The Cornish Heiress (31 page)

“But d’Ursine does not mix with my friends.”

Philip was horrified. His light abandonment of the subject
of who had set de Tréport on his trail was preparatory to informing Roger he
intended to go back to Cornwall. He had come no closer to an answer to his
problem of what to do about Meg, but he knew he had to stop her from smuggling
as soon as possible. This, of course, could not be accomplished from London. He
had not bothered to think of any particularly good excuse for returning. If his
father had asked at all, he intended to say that he had left his horse there
and that he found the Moretons congenial and the area interesting. Now,
obviously, such a slight purpose was not sufficient.

“I didn’t mean that you should ask questions about d’Ursine but
about d’Onival and de Tréport,” Roger said, burying even the faint hope Philip
had of escaping his duty. “You can innocently ask what happened to de Tréport,
since he isn’t in his usual haunts. Then you can ask who were his friends,
those you didn’t know—and you can ask those for further references. You will
need to think of a fairly pressing reason—you lent, him money? A horse? He cut
you out with a woman? But you must seem good humored about it, not really
angry.”

“Yes.”

Philip was doing his best to conceal his bitter
disappointment. He realized that what his father was asking him to do was of
importance. He was the one known associate of de Tréport whose loyalty to
England could not be questioned. Since inquiries from the outside had revealed
nothing, it was necessary for him at least to try. Nonetheless he could not
work up the smallest enthusiasm for the task. All he wanted was to see Meg and
make sure she was safe. After that he would be glad to hunt spies or do
anything else required of him.

“Sooner or later I am sure someone will mention d’Onival to
you,” Roger continued blithely, completely misunderstanding Philip’s rather
bleak expression. He assumed it was distasteful to his son to act a part among
his own friends, some of whom might be involved in Jean’s and Henri’s
treasonous activities. That was reasonable. Roger was sympathetic to Philip’s
distaste but knew his son would not shirk his duty simply because it was
unpleasant.

“Yes, I am sure someone will,” Philip agreed, “but first I
had better think of a good reason for disappearing myself, and secondly, I had
better find out how deep I am in everyone’s black books for missing my
engagements. I shall toddle along to White’s a bit later and see if anyone
beside us is in Town. Will you tell Leonie I will not be in for dinner?”

Roger agreed and left Philip to puzzle over what could have
caused his disappearance. In spite of having half his mind filled with violet
eyes and dark red hair, he found a solution to the easy problem. It was
compounded by his desire to travel west and his father’s remark about Leonie’s
Irish estates. It would be easy enough to say that Roger had sent him there,
ostensibly to check on the land, but really to separate him from the drinking
and gambling that filled the hours left empty by hunting on the country estates
to which he had been invited. Naturally Philip would have been sullen under the
circumstances and not in a mood to write and explain he had been sent away to
sit in the corner like a naughty little boy.

The excuse was so good that Philip was almost cheered up.
However, he never got a chance to use it. There was no one at White’s with whom
he was closely enough acquainted to know he had been gone, and at the gambling
halls he visited after dinner—places to which de Tréport had introduced
him—such questions were not asked. It was assumed that an answer to them would
be embarrassing. No one had seen de Tréport, which Philip accepted as a natural
thing, since he was likely to be staying in the country at this time of year.
Philip collected the names of several houses at which Jean might be a guest
and—since he did not need the money at all—won heavily at both places he
stopped. He also drank heavily. It was impossible for him to avoid doing so and
remain in character.

It was also impossible, because he kept winning, to break
away, and it was five o’clock in the morning before he was able to roll into
bed. Philip, therefore, greeted with something less than enthusiasm his valet’s
attempts to rouse him some four hours later. In fact he rejected the idea so
violently that Sorel retreated in disorder, holding a handkerchief to his
bleeding nose. The next move was thus up to Leonie, who was waiting in the
corridor with a message that she would not entrust to anyone.

