The English Heiress (2 page)

“But it isn’t so very long,” Roger offered without much conviction, “less than three weeks. They might still—”

“They have been found,” his father interrupted, his voice again harsh. “The bodies of Joseph, little William and Alice were washed up near Morfa Nevin. They haven’t yet found the little girls. They may never be found”

“God rest them all,” Roger sighed. “I am really very sorry. I know how fond you were of Joseph, and he was your godchild. How awful!”

“Yes, but I’m ashamed to say it was less grief than selfishness that gave me such a turn.” Sir Joseph looked at his son and smiled ruefully. “I was fond of Joseph, and I was truly shocked to hear of his death, but I’m old, my boy. I’ve lived through many deaths. It isn’t only affection that makes me wish Joseph alive again. He made me executor of his will”

“Made you…but Father, how could he expect… I mean…”

There was more amusement in Sir Joseph’s smile now. “All right, Roger, don’t confound yourself looking for a polite way to say that I can’t be expected to live much longer. In fact, I think I will be around longer than you believe.”

Roger laughed. “You can’t be around longer than I would hope for, however.”

Sir Joseph now laughed aloud also, a mischievous twinkle coming into his eyes. “Don’t be so sure of that” Then he frowned again. “Compton not only wrote to tell me that he had identified Joseph, William and Alice, but to say that he has tried several times to contact Henry with no success.”

“Henry?” Roger asked, then nodded. “Oh yes, I remember. There was another brother. Whatever happened to him? I don’t remember ever seeing him at all.”

“You must have, as a child—or maybe not. When you were still at home, Henry must have been at school. He has ten or twelve years on you, at least.”

“Yes, and by the time he was out of school, I was in. I can see how I never came across him, but why can’t Compton reach him now? Where is he?”

“In France.”

“Oh, lord!” Roger remarked. “What a bufflehead to go to France now. Well, I—”

“No, no,” Sir Joseph Interrupted. “Henry didn’t go now. He lives in France, has lived there since about 1770. Seventy-two or three was when he was married, I believe.”

“He married a Frenchwoman and settled in France? I see.”

“Yes, and don’t say ‘I see’ that way, as if you are confirmed that Henry is buffleheaded. He isn’t at all—at least, not generally, although I don’t understand… Well, let me tell you in a logical way so that you will see why Compton is worried.”

“If he weren’t worried, with what has been happening in France over these last two years, he would be an idiot,” Roger exclaimed.

“Is it so bad as that?” Sir Joseph asked, frowning “I haven’t paid much attention, you know. I’ve never been overfond of the French.”

Sir Joseph’s face was carefully devoid of expression. Roger shrugged his shoulders and gripped his father’s forearm for a moment They had never discussed Solange, although after the gaming room scandal, Sir Joseph had offered to supplement Roger’s income. Roger had refused, assuring his father that in one way he had sufficient funds, and in another the income from the Royal Treasury would not be enough, since Solange’s wants expanded geometrically with the ability to satisfy them. Sensibly, Sir Joseph had never offered his son sympathy. That would have smacked too much of “I told you so”.

“It wasn’t so bad in the beginning, except in Paris,” Roger explained. “There was only a little rioting in the smaller cities and minor disturbances in the towns and countryside, but matters are growing more and more serious. The émigrés say that this constitution, which frees the serfs and revokes the forest laws and such matters, has provoked an orgy of license among the peasantry. Of course, they are bound to be strongly prejudiced, but I believe there is a kernel of truth inside the shell of self-pity. The central government does seem to have lost control of the provinces. The Prussians and Austrians have thrown the French army out of Belgium, and there is good evidence that they intend to invade France itself soon”

“Damn and blast!” Sir Joseph exploded. “I take it all back Henry is buffleheaded. Why the devil did he not come home when he saw everything falling apart?”

“Perhaps he couldn’t,” Roger suggested. “Or he may not have realized how disordered everything was. Often when one is directly involved, one doesn’t see the whole picture. What I don’t like is the fact that Compton couldn’t reach him by letter as early as June. As far as I know, there hasn’t been such a generalized disruption in the country at large that letters wouldn’t have got through. If Compton wrote more than once, as he must have done, and Henry de Conyers was living in the country, and there has been no answer…”

“Well, go on,” Sir Joseph urged impatiently.

