The Cornish Heiress (35 page)

Beyond caution, Megaera leapt out of bed as soon as Rose had
left the room and locked the door. Ordinarily she waited until she was sure the
maid was asleep. She knew it would offend Rose, who would feel obliged to peep
in at her mistress to be sure all was well before she went to bed herself, but
Megaera could not wait. She could soothe Rose tomorrow.

Slipping through the door to Edward’s dressing room, she
pulled off her nightdress, threw it into his wardrobe, and pulled on the
clothing she wore for smuggling. She had only to lock Edward’s door behind her
and no one could say she had ever been out of her bed. Megaera shivered a
little as she entered the passage to the cave. This was the first time that
John had not preceded her with a lantern. Sometimes she made the trip back from
the cave alone, if John were still moving kegs, but there was light and warmth
to welcome her return. Somehow it was disturbing to go toward the empty black
immensity of the cave by herself.

At least she did not need to go in the dark. Lanterns and
flint and tinder waited ready in the passage just by the door. Trembling with
cold and nervousness, Megaera had to try three times before she struck light.
With each tiny failure her heart fell. As the sparks died they seemed a symbol
that nothing would go right ever again. It seemed a warning for her to go back,
that worse trouble waited for her. Still, pride—and a tiny, forlorn hope—would
not let her give up. The third flame flickered, held, and Megaera went forward
into the dark.

The first thing Megaera saw was the folded square of white
on the table. The light from her lantern had seemed useless, swallowed up in
the blackness, hardly piercing the dark enough for her to see to walk. But the
letter leapt into her vision, beckoning to her in dimness where nothing else
was visible. Megaera uttered a cry of joy and ran forward. She stumbled against
a chair and nearly fell, and the brief pain and shock dampened her spirits a
little. It may be only to say he is
not
coming, she told herself
severely, but she could not believe that was true.

Megaera was not disappointed. She had never had a love
letter before. She read it, then reread it, then cried bitterly with joy, then
read it still again. All she had absorbed from the three readings, however, was
the first part—that Philip, loved her, missed her, needed desperately to see
her, that he would come “despite hell or high water”. She sat contemplating
that miracle until she was shaking with cold. Her heart might be light and warm
now, but the cave was freezing. Naturally her next thought was of returning to
her warm bed.

It was then that she finally paid attention to the last
sentence. “Tomorrow, after midnight,” the letter said. That meant Philip had
come to the cave only yesterday and he would return
tonight
—of course,
he must leave the ball before the unmasking so he would be here “after
midnight”. Megaera felt for her watch, but in her haste she had not put it in
her pocket. She did not dare go back to the house for fear she would miss
Philip. Then she remembered the rising wind and ran to the mouth of the cave.
Already the moon was obscured and the wind was much worse. There was just
enough light for Megaera to see the leafless bushes near the cave entrance
tossed and whipped about. Soon—too soon—the rain would begin, and it would be a
heavy rain. Her heart sank. Philip would not come.

Yet she could not force herself to go back to the house.
Instead, she lit the braziers that she had brought to the cave so long ago to
try to convince the smuggling gang that she lived there. The charcoal was damp
from its long wait, but tending it gave her something to do and at last the
wide, shallow pans began to burn steadily and give off some heat. Megaera hung
over them, warming her hands and face. This far back in the cave one could
scarcely hear the wind. For a time she tried to convince herself this meant the
weather had improved, but she knew it was not likely.

Against her will she was drawn to the entrance. It was
bitterly cold away from the braziers, but it was not the cold that made Megaera
shudder. Even if Philip wanted to come, he could not, she told herself. He
would not be able to see in the driving rain that was half ice. It must be
after midnight now. She had been a fool to wait. Slowly she started to the back
of the cave again. She wouldn’t wait any longer. It was ridiculous to do so. In
fact she was a fool to believe that letter. All those sweet words—they did not
wipe out the harbor master’s daughter, and a cully-catcher must be a master of
sweet, soothing words.

She snatched the letter from the table where he had laid it
so that it should not get soiled while she worked over the charcoal. She would
throw it on the fire. Let it burn! But instead she opened it and looked
hungrily at the words. “My love, my darling—at last I am here. I cannot wait to
hold you in my arms again…”

Like a mesmerized bird, she could not pull her eyes away.
Still reading, she sank down on the bed that had never been used and pulled the
tattered blankets over her. Always short on rest, and exhausted by her own
emotions, Megaera slipped asleep, still holding her letter.

