Philip and Megaera were equal in age and, he believed, considering the profession in which he found her employed, equal in daring. Although Philip knew Meg’s physical strength less than his own, he never felt that a harsh wind would knock her down or that she would dissolve in the rain. Actually, it was necessary for him to remind himself from time to time that it was wrong to lead a woman into the kind of scrape he enjoyed. He regarded Meg as the perfect companion—and so she had proved herself to be.
Entering and leaving Rouen had been no trouble, but Philip was worried about Dieppe. There, he knew the scrutiny of those coming in would be more careful. Rouen was one town out of hundreds through which the fugitives might pass, but Dieppe was a seaport and one on a narrow section of the Channel. There were other seaports, of course, and many small villages and coves along the coast where a vessel might put a boat ashore. Philip’s best hope was that Fouché would expect him to be picked up secretly by an English vessel so that the greatest attention would be paid to patrolling the coast.
This day there was a wan sun, and they stopped to rest the horses where a wall caught what warmth there was from the south. Megaera was asleep before Philip had lifted her down from her horse. He tethered the animals, then sat down and took her in his arms to give her what warmth he could. Gallantry suggested that he take off his own coat and put it around her, but practicality warned him not to be an idiot. The compromise worked well enough, although both were stiff and very cold when they woke. The sun was gone, but they rode on, Philip intending to enter Dieppe as they had entered Rouen, in the midst of the morning traffic.
Because they had started earlier and the distance was shorter, they were able to stop only a few miles from the town before midnight. Philip obtained this information at the inn where be stopped to buy food. He thought briefly of a bed, but dismissed the idea at once. There was no way he could take Meg into the room with him without drawing marked attention. One did not take dirty servant boys to bed, and obviously Meg could not bed down in the men’s servant quarters.
Philip now realized he had another problem. Once in Dieppe they had to wait for Pierre if he was not there. In the country one could take refuge in a barn, but not in a town. It was too cold and they were too tired to walk the streets. An inn, as he had already realized, was impossible. He had not solved the problem when they found a suitable barn, and slept too soundly to be troubled, but he woke with it in the morning.
Because Philip did not want Meg to feel she was a danger and a burden, he said nothing to her about the problem of where they could stay in Dieppe, but it made him rather silent. Megaera, on the other hand, had left the horror of her double murder behind, felt rested for the first time in two days, and was in bubbling good spirits. Philip had told her to be still while they were in the barn, with the excuse that someone might hear her speaking English, but when they were on the road again that would not serve. Her chatter receiving short answers, she finally asked whether they were in trouble.
“No more than before,” Philip replied.
“Then what’s wrong?” Megaera persisted.
“It will be dangerous for us to go to an inn,” Philip said finally without specifying why.
As he had expected, Megaera accepted that as a general statement rather than something specifically connected with herself. She wrinkled her brow in thought for a while and then said, “I know, we must go to a bawdy house. In a seaport there must be several, and I have heard that Bonaparte is much against immorality and has been harsh with such people. They will do their best, I suppose, to disoblige him and, unless they are forced, will not give up a ‘criminal’ to the police. Do you think Fouché has explained why you are wanted?”
Philip gaped at her. It was, in fact, a brilliant idea and one that would work—although innocent Meg did not know why. He looked at the sweet features under the dirt on her face and whooped with laughter. In a seaport the vice he was thinking of was particularly prevalent.
Megaera raised her brows. “It isn’t such a silly idea at that—” she began.
“No, no,” Philip assured her. “It is not a silly idea at all. Not at all.”
“But I will have to change to my woman’s clothes,”’ she said, frowning at the thought of undressing in some icy alley.
“Oh, no!” Philip exclaimed, beginning to laugh again.
“You monster!” Megaera snapped. “Do you think I’m going to sit in the stable with the horses while you disport yourself—”
“No,” Philip choked. “No, I did not think that. I remembered that you were not at all understanding about the harbor master’s daughter.”
“But you wouldn’t bring your servant into a bawdy house with you. That’s ridiculous.”
“You know nothing about it at all,” Philip rejoined, his eyes dancing, “and you are not to be my servant, just a boy picked up in the streets.”
“Very well, but I don’t see that that can make any difference. Why the devil should a man bring a boy into such a place?”
“I do not think I will tell you,” Philip replied. “It is very shocking, and not at all the sort of thing a nice girl should know.”
That puzzled Megaera so much that she fell silent. From time to time Philip glanced at her and burst out laughing again, but though she teased him for an answer he would not give it. Then, as they drew closer to the town and houses, horsemen, and cars became more frequent she stopped speaking as she knew she must. About half a mile from the gate there was a lane that Philip turned down. Not far along was a shed that screened them from the road. They both dismounted and Philip unsaddled Megaera’s horse, tossed the saddle into the shed, removed the bit from the bridle.