“He—he may not be alive, sir, or he may be in serious trouble,” Roger responded reluctantly.

“But you said it was only Paris that was completely out of control,” Sir Joseph protested.

“Unfortunately not, sir, although that has mostly been the case. Still, there have been serious incidents—in Caen and Mouton and a number of other cities I don’t have on the tip of my tongue. Although… Do you know when there was last news of de Conyers?”

“Curse it, no, and Compton didn’t say. I heard from Joseph pretty regularly, at least Alice wrote, but I assume Joseph asked her to do so. But I only heard of Henry through Stour. Naturally I have no news later than 1788 or so.” Sir Joseph paused a moment then sighed. “Damn and blast,” he repeated, but with more resignation than rage. “Something must be done. I suppose I must post up to London and speak to Compton. He will have the latest intelligence. Then I can—”

“I don’t think you should, sir,” Roger interrupted firmly. “London is hotter than the hinges of hell just now. It wouldn’t agree with you at all. Why don’t you allow me to handle this? Perhaps when Compton has told me where de Conyers was when he heard from him last, one of the firms I dealt with in Paris will send a man to give him the news or discover what is wrong.”

Sir Joseph raised a brow at his son. “Trying to prove that you are not impatient to see the last of me?” he teased.

“Not at all,” Roger returned briskly. “In fact, I’m bent on shortening your days to lengthen my own. Since the school holidays will last several weeks longer, I’m trying to preserve my own health and sanity at the expense of yours by leaving my son on your hands while I escape.”

“I should have known better than try to draw you,” Sir Joseph sighed “I never had the last word with your mother, and I haven’t had the last word with you since you were three—that was when you started to talk. You were late at it, but, by God once started…” He laughed. “Thank you, my boy. I shall be most grateful if you will save me this journey. I hope to heaven you have some answer, but if you don’t, at least you will have saved me the trip to London and back before I need to go to France.”

“Father!” Roger exclaimed. “You can’t mean that! Just because Joseph de Conyers named you executor… That will must have been written years and years ago Joseph must have meant to change it.”

“And name a younger man?” Sir Joseph said. “Yes, I suppose he did, but the fact is that he hadn’t gotten around to it, and it is my responsibility. Aside from that, Roger, I wouldn’t like to see Stour’s lands fall into decay while the inheritance is fought out in court. In addition to the disruption caused by not knowing Henry’s fate—which means that the estate will be administered by some fool of a court appointee and be run right into the ground—this is Stour’s son. William would have bailed any of you out of trouble; he hiked Arthur out of a real hole with a woman once when I was in Jamaica. No, if Stour’s son is in trouble, especially trouble he hasn’t made for himself, I couldn’t sit idly by and do nothing.”

Roger felt like shaking his father and telling him not to be an idiot. A man in his seventh decade was not the person to thrust into a nation that—as far as Roger could tell—had gone quite mad and erupted periodically, for no rational reason, into riots. He reminded himself that his father did not know how bad the situation was, but he had no intention of describing it in greater detail than he already had. Roger knew his father. Sir Joseph had determined that Henry de Conyers and his family would be found, dead or alive, and a recitation of the difficulties would not change his mind.

In fact, Roger thanked God sincerely that he had not said more about the situation in France. If his father understood the real difficulties, he would never have accepted Roger’s platitude about getting information through one of the legal firms with which he was associated. Probably Sir Joseph would have started packing already, realizing that the only way to be sure de Conyers was found was to go himself or send someone really trustworthy. Since Sir Joseph was not the man to push dangerous or disagreeable duties onto other people, and was not particularly concerned with prolonging his life—which he knew to have been already unusually long—he would have determined to go himself. Roger shuddered at the thought of trying to dissuade his father, or equally unpleasant, trying to explain to Lady Margaret why he had given his father information that had precipitated him into such an action.