She dreamed of Philip and was light and warm and full of
joy, but then she turned and he was gone. Before desolation could overcome her,
she heard his voice far away. She ran, she reached out, but there was only his
voice and fear tightened her throat and her body jerked with her effort to run
faster—jerked her awake, but she still heard Philip calling.

“Meg? Meg darling?”

“I’m here,” she cried, struggling to throw off the blankets.

“May I bring Spite in? It is dreadful out, and I do not
think I can find—”

“Yes. Yes.”

She was free running toward him, then she gasped with shock
as he disappeared. In the next instant she was laughing, realizing it was only
that he had turned to pull Spite into the entrance and his black cloak and hat
had blended into the dark. He drew the horse in, holding one hand outstretched
to keep Megaera away.

“Do not touch me, love,” he said, “I am all ice. Let me take
off my cloak.”

But by the time the words were out he had flung the garment
to the ground and seized Meg in his arms, kissing her and squeezing her so hard
that she gasped with pain. For a few minutes both were too immersed in their
greeting to be disturbed by anything, but the gusts of wind and rain were
whipping in through the entrance and Spite, being at a loss for what to do,
nuzzled his master affectionately and lipped at his hair. Philip pulled his
head away, which broke the kiss, and Megaera realized the wet from his clothing
was soaking hers.

“You are soaked through,” she cried.

“I must dry Spite,” Philip said simultaneously.

“I’ll get some hay.”

Megaera recognized the need to care for the animal, and she
went carefully to the left, feeling her way in the dark, to where hay for the
ponies was stored. Between deliveries the ponies were kept distributed in
various barns, from which John fetched them during the day before a pickup or
delivery was made. The hay was kept in case Pierre should be delayed, so that
the animals would have something to eat and John would not have to take them
back to their barns. Philip had Spite’s saddle off and the bit out of his mouth
by the time Megaera had dragged a bundle of hay over. Some they spread on the
floor and some they used in handfuls to wipe the horse down. Finally Megaera
got one blanket from the bed, and they threw that over him and tied him well
away from the windy entrance.

At first Megaera had been so enraptured by Philip’s greeting
and by the fact that he had come through such terrible weather to see her that
she could think of nothing else. As she helped make Spite comfortable, however,
questions began to rise in her mind. Was it so noble of Philip to come? Where
else did he have to go? Obviously he could not stay at Moreton Place after the
unmasking. Was she no more than a convenience? A body to warm his cold bed
until he should move on?

The activity of drying Spite had kept them both relatively
warm, but now Megaera shuddered. Philip turned to her at once. “Go back where
it is warmer, my love,” he said. “I am nearly finished. I will come in a
minute.”

Ordinarily Megaera would have protested that he must be as
cold or colder than she. Her thoughts were so depressing, however, that she
retreated to the braziers, aware suddenly that she still had not
seen
Philip
nor he her; except as a dark blur. Would his first memory on seeing her be of
the masked woman at Moreton Place? Perhaps he had put the encounter out of his
mind, believing that he had not really remembered how she looked. If so… She
had to think of something! She could not let a cully-catcher, a smuggler’s
bastard… Bastard! That was it! Her story, full and complete, sprang into her
mind.

The moment Philip walked into the lamplight, it sprang right
out again. He was blue and shaking with cold. She pushed him toward the
brazier, and he stretched his hands to it, unable to speak because he had his
teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. As Megaera urged him closer to the
heat, she remembered how wet he was.

“You will have to take off all your clothes,” she said, “and
I will dry them.”

“I will freeze,” he protested. “I am freezing now, but
naked—“

“You can get into the bed,” Megaera urged, pointing past the
glow of light.

He had forgotten. He looked toward it, grinning broadly, his
eyes alight. Without a word more he ripped off his coat and began to unbutton
his shirt. What he thought was so obvious that Megaera flew into a rage, its
intensity in direct proportion to her own violent desire to do just what Philip
believed she had suggested.

“You, not I,” she exclaimed explosively.

Philip paused in his unbuttoning but it was too cold to stop
and he finished undressing in haste, got into bed, and drew the remaining
blankets around him before he spoke.

“I am sorry to be so importunate, Meg,” he said but his eyes
were still laughing. He clearly thought she was offended because he seemed to
enjoy the fact she had been indelicate.

In fact that was a good part of Megaera’s fury, until she
recalled that she really had something to be angry about. “If that is what you
want,” she spat, “you should have stayed in France with the harbor master’s
daughter.”

“Harbor master’s daughter?” Philip echoed.