“I am sorry love, but you will have to walk the rest of the way. You are taking the horse to town. If they ask you where, mouth something indistinguishable and keep repeating it over and over and pointing. Do the same if they ask where you are from. Do not worry, I will be right near. If I have to shoot the gate guards, let go of the horse and run. Turn left—there is bound to be a huddle of houses near the wall. Just run and hide. Then make your way to the waterfront. You can ask for Pierre—just say his name as best you can and mumble anything else you can think of. You have both guns—the little one and the Lorenzoni?”
She nodded. “Can’t I—”
“No! For God’s sake, do not try to help. Remember I will be on horseback so I can get away easily. I will find you down by the docks. Do not worry about me.”
Philip sounded confident, but he hated to make her trudge nearly a mile in the bitter cold. He could not imagine what any other woman would have said to him had he suggested such a thing. Far from feeling ill-used, Meg just asked what else she could do to help. He could only pray that she would do as he asked and escape if there were any trouble. Now that she was in Dieppe, she could get safely away with Pierre, even if he were taken—so long as she did not try to save him. He dared say no more. The last thing he wanted was for Meg to believe he expected trouble.
The plan went awry before they even reached the mouth of the lane. From the road a grizzled farmer driving two sheep hailed them and asked whether they were going to Dieppe. Since there was nowhere close enough that he knew which he could claim as their destination, Philip had to agree. However, since he felt it was important that he and Meg not be seen to be together, he added that he had an errand in the other direction first and that he would overtake them.
“Well, then,” the farmer said cheerfully, “I’ll company the boy.”
“He will not be much company,” Philip said sourly. “He can’t talk much.”
“Ah,” the good-natured man replied, “poor child, but I see he is well fed and warmly dressed. You’re a good man to be kind to the afflicted. Go, and don’t hurry. I’ll see him safely through the gates. Does he know where he’s to go after that?”
“Yes, of course.” Philip could feel his lips stiff, but he managed a smile. “Where are you going?”
“To the market.”
“Could he wait there with you?” Philip asked, seeing a new possibility. “I have an offer for the horse, but—well, I do not trust the man and he might take advantage of the boy if I were delayed and he brought the horse there himself.”
“Gladly. Gladly. Come along, boy, there’s nothing to fear. Jean Sabot will take care of you.”
Philip had no choice now but to canter off down the road in the opposite direction. He went only until he was sure he was out of sight, then turned and sat chewing his lips undecided whether he wanted to kiss or kill Jean Sabot. If the man was honest, he had solved most of Philip’s problems—a guide for Meg, who could not ask questions, and a clear meeting place for them. If he was not what he seemed—and he was unusually friendly for a French peasant—they were in really deep trouble.
None of these worries touched Megaera. She assumed that if Philip had left her with Jean Sabot, he had reason to believe she would be safe with the man. She smiled at him sweetly and trustfully, and he smiled back and handed her a piece of cheese that he dug from his pocket. It was rather crumbly and sharper in flavor than Megaera liked, but she bit into it with goodwill, listening to a rather rambling monologue on the state of farming. To her surprise she understood nearly everything he said—her French had been enormously improved by this stay in the country—and twice barely stopped herself from asking questions about farming methods that were different from those used in Cornwall.
Fortunately they came to the gate before she gave herself away. Here her heart sank for the first time. The guards were examining each person who passed. Megaera looked back down the road, but Philip was not yet in sight.
“What the devil do they think they’re about?” the farmer asked.
Megaera gaped at him, wordless, hoping he would think she didn’t understand, but fear must have shown in her eyes, for he patted her consolingly. Then Megaera was afraid to look back for Philip again. She knew he intended that they seem separate travelers. She wished she didn’t feel so lost without him. Both guns were in her pockets at half cock, but she knew she would never be able to fire them. All she could do was rely on Philip’s trust in the old farmer and hope for the best.
This decision was the safest she could have made. Old Jean, although friendlier than most, was a redoubtable opponent when crossed and, fortunately, he was well known at this gate, which he had used to enter and leave Dieppe for some fifty years. By the time they got to the guardpost, he was already annoyed by the delay. The sheep had broken away twice and Meg had run after them, giving the horse to the old man to hold. Thus, when the guards asked him for his papers, he burst into loud abuse, calling them idiots and asking them whether they had become blind and deaf that they could not remember him from the previous day. Since of course they knew him quite well, the asking had been half a joke, even though it was in accordance with their orders.
Next, of course, was Megaera. She had papers, but could not show them since they were for a woman. When asked, she looked piteously at the old man and mumbled, “Quoi? Quoi?” Before he could answer, a guard had gripped Megaera’s arm. She cried out, more actually in nervousness than in pain, but this roused Jean to a new fury. He called the guards several improbable things, interspersing explanation that the boy’s master was down the road and, obviously, would not entrust identity papers to a simpleminded creature who would lose them. To the order that the boy must then wait Jean suggested that they shoot him, since he was not going to wait and had promised to bring the boy to the market and care for him.