Roger’s mind was busy as he pointed out to his father that nothing could be done until he spoke to Compton, and he had made his decision before he finished the sentence. “I have some business in town anyway,” Roger continued. “It isn’t pressing, but I might as well take care of it now. If you don’t mind, sir, I think I’ll leave today and get matters under way.”

Sir Joseph’s penetrating stare rested on his son for a long moment. He understood rather more than Roger expected, although not the whole. It was at once obvious to Sir Joseph that Roger intended to go to France himself, however, he misunderstood his son’s purpose. Sir Joseph believed that Roger, freed from the weight he had carried for years, was seizing an opportunity for adventure and excitement. Roger had been a most adventurous child, Sir Joseph remembered, always sticking his nose into what did not concern him. Once, he had been lucky to escape with his life when he decided to discover why a herd of ponies had been down on the beach in the cove at night.

That time curiosity had not killed the cat, although it should have. Smugglers were not “gentlemen”. Most of them were hard and ruthless men engaged in a dangerous and illegal trade. If they were caught, their punishment would be brutal. And it was with them that Roger had chosen to get involved. With typical cleverness and persistence, he had visited that cove every day after first seeing signs of ponies, until he had figured out the schedule of when the ponies would be there. If he had only asked, Sir Joseph thought, but no, not Roger—he had to find out for himself. Doubtless it had occurred to the child at once that ponies by the seaside at night were a “secret”. To ask about a secret, to show you knew there was a secret, was to warn those whose secret it was. Roger, even as a boy, could be tight-lipped as a clam.

He had waited, deduced, watched—and had been caught by the smugglers. One part of the gang had immediately produced a simple answer—drop the boy off the cliff. An accident could happen to anyone. Roger had laughed aloud. “I couldn’t help it,” he had told his father when describing the scene later “They were so stupid. How could I have an accident on the cliff? I’ve been climbing there for years and years, night and day. You would have known right away that if I fell it was no accident. One of the men, who recognized me said so too, and the Frenchman agreed with me.”

The Frenchman, Sir Joseph had learned, was Pierre Restoir, the captain of the smuggling vessel, the Bonne Lucie. Pierre had intervened decisively in Roger’s fate, insisting that the boy be released in exchange for a promise not to report what he had discovered to the authorities. Roger had promised readily enough, with the reservation that he must tell his father. The small group of “professional” smugglers had muttered rebelliously, but Pierre’s determination and the reluctance of the local “hired” men to harm a youth so intimately connected with local authority determined Roger’s fate.

Sir Joseph had taken no action, knowing that there were many alternate coves—although not quite so well suited to the purpose. Still, it was most likely that the smugglers would shift their base. In a way he was right, but he had no way of knowing that Pierre Restoir was still very young and a quixotic daredevil to boot, with an insatiable curiosity of his own. He had been greatly drawn to the brave, lighthearted boy for whom he had stood up, and had to know whether his judgment of the child’s character had been correct.

Right at the agreed-upon time Pierre was at the cove, and Roger was there to meet him. It was safe enough for Pierre, who was cautious and cunning as well as curious, even if Roger had betrayed him. This trip his ship was loaded with nothing more offensive than a cargo of newly caught fish, and there were no ponies waiting to carry off illegal merchandise. If Roger had reported to the Revenue Service and their officers were in ambush, Pierre had ready a good excuse for anchoring, and the searchers would have found nothing.

There were no custom men, however, only the eager boy. As a reward, Pierre took Roger aboard the ship and showed him how they dodged the revenue cutters and coastal guard. It was not the last trip they made together, although Sir Joseph knew nothing of the development of a genuine friendship between his twelve-year-old son and the captain of the Bonne Lucie. When Roger was absorbed in the early joys and the bitter disappointments of his marriage, he and Pierre saw little of each other, but after Roger had been called to the bar, their contacts increased dramatically. The aristocracy soon learned that Roger St. Eyre was the man to approach if one had to leave England quietly. For example, a gentleman who had killed his man in a duel and needed to make himself scarce until a pardon could be secured found Roger’s services invaluable. Not only could he arrange transport but he could also arrange transfer of the gentleman’s assets through a highly respectable French law firm, secure introduction to the French court, and in general, provide for life to continue enjoyably.