“I have been wondering what we should say at the hotel,” she began, after a glance at Philip showed her he was looking at her with a bemused expression whenever he could spare a moment from the road. “Do you think they would believe my maid broke a leg?”
“I am sure they will believe anything you choose to tell them,” Philip responded, “but I do not think we should pretend you are accustomed to a personal abigail. We are supposed to be in trade.”
Since Megaera had not the faintest notion of the great state in which rich tradesmen lived, she made no objection, merely looking respectful of Philip’s wider experience. “Is it proper for a woman in trade to go to a hotel alone?” she asked.
Philip passed his tongue over suddenly dry lips. “But you will not be alone. Accompanied by your husband—or your brother,” he added hastily, swallowing, “no questions would be asked.”
Megaera was silent, staring straight ahead. Her heart was beating so fast and hard she was surprised that her pelisse did not flutter with its violence. Philip had certainly wasted no time. Was he so sure of her, Meg wondered, that he did not feel it necessary to woo her? A flicker of hurt and anger stirred. She turned her head, prepared for a confident smile and planning to wipe it off his face with a whiplash repudiation. Instead she saw a flush almost as deep as her own, and lips tight with anxiety. The hurt and anger dissolved into tenderness. It was not overconfidence but underconfidence that had driven him.
“I don’t think,” Megaera said, her voice trembling between nervousness and laughter, “that anyone would believe I could be your sister.”
A huge sigh whooshed out of Philip, and he turned his head for a glance at her. He was smiling now, but with relief, not contempt. “I thought you would hit me,” he said, looking back at the road, which was rutted and bumpy. “I would have well deserved it, but I did not mean to say that right off. The words just came out. Thank God you are an honest woman Meg, not a simpering idiot. Now I can talk sense. You do forgive me for being so—so—”
“Importunate?”
Philip laughed. “I did not mean it that way.” Then he took the chance to turn his head again, his face serious. “You are free to say no at any time, my dear. I took an unfair advantage, I know, but I honestly believe we will draw less notice as husband and wife. It is a common thing for a man to have a shop where articles of dress are sold while his wife is a dressmaker in the same establishment. In such a case they might well share the duties of purchasing.”
“You’re quite right.” Megaera nodded agreement. “There was just such a shop in Penzance.”
In the past, before her father’s gambling and Edward’s chicanery had stripped them bare, Megaera had bought trifles for herself there, although serious shopping had been done at Exeter. After the “fall”, Mrs. Beeble had made for her the few dresses she absolutely needed. In fact Mrs. Beeble had made her mourning clothes, the very dress she was wearing. There had been neither time nor money to send to London for “blacks”, and even if she had had both in sufficiency, Megaera would not have dignified Edward’s death by spending more than necessary.
The knowledge that reason as well as desire had prompted Philip’s suggestion removed the last of Megaera’s feeling of awkwardness. Indeed, she began to feel wonderful. The worst was over—the embarrassment of agreeing—the best was yet to come. Her spirits soared. She began to chatter as she had not done since the knowledge of the debts Edward had saddled Bolliet with had fallen on her. She asked Philip about Falmouth, and when she learned that he had never been there and knew less than she, she speculated about the town with such abandon that Philip begged her to stop. She was making him laugh so much, he claimed, that he would drive them off the road.
“Besides,” he went on, “we must be sensible. We must think up a story to explain why we, who have never bought there before, are now buying in Falmouth.”
“To set up a new business,” Megaera responded promptly. “That would be a good reason to buy in small quantities from a number of different factors. Until we were established, we would not know exactly what would sell best.”
They had time enough to polish their tale to perfection so that all the details were firmly fixed in both their minds. Either could be questioned or just talk idly without fear that any story would contradict the other’s. A great deal of amusement was extracted from this practical purpose also. They invented an entire family tree for both between gales of laughter. There were sober parents, silly sisters, industrious brothers, eccentric aunts and uncles, and wastrel cousins. Megaera was so happy that her breath kept catching on tears. She had not laughed so much or felt so free since she had married Edward. The long nightmare was over at last. This must be the dawn of a new life.
