you back to the road.”

“Please do not be angry at my stupidity,” Philip said. “I
will not dismount if you do not wish it, but allow me to say how sorry I am for
offending you. I understand why you are angry, indeed I do. It was most
ungracious to sound as if it were too much trouble for me to accompany you. I—”

“Oh, come down,” Megaera interrupted. “It’s stupid to talk
at each other with you atop that horse.”

Philip swung his right leg over and came off the saddle.
“Thank you. You are kind. Pierre would be furious if he knew how I had insulted
you. He thinks the world of you, and you are so—so practical I forgot that
knowledge that a thing is so in the head does not always quiet the heart.”

“What in the world does that mean?”

“Only that I should have understood that you were nervous,
even if you did not believe Bart would try to attack when you had no money. I
am such a fool…”

“I wasn’t angry about that,” Megaera said, laughing softly.
“I
was
frightened half to death on the way here and very glad of your
company on the way back. I—I misunderstood your—well, not your question but—but
why you didn’t you finish asking it.”

Philip cleared his throat. “Meg, you are entirely too
truthful and innocent,” he said with jocular disapproval. “I presented you with
a perfect excuse for being angry with me. It cost me considerable pains to
think it up. You are supposed to use it, not uncover the vulgar truth.”

To his surprise Meg did not, laugh but took a step closer
and said, “I prefer the truth, and I thought the same as you but—but I didn’t
intend it that way.”

“I know that. I have just told you so both roundabout and
directly.” Philip took her hand as it came up to make a gesture.

“Yes, but—but I’m afraid that what put it into my mind…”

Her voice drifted away as Philip drew her closer by the hand
he held. She did not resist, but he could feel her trembling and her eyes were
as wide as they had been when she had come into The Mousehole.

“You need not fear me,” Philip murmured. “You must know I
think you very beautiful, very desirable, but I would not… You have only to say,
‘Stop. Go away.’ I will obey you.”

“I have only just met you,” Megaera whispered.

It was too dark to see that she was blushing, yet Philip
knew that. “Sometimes it is that way,” he said gently. “For me also—”

“Oh, a man—” Megaera’s voice was suddenly hard and she
uttered a slight, bitter laugh. “A man looks and wants.”

“That is not what I meant,” Philip protested sharply. “I am no
innocent. I am not likely to confuse you with a woman who can be bought for a few
shillings.”

Megaera did not reply. She knew any man who was not an idiot
would have said the same. Nonetheless the words were a sweet balm and she told
herself that there was a ring of sincerity in Philip’s voice. And, indeed, she did
not hope or desire to make any profit out of their relationship. The trouble was
that she could not think how to advance from the current position. Just then
John emerged from the cave with the lantern, which he extended toward Megaera. She
withdrew her hand gently from Philip’s grasp.

“What time shall I meet you tomorrow?” she asked.

“Oh, Lord! I have to get a carriage, and I think the nearest
inn that has post horses will be in Penzance. Not before ten, Meg—which means,
I am afraid, that we will not have much time for business when we reach
Falmouth—not enough, anyway.”

“There must be at least one respectable hotel in which we could
stay,” she said, and then her breath drew in sharply.

Philip began to laugh. “Meg, you
must
learn to think
before you speak—or else not give way to second thoughts. I assure you I will
not mistake your meaning another time. Yes, I am sure there will be decent
hotels. After all, naval wives doubtless require respectable accommodation. I
am glad you are willing to stay in my care. We can talk about the arrangements on
the way. You look very tired.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, like a child, then turned to
John and signed that he should lead Philip back to the road and that she was going
directly back into the house.

It was convenient that Philip could not understand the gestures,
but Megaera was aware that he was watching keenly. All too soon, if they spent much
time together, she would not be able to count on her instructions to John being
secret. She must remember that this was an entirely different man from the slow
country clods with whom she was accustomed to dealing. She must also remember
that, no matter how attractive, he was only Pierre’s bastard. Her secret must
not be exposed. Probably Philip was honest, as Pierre was honest. Nonetheless
the relationship between Red Meg and Mrs. Edward Devoran must never be known.

Megaera sighed as she passed through the cave and went around
a rough outcrop of rock. Behind it she stuck her arm into a deep fissure and
felt around until her hand found a large knot of rope. Pulling on this dragged
a ladder out of a dark hole well above Megaera’s head. She climbed the ladder,
crawled into and beyond the small opening and, stood up. She pulled the ladder
up behind her with considerable effort. As she laid it down so that the legs
were on the higher area that made the opening so small, the rope slid back into
the narrow crack, that extended down to the floor of the main cave and
disappeared from sight.