The crowd behind by this time was growing restive at the delay, and loud abuse began to rain on the guards. A few knew Jean Sabot, but most simply were opposed automatically to authority. So, when Jean put his hand on Megaera’s back and pushed her past guardpost, telling her to drive the sheep ahead, the guards glanced at one another, shrugged, and did nothing. They were looking for a man and a woman traveling together, not for a dirty, feeble-minded boy accompanying a farmer whom they had known for most of their lives.
The decision, although they were unaware of it, saved their lives. At the edge of the crowd Philip sat silently astride his horse with his pistol at full cock concealed by a flap of his overcoat. At that distance he could have picked off both men before either could have seized his weapon and returned fire. When Megaera passed through, Philip carefully eased his weapon back to half cock and waited his turn. If they stopped him, he could shoot one and strike the other unconscious with the discharged pistol—if they were close enough. If that did not work, there would be other opportunities.
However, the contretemps between the guards and Jean Sabot stood Philip in good stead also. He showed the papers that Hawkesbury had prepared for him in the Foreign Office. All d’Ursine had been able to discover about those were that they were for a Norman merchant. Norman merchants were thick in seaports. In any case the guards were looking for two people in a carriage, and now they were hurried by a larger and larger and more and more irritable crowd. There was no special reason to think the fugitives would come to Dieppe. They glanced at Philip’s papers, all in order, and let him go.
It had not been difficult for Philip to discover the direction of the kind of bawdy house he wanted once he was in the marketplace. Later, after they had left the horses in a stable and he was drawing Meg down the street toward a place known for allowing “unnatural” practice, he began to laugh again. The question in Megaera’s eyes was so clear that Philip laughed still harder and drew her forward more quickly.
“Poor little boy,” he gasped. “You are about to suffer a fate worse than death.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
From the outside the house looked quite respectable, the paint fresh and everything clean and neat. And from the affronted expression on “Madame’s” face, one might have thought her a bourgeoisie mortally offended by Philip’s suggestion. He knew better, however. French or English made no difference; there was a pattern stamped upon “Madame” that Philip recognized. What had offended the lady was not Philip’s suggestion but Megaera’s dirt. Philip had requested “class” with his perversion, and apparently the man who directed him had been correct.
The problem was speedily solved when Philip requested not only a room but that a bath be brought up to it. Then he spoke very plainly on the subject of spyholes and ears glued to the walls, outlining the shape of the pistols in his pockets to make his point very clear.
“That will be expensive,” the woman said, although there was a bleakness in her expression that made it plain she had recognized that Philip was no chicken for plucking.
“I will pay what is reasonable,” Philip said calmly. “Do not be a fool. You have no choice. I do not live in Dieppe, and you—under the First Consul’s auspices—have no one to whom to complain. However, you have a good house in a good place. I would like to be able to come here again—often. I will pay what is fair.”
He named a sum, obviously less than the woman had hoped to extract from him but more than she feared he would offer after the jibe about Bonaparte’s “campaign” to purify France. The clear statement that Philip intended to return was also of value. Regular business at the price he offered, when he was bringing along his own “meat”, would in the end be more profitable than a single fleecing.
“Is the boy willing?” she asked. “You don’t live here—very well—but I do. If he complains…”
“He is willing, but even if he were not, he would not complain—”
“No killing!” Madame snapped. “I don’t hold with that—at least, not in the house.”
“I am not a murderer,” Philip said, but his smile made the woman step back involuntarily. He shook his head and the smile twisted further. A bad reputation was as valuable as a good one in different circumstances. “The boy is—not mute—just unable to make words,” he remarked softly, and for evidence he twisted Megaera’s ear.
That part had been rehearsed. Megaera, squalled wordlessly, and pulled away looking frightened and angry, although Ph
ilip had not hurt her at all. Before she could get free, he had an arm around her and was offering assurances that he would not hurt “his dear boy” again. Megaera made angry gobbling sounds but allowed herself to be soothed. Madame smiled warmly at Philip, a man right after her own heart who took no chances. Then she peered more closely at Megaera, noticing for the first time the beauty of the features under the filth.
Philip saw the look and had to repress a smile. He knew Madame was mentally licking her chops, intending to hold on to Meg after he was gone. He pretended not to notice as he handed over more of Charon’s gold. He paid for three days, and Madame drew a soft breath of pleasure. By that time the “boy” should be well broken in. She thought she would have no difficulty getting him to remain. Where else could the poor creature find such a comfortable haven? Probably he had never known there was so easy a way to come by warmth and good food. All she had to offer was that and, perhaps, some fancy clothing and she would have a valuable male whore—not too easy to come by.
Upstairs Philip insisted on a corner room with two outside walls and a bed with heavy curtains. He went over the inner walls from ceiling to floor and then the ceiling itself. Madame was not pleased when he found the spyholes and was even less pleased when he caused them to be blocked by a plug connected to a long, thin rod that would clatter down, giving warning if the plug was removed or tampered with. She yielded with good grace in the end, recognizing she was dealing with a man of experience who could not be cheated but did not intend to cheat her either.
The Cornish Heiress (Heiress, Book Two) Page 42