Chapter Nine
With some effort Philip and Megaera presented a sober appearance when they entered Falmouth. It would not have done at all to laugh uproariously as they drove through the streets. The sobriety soon became real enough because they had a little difficulty in deciding where to seek accommodation. Philip had naturally gravitated to the most elegant establishment, which was on the main street of the town and easy to find. Megaera, wrenched from her happy delusion of freedom and a new life, realized she could not stay there. Of all places, that was the most likely one for her to meet a member of the social set in which she lived. Nervously she protested that it would not be suitable for persons in a small way of trade.
Philip slipped an arm around her waist. “Perhaps not, but we do not need to tell anyone here what we do. I want you to be happy.”
She hesitated. It was so strange to hear a man say he wished her to be happy that she could hardly bear to frustrate his desire, no matter how silly. But it would be too dangerous.
“I would not be happy,” she murmured “I would feel that people were staring at me, wondering what I was doing there. Please, Philip.”
“Of course, Meg. Whatever you like,” he replied at once, making her completely happy again. Megaera could hardly believe the good humor in his voice. On the rare occasions when Edward had offered her a choice and she had chosen differently than he would have done, he was scarcely civil, not to mention good-humored. But Philip’s pleasant mood held even after the next two places they examined were obviously hopeless. Megaera shuddered at the looks of the loungers in the yard and at the appearance of the yard and hotel. Philip took her away at once, one arm protectively around her. Back on the main street he sat frowning for a moment.
“I’m sorry, Philip, Megaera whispered, trying to forestall an outburst of rage. Perhaps—“
“What a fool I am!” he exclaimed, smiling at her. I must ask one of the factors Pierre recommended.”
It was the solution of course. In another half hour they were ensconced in a clean, quiet establishment on a peaceful side street conveniently near the port and commercial area but screened from them. When they were shown to their room, a large chamber with the bed screened off so that it could also serve as a sitting room, Philip asked solicitously whether Meg wanted to rest awhile. She burst out laughing. It was so ridiculous to think she might be fatigued by a three hour drive in a carriage after her exertions over the past year. The expression on Philip’s face when she laughed was not so funny. It made her breath catch, and she stepped back a pace. Instantly Philip turned away and walked to the window.
“Do you wish to go out at once,” he asked, “or can I order tea or some wine for you? It is too early for dinner.”
“Let’s go out.” Megaera’s voice quivered slightly. She had made him angry now, she was sure, and it was so stupid. What difference did it make whether she yielded at once or a few hours later?
“It is not kind to laugh at me,” Philip protested, but he was laughing himself as he turned back toward her. Since he had mistaken the frightened shake in her voice for repressed mirth, he also misunderstood her expression of astonished delight. “What did you expect,” he went on wryly, “when you are so beautiful and we wer
e sitting so close. Do you think I am made of stone?”
Megaera recovered quickly. She thought again she had been a fool to refuse Philip, but now it was because her own desire had been awakened. He was so handsome, so different from the fair men to whom she was accustomed. Nonetheless she knew her instinct had been right. Another time a quick union with half one’s mind on something else might be enough; for their first time, it would be all wrong.
“I’m not laughing at you,” she said. “What makes you think I’m any better than you are? But you know it wouldn’t be right.”
“Such devotion to duty!” Philip exclaimed, his eyes gleaming. “I assure you Pierre would not expect it.”
“So long as Pierre gets goods to sell at a reasonable price, he wouldn’t care if we took no longer than five minutes over it,” Megaera replied tartly, realizing that Philip was teasing her again. “It was you who wished to do Bonaparte a bad turn by buying only luxury articles.”
“I know,” Philip admitted sadly, “but my love of country has been completely subverted.”