Leonie was quite annoyed with Lord Hawkesbury for sending a
note superscribed “The Foreign Office—Urgent” directly to Philip instead of
addressing it to Roger, who had innocent reasons in plenty for receiving such
notes and was better fitted to wake a powerful and furious young man with a bad
hangover. Nonetheless, if it was urgent government business, it could not wait
until Philip had slept off his head. Leonie had never lacked courage.
Resolutely she marched into Philip’s bedchamber, picked up his evening walking
stick, and prodded him with it.

Although Megaera did not strike Rose when she was gently
shaken at almost the same time, she was nearly as unwilling as Philip to wake
up. Not that Megaera had a hangover from drink; she was sick at heart. Two
nights earlier Pierre had finally made his long-delayed call into Lamorna Cove,
and the previous night Megaera had ridden to The Mousehole to pay him and to
arrange his next visit. Pierre had been in bubbling good humor, and the first
words out of his mouth had been, “Philip is home safe.”

Relief had made Megaera mute one moment too long. Full of
his own cleverness in arranging so good a cover and Philip’s cleverness in
using it so brilliantly, Pierre told the whole story, except that he disguised
Philip’s purpose. Thus he did not say anything about the meeting with Bonaparte
but made the main direction of Philip’s effort an attempt to find a safe way to
dispose directly of luxury goods to the army officers and rich shipbuilders in
and around Boulogne. Philip’s adventure made excellent sense from that point of
view. It was logical that Philip should plant smuggled goods to test the
numbers, honesty, and efficiency of the Customs officers. It was also
reasonable for him to approach the harbor master. If he could make a deal with
him, it might not be necessary to land secretly by night in a cove.

Somehow the harbor master’s daughter got mentioned. Pierre,
who had never extended his cleverness to the delicate management of women,
remembered in the same instant he mentioned Désirée that something, possibly
far more serious, was brewing between Meg and Philip. Because he had not cared
enough in many years to lie to one woman about another, Pierre made a basic
mistake. He paused, looked uncomfortable, and shifted the subject.

Until that awkwardness Megaera had been listening with bated
breath, horrified and delighted at the same time. She could not help but admire
Philip’s bold deftness, but his skill at deception troubled her. It smacked too
much of the cully-catcher, and the sly use of cleverness against the innocent
and unsuspecting. Like Pierre, Megaera did not really believe smuggling was
dishonest. It cheated no one except the government—at least, the way she and
Pierre ran the business—and the government was a faraway thing Megaera had a
hard time relating to herself.

The simple mention of the harbor master’s daughter would
have passed right over Megaera’s head if Pierre had not become so
self-conscious about it. It had not occurred to her to doubt Philip’s sincerity,
but Pierre’s obvious embarrassment coupled with the impression she had received
of Philip taking advantage of the gullible officials in Boulogne brought a
horrible doubt to her mind. Was she simply another cully to be “catched” for
what she was worth by an artful sharper? A passion of loss shook her. Tears
welled in her eyes and tightened her throat. Pride followed swiftly behind
lashing her for credulity and demanding that no one—least of all Pierre—know of
her foolishness and her pain.

Thus, instead of flying into rage and demanding more
information, Megaera pretended she had not noticed the halting, overquick end
of the story and the shift to a safer subject. It was very dark in The
Mousehole, and Pierre was talking hard and fast to cover his blunder, so Megaera
was able to hide her distress. The smuggler, thinking he had gotten away with his
coverup, decided to leave before he put his foot in his mouth again. He
arranged the date and signals for his next trip, but Megaera understood that
these were now tentative, depending on the more and more uncertain weather. She
would wait for his signal for several hours two nights running. If he did not
come, she would try again the same day the following week, unless a storm was
raging. In that case she would wait one day after the storm was over, and begin
the pattern again.

Just before they left the inn, Pierre asked about Black
Bart. Megaera merely said that she had neither seen nor heard any sign of
him—and that was the truth, but not all of it. At any other time she would have
confided to Pierre that Tom Helston, who gathered the men and brought them from
the Treen area, had remarked to her that he had had to drop four men because they
were constantly grumbling and causing dissatisfaction. They did not like the long
walk, to Lamorna Cove; they did not like being cut out of the distribution end
with the perquisites of a little robbery and perhaps a rape of a servant girl if
they could catch one.