“Don’t you dare pretend innocence to me,” Megaera shrieked.
“You cully-catcher! Well, I am no silly Meg for your catching. I would not see
a dog freeze in weather like this, but I wouldn’t get into bed with it to warm
it either.”

At the moment Philip had echoed Megaera’s phrase, he
honestly had not known what she meant. In the next moment, of course,
everything was quite clear. That idiot Pierre must have told her about Désirée!
But he had said virtually nothing about Désirée to Pierre. And why was he being
called a cully-catcher? But that hardly mattered. Philip recognized the
sparkling eyes, the flushed face, the lips drawn back in a feral snarl. He had
seen them all before. Meg was jealous! She loved him!

“But Meg—“ he said, making his face solemn with an effort.

“Are you going to deny you slept with that slut?” Megaera
raged.

“No.”

“What?” Megaera screamed. “You don’t even deny it?”

“No,” Philip repeated quietly. “I would be a fool to lie to
you, whom I love, about something so unimportant.”

“Unimportant?” Megaera gasped.

The wind had been taken out of her sails not only by
Philip’s admission but by his manner. He was quite unembarrassed. Nonetheless
he did not look as if it were because he did not care what she thought. His
expression was both eager and concerned.

“Perhaps that is the wrong word,” he said before she could
work up a rage again. “It was very important at the time. I dared not behave
out of character.” He paused and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Would you rather
have me pure and dead or sullied and alive?”

“I don’t believe you,” Megaera cried. “That’s only a story.
You aren’t Don Juan. You don’t need to seduce a girl to remain in character.”

“But I did not seduce her! The idea never entered my mind.”
That was not the complete truth. Philip had at one time considered seducing
Désirée, but not after his plan to penetrate the dockyards had worked so well.
“How should a young, newly appointed officer of the
Douane
dare try to
seduce the harbor master’s daughter?” Philip went on convincingly. “Think, Meg
I was there for business, not for playing around with girls.”

“Some men find that always to be their main business,”
Megaera snapped resentfully.

“Well, I do not!” Philip snapped right back. “And you should
know it. I would have given years off my life to stay here with you in
November, but I have my—business.” Philip had nearly said duty and had stopped,
forgetting that he had already used that word to Meg in Falmouth.

Megaera only noticed the hesitation, and it sparked her
anger again. “Are you telling me,” she asked sardonically, “that the girl
seduced
you
?”

“No,” Philip replied and laughed. “A seduction it was not.”
Then, involuntarily, he shuddered. “It was really dreadful, Meg, all at the
same time funny, pitiful, and disgusting.”

Although the lamplight did not reach the low bed, it was
full on Philip’s face as he sat up. Megaera stared at him. The amusement was
gone from his eyes. He was not trying to convince her of anything right now; he
was remembering—and it was not with pleasure. She came toward him and put a
hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her.

“It was dreadful,” he repeated. “She was younger than you, I
think, no more than a girl and—and she had nothing, no feeling at all. I could
have been a hunchback or a drooling idiot. So long as what was between my legs
was the right size and shape. I was not a man to her, only a—a thing to provide
a physical sensation. There is a shameful name for it, but I do not think you
would even know the word, my darling.”

Unthinking, Megaera sat down beside him on the bed. He took
her hand, but there was nothing sensual in the gesture. It was a seeking for
comfort and reassurance.

“God knows,” he went on, “I am not pure. I have paid many
women for physical pleasure, but even so I—I was aware of them as women. And I
have never been ashamed. There was nothing of which to be ashamed. I enjoyed my
partners and I tried to be sure that they enjoyed me. We talked and laughed.
Perhaps there was no deep feeling between us—well, there could not be when I
knew the girls would do the same with another man the next night—or even as
soon as I left them… He sighed. ‘‘I should not be talking to you about such
things, Meg.”

“I know they exist,” Megaera said quietly, “and I never
thought you were a—a virgin. It’s odd to say that about a man, but it must be
true at some time in his life.”

“Not for long in mine,” Philip admitted, smiling wryly. Then
he shook his head. “But I have never had an experience like that—never!”

“I don’t understand.”

So, although Philip was not in general a man who kissed and
told, he did describe to Megaera the whole episode with Désirée, ending, “It
was completely outside my experience, and that is not small. She did not know
how to kiss; she did not want me to caress her or tell her she was pretty or
that she had pleased me; she did not wish to please me! Of course, it might
have been my fault. She might have sensed somehow that I was not really
willing—”