That was irresistible Now Megaera had to laugh. Nonetheless, she moved firmly to the door and opened it. Philip followed, sighing dramatically, but he was really very pleased. It had occurred to him also that be wished to linger over his pleasure. They set out on foot, visiting the recommended warehouses first and asking for referrals to other factors who would be likely to carry the goods they wanted. In a very short time Philip decided he knew why Pierre had insisted that Meg do the buying. She had an eye for real quality and drove a bitter bargain.
Philip was really amazed at what could be purchased for a small sum. He had been thinking in terms of the prices ladies paid for single items or a few yards of dress fabric in fashionable shops in London, since he had no experience with wholesale purchases. But even when he corrected his line of thinking, it seemed that Meg was obtaining a great deal for very little. Soon he began to wonder whether Pierre would have sufficient cargo space for what the gold he had been given would buy. Between warehouses he mentioned this to her.
“I’m surprised myself,” she replied. “The prices are reasonable to begin with, and they let me beat them down in the most extraordinary way. With that first man, I thought perhaps the goods might have been stolen, but they are all behaving alike.”
“Perhaps it is not so unreasonable,” Philip remarked slowly. “I have just thought that much of what we are buying may have been lying in the warehouses for a long time.” Do you think that perhaps these goods were meant for transshipment to France and the war stopped the sales?”
“You’re probably right,” Megaera agreed, looking with admiration at Philip. “Now I’m really delighted. Think of all the good we’re doing.”
“Yes, but could we not stop doing it now?” Philip pleaded. I cannot see how Pierre will manage to stuff all that we have already bought into his ship. What will we do with the extra?”
“I have plenty of storage space,” Megaera replied heartlessly. “The ponies can bring the goods down when we pick up the kegs, and the boats can run out with a load just as easily as running out empty.”
Her eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. Philip groaned, but Megaera’s blood was up. She had not had a good shopping binge for years, and it did not matter a bit to her that none of the articles would belong to her, it was the shopping and choosing that she loved rather than the having. However, Philip did not need to suffer much longer. It was growing late, and she was wise enough not to wish to give an impression of hurry or urgent need. Moreover, Philip found a source of private diversion.
While Megaera was examining a case of bird plumage and haggling over broken feathers and other imperfections, Philip discovered a display of Indian jewelry. The items were inexpensive. They were not of gold or precious stones, but they were very lovely. Bracelets and necklets of polished wood were inlaid with traceries of mother-of-pearl in delicate, exquisite designs. Philip summoned a clerk and hushed him.
“For my wife,” he mouthed, “a surprise. She works so hard.”
A conspiratorial smile acknowledged the tribute, and the pieces were laid out. Philip was enchanted. A marvelous fragrance wafted from the wood. He felt like buying them all, but that would have been ridiculous, and he finally chose three bracelets, a necklace, a pair of earrings, and two combs that had a matching pattern of a green-blue mother-of-pearl that would go magnificently with Meg’s red hair. He paid the full price the clerk asked, which occasioned a look of surprise until he said, “Put the rest away. I do not want my wife to see them. You will not make much more than I have given for these after she is finished chaffering, I assure you.”
The clerk looked across the warehouse at his master, who was wringing his hands at that moment and swearing he would be driven to the workhouse if he acceded to Megaera’s demands. He heard her unshaken and completely unsympathetic voice replying that she preferred it to be his master than herself, and that since neither was in the least likely, his master should stop complaining and apply himself to considering her offer realistically. The clerk shrugged, smiled, and slid the trinkets into a box, which he closed. The gentleman he served obviously knew his wife.
With his purchases wrapped and in his pocket, Philip strolled back to Megaera who, flushed and triumphant, had concluded another purchase. “Enough, my love,” he said firmly. “It is time for dinner. You must not wear yourself out.” He turned to the factor, in whose eye he thought he detected a gleam of satisfaction mingled with exasperation. However, the respect with which he bowed to Meg as Philip paid the agreed-upon advance showed he had not got the best of the deal. “We will arrange about transport tomorrow,” he said to the man, cocking a cynical eyebrow. “You have quite worn out my poor, frail Meg.”