The older men, those with families, preferred Megaera’s system.
The dangers of distributing nearly the entire shipment on the one night, which
was Black Bart’s method because he had no really safe storage place—were far
greater. They were less interested in pilfering and rape than in getting home
safely to their wives and children. The younger men however, had been inclined
to listen to the agitators. They were less afraid of being caught because they
had no responsibilities and also because youth was adventurous. To them a stolen
piglet or hen had the lure of something for nothing, and a soft servant girl,
even if she wasn’t willing, was exciting.

Megaera was worried. She knew perfectly well that cutting
the men out was not sufficient. It was absolutely necessary to punish them also.
If they were not lessoned sharply, and soon, her authority over them would be
shaken. She had intended to ask Pierre’s advice—actually she had a faint hope
that he would offer to use his crewmen to take care of the matter for her.
However, the shock and grief of hearing of Philip’s “unfaithfulness” had
overwhelmed her. She could think of nothing except his “betrayal” and even when
Pierre’s question about Black Bart brought the problem of the disaffected men
to mind, Megaera could not bear to discuss anything. All she wanted was to get
home to her bed where she could cry in peace and privacy.

She had taken full advantage of her bed for that purpose,
only the more she wept over Philip’s falseness in the big, empty bed, the more
she wanted him. She realized he had not meant to abandon her completely. After
all, he had told Pierre to assure her he would come as soon as he could. She
found herself making a million excuses for him. In fact before she knew what
she was about, she found she was angrier with Pierre for telling her than with
Philip for having betrayed her.

From there it was an easy step to begin wondering whether
Pierre had told her on purpose. Could he object to his son’s relationship with
her? Could he fear that Philip would wish to settle down in Cornwall and no longer
be willing to play his father’s game? Perhaps there was no harbor master’s daughter,
and Pierre had made up the whole thing just to separate her from Philip.

At this point Megaera checked her overactive imagination.
She knew she was twisting the facts to ease her sore heart. If Pierre wished to
keep Philip and her apart, surely he must have more effective means at his disposal
than the casual mention of a girl and an awkward and embarrassing shifting of
the subject. Rage and shame returned all the more intense for her desire to
excuse her lover at any cost. She was just another doxy in Philip’s stable. No
wonder he was so charming, so thoughtful, always doing and saying the right
thing—he had plenty of practice.

Exhaustion finally sent Megaera asleep despite her disordered
and wavering mind and heart, but it was nearly dawn by then and she roused most
unwillingly when her maid came to wake her. Rose examined her mistress with
distress. Her lady had been worried and nervous for over a month now, but this was
the worst of all. Rose had no doubt that her lady’s lover had betrayed her. Perhaps
he had said he would be away for a week or two; perhaps yesterday was the day
he had fixed to return, and he had not done so; perhaps her lady had heard
yesterday that he had taken a new love—or been killed in a duel.

Rose thrilled to the romantic tragedy, but it so became clear
that it was betrayal, not death, her lady was suffering. Her eyes might be
heavy and swollen with tears and lack of sleep, but they flashed with
controlled rage under their long lashes. What was more, grief for a dead lover
did not send one to examining all the invitations in the last week’s post or ordering
that all one’s dresses be laid out for refurbishment.

Of course, Rose was sorry that her lady had been disappointed
in love, but the kind of love that required sneaking out of the house to a secret,
rendezvous was not very satisfactory in the long run. Rose was romantic, but
she knew that sort of thing could only lead to trouble. In a way she was glad it
was over, and even gladder that in her hurt and disappointment her mistress
finally seemed ready to do what Rose had been urging (when she dared) ever
since the strict period of mourning for Mr. Devoran had ended. Her lady was so
beautiful. Rose was sure that if she had accepted the invitations she received
to balls and other social events, she would soon be married again.

Rose understood why her lady did not seem interested in men.
A husband like Devoran could easily cure such an interest. Most of the servants
had guessed that the marriage was not happy, and Rose knew more of the truth
than the others. Nonetheless it seemed ridiculous to the maid that her lady
would not go to parties or even more decorous evening engagements like musicales.
It almost seemed as if, horrid as he had been, her lady were mourning her
husband.