A rich color suffused the factor’s face, and Megaera opened her violet eyes as wide as they would go. Before an explosion could erupt from either, Philip hastily shepherded Meg out of the building. She began to laugh.
“How could you?” she gasped. “Why did you? I thought the poor man would burst.”
“I am sorry,” Philip said, but with a quite unrepentant face. “You look fragile and delicate. You should be worn to a wraith by all that arguing.”
Megaera laughed again. “No woman is worn out by chaffering. I have known some die-away creatures, who did nothing but lie on a sofa and whine all day, to leap to their feet and shout like fishwives for a bargain.”
“Very strange,” Philip mused. “It is considered very bad ton for a man to argue about the price of anything. Oh, he might say ‘too much’ on a horse, but for clothing, or a gun…“
It did not occur to Megaera that it was odd that Philip should talk about the ton any more than it struck Philip odd that Megaera should be acquainted with ladies who could afford to spend all day lying on a sofa. To Pierre, who was not of their class, it had been immediately apparent that Megaera was a “lady”, just as he would have recognized Philip as a member of the gentry even if he had not known him. The factors, too, knew they were dealing with gentry, but they were not surprised.
Although they did not believe the tale of the new shop and dressmaking establishment, they pretended to do so. Many impoverished families did some backdoor trade, which they concealed from their equals. It was none of the factors’ business; all they were interested in was selling their goods. Only Philip and Megaera, who were, so to speak, born to the speech and manners of their class, found them so ordinary as to be unnoticeable.
“Well,” Philip continued, abandoning discussion of the inexplicable differences between men and women to further a far more pleasant result of that difference, “you must be tired even though you do not feel it now. I think we should dine quietly in our chamber.”
Megaera dropped her eyes. She had been so absorbed in what she was doing that she had lost awareness of Philip as a desiring and desirable male. His voice, however, was only friendly, still carrying a hint of laughter. There was nothing at all suggestive about his t
one. Megaera remembered the times she had used words with double meanings without recognizing that fact until it was too late. So she nodded her head, not daring to answer for fear her voice would betray her.
Betray what? Alone in the bedchamber, where a maid had already lit candles to supplement the dying light of the short autumn day, Megaera was thrust back into the indecisions of the previous night. Philip had seen her to the door, murmured that she should make herself comfortable while he went down to order dinner. “Comfortable.” What did he mean by that? But again there had been nothing in his face or voice, no offensive leer or suggestive glance. He had looked happy, his dark eyes alight, his fine mouth gently curved, not quite smiling but hinting at it.
But there was no excuse for indecision. Philip had said she could back out at any time, but Megaera knew she could not—not now. When they had first arrived, she could have done so. Philip had offered her the opportunity. Possibly she could even have said she had changed her mind any time during the afternoon. Her last chance had been when he suggested they dine in their bedchamber. If she had refused, she could have told him while they ate that she was not willing.
Suddenly she laughed aloud. It would have been a lie. In fact she was not at all unwilling, and the only reason she was shilly-shallying was her old-fashioned notion of propriety. There was always a great outcry against the reading of novels and the harm they did to the delicate minds of young females. In fact the damage they did was to promote overdelicate feelings and overscrupulousness. The heroines were either so lachrymose over their tiny indiscretions or so horribly punished for them that any normal woman was filled with guilt for normal feelings.
As she removed her hat and gloves and hung her pelisse in the press standing against the wall, Megaera became indecisive again. She now admitted to herself that she wanted Philip and intended to yield to him, but she was embarrassed at the thought of needing to say so. The solution presented itself as she turned from the press and hit her foot against her portmanteau, which the servant had left beside the bureau when she had unpacked it. There was no reason in the world why a “wife” should not relax in dishabille after a hard day’s work.
The Cornish Heiress Page 16