Megaera was fond of Rose and to a degree, trusted her. She was
sure Rose would conceal any love affair or any other romantic peccadillo.
However, when Rose was frightened by something she did not understand, she could
not be trusted to hold her tongue for long. If she had known about her mistress’s
smuggling activities, sooner or later she would have gone to someone in the
household or even to Dr. Partridge for comfort and assurance. Thus Megaera had
been very careful that Rose should not know. And of course, that she had to be
out so many nights making deliveries kept her from accepting invitations to evening
affairs. Even if she was not delivering on the night of a party, Megaera was in
such desperate need of sleep that her bed was far more inviting to her than the
most brilliant ball in the world.

Philip’s betrayal had changed that. Megaera was more than
willing to give up her sleep—or even a few deliveries—to salve her pride and prove
to herself that she would still be attractive to men other than a smuggler’s
bastard. Perhaps she was even attractive enough to snare someone who would make
her activities as a smuggler unnecessary. Just because Edward and Philip did not
find her worth being faithful to was no reason why she should not try again. Perhaps
this time
she
would not be faithful.

Filled with bitter thoughts, Megaera dashed off three
acceptances. One for a musicale at the Levallises’, one for an informal party
to celebrate a birth at the vicarage, and the third for a masked ball—a very
grand affair—at Moreton Place. Although she went in a spirit of bitterness and
rage, Megaera enjoyed herself very much. She knew she was a favorite with Mrs.
Levallis, but everyone was flatteringly delighted to see her, not least the
Levallises’ eldest son and heir, who was a recent widower. Megaera could not
bring herself to respond to him, not because she did not like him, but because
she liked him too well. Gilly had always been kind to her. She could not repay
kindness by allowing him to take on the debts still saddling Bolliet.

Other men paid court at the vicar’s party and Megaera was
delighted. She did not repulse any advances, but she certainly did not
encourage them either. For each man there was an appropriate excuse. One was
too young, another too old, a third did not have sufficient income to help
rescue Bolliet, a fourth spoke with a sneer of her father (this was
manufactured out of a decent inquiry about Lord Bolliet’s health), for a
fifth—Perce Moreton, it was—she simply did not like blond men. There was no way
Megaera was going to admit that all faces faded into insignificance beside her
memory of Philip’s dark but vivid intensity.

Nonetheless all the attention was delightful, and Megaera
promised herself that she would shift deliveries or try letting John go alone
to the places he had been most frequently so that she could reestablish a
social life beyond the afternoon visiting and tea parties among ladies, which
was all she had permitted herself for more than a year. There was now the
masked ball to look forward to instead of donning riding clothes and going to
see whether the new tenant farmer in the high valley had plowed over the fallow
field and left the fields she had pointed out to lie fallow, Megaera began a careful
inspection of her ball gowns. At a masked ball part of the fun was not being recognized.
All of her gowns had been worn too often, and she and Rose conferred earnestly over
how to turn several of the old into something new.

It was ridiculous, of course. Rose knew that one glimpse of
her lady’s hair or eyes would give her away, but she was too happy to see
Megaera interested in something feminine to protest. Between them they devised
a breathtaking confection of white spider gauze embroidered with acorns of silver
(from Megaera’s wedding dress, which she had never worn again) over an
underslip of blue-violet that matched her eyes. Harbor master’s daughter indeed,
Meg thought, looking at herself in the long, oval mirror. Even she had to
believe she was lovely. Well, Philip had said he was returning. She would give
him something to regret before telling him she never wanted to see him again.

In happy ignorance of Megaera’s intentions, Philip was
joyfully making ready to leave for Cornwall at the very moment Megaera was
planning just what cruel things she would say to him. Despite his intense
eagerness to return to Meg, he had not been quite as happy several days earlier
when the proposition from the Foreign Office had first been broached to him.
This had nothing to do with the proposition itself, but was owing to the fact
that Philip was not at all convinced he would live long enough to accept the
mission. Never before had he had the experience of listening to a convoluted
political plot while enduring a hangover of really titanic proportions.