The Cornish Heiress

by Roberta Gellis

  Before he introduced himself to the Chef du port maritime, Philip made a number of quiet visits in the surrounding area. He avoided the various army camps and concentrated on the coastline, particularly the little bays and inlets so useful for small vessels that wished to land cargo without “benefit” of government supervision. He made these little trips in civilian clothing and escaped challenge, although he would not have minded being asked to identify himself.

  It did not take long to find what he wanted, an abandoned rough shed mostly overgrown with brush and weeds now sere and dead. He was careful not to disturb the herbage at that time, but when he returned, far more secretively, late that night, he boldly broke away a path. Having deposited in the shed the contents of one large portmanteau, carefully wrapped in an English, woolen blanket, he cautiously retraced his steps to the local road. Once on this he no longer took any precaution against being seen, but rode back to his lodging and wakened a servant to let him in. He knew such behavior might rouse suspicion, but he did not deign to explain himself, and the next morning he came down to breakfast in his uniform.

  After that there was no need for explanations. Philip rode directly into town and inquired for the Chef du port maritime. When he gained admittance, identified himself, and the usual amenities had been exchanged, he asked the obviously puzzled harbor master whether, to his knowledge, the Customs officers in the area were honest.

  Monsieur Fresnoy immediately became more cautious than puzzled. He did not wish to say he did not know. The harbor master was not responsible for the behavior of the Customs officers. His duties were with the ships, assigning mooring and regulation of the building and repair—but no senior officer likes to admit ignorance. Least of all did any official wish to fail, even in peripheral duties, when Bonaparte was virtually breathing down his neck.

  Moreover, Monsieur Fresnoy’s nose was just a shade out of joint. Since it had been decided that the main portion of the invasion fleet would be built at Boulogne, he had been pushed very much into the background. The work was being supervised directly by the First Consul. Fresnoy did not resent that, of course, but when Bonaparte’s other duties drew him elsewhere, matters were not passed back into his hand. Monsieur Decrès, Minister of Marine, had special deputies to direct the work. Monsieur Fresnoy thought that was a mistake because he knew the people and the area; however, he understood the Minister’s action.

  Before the First Consul had decided to invade England, Boulogne had been essentially a commercial port (except for the brief interval, in 1797 when the Directory had also envisioned an invasion). In addition the Revolution had taken an enormous toll of naval officers; a great many had been executed for royalist sympathy. Thus there were too few experienced officers available for manning port facilities. Men of proper rank and experience were found for the great naval ports of Cherbourg, Brest, and Toulon, but for Boulogne it was thought sufficient to have a man who knew the sea. Monsieur Fresnoy, retired from his career as captain of a merchantman because of an injury, honest and knowledgeable seemed ideal.

  When the plans for invasion of England had been revived, Monsieur Fresnoy had expected to be dismissed to make way for someone better fitted to oversee such an enterprise. This was not, however, the way Bonaparte worked. Honest men who had given good service were not cast aside—at least not unless they appeared to embody some kind of challenge to Bonaparte himself. Since the latter did not apply to the totally apolitical Monsieur Fresnoy, he was not deprived of his position. Merely, the necessary work was separated from his duties and given into hands Bonaparte thought more expert. Monsieur Fresnoy was grateful that he had not been dismissed, but having watched the work for five months, he had begun to feel that he could have done it just as well, and that would have brought him into intimate association with the First Consul and perhaps led to greater things.

  Thus, Monsieur Fresnoy was undecided as to how to react to Philip’s inquiry. His first instinct was to temporize, and he asked, “Why do you ask such a question?”

  Although Philip could have grinned with delight because the answer was exactly what he wanted, he maintained a slight, worried frown. “I am of the Customs,” he replied, “and I have been on vacation in Brittany and here. Last night I was—ah—er—out rather late.”

  The harbor master smiled very slightly and nodded. Philip was a very handsome young man. It was perfectly reasonable for him to be out late on vacation. Monsieur Fresnoy loved and admired the First Consul, but his preachments and efforts to establish “morality” left the former sea captain totally indifferent. Philip smiled back tentatively and then looked worried again.

  “Well, I was passing a little cove—I do not know its name; I am a stranger here—and I saw a boat. I was a little—er—ah—a little drunk, I am afraid, so it seemed very strange to me that a boat should be out late at night. I never thought about it being a fishing boat, you see.”

  “Well, was it?” Monsieur Fresnoy was slightly annoyed. Did this officious young man think he was going to get a medal for reporting that a boat anchored for the night in a cove outside of Boulogne?

  “Er—no, it was not. I am sorry to make such a long story. I was only afraid that to someone accustomed to fishermen and other such harmless activities my suspicion would seem ridiculous. Sober, I would not have thought of it myself, but drunk as I was I became sure it was smugglers.”

  “One boat? Or do you mean a ship?” Landsmen, Fresnoy thought, seemed to believe the two words were synonymous.

  Philip smiled shamefacedly. “One very little boat. Silly, was it not?” Then he frowned. “But what I found was not silly. I know the First Consul banned all imports of English goods and, more especially, those luxurious items that are of no benefit to the country. Why should a silly woman wear Indian muslin when she could wear French silk? The First Consul is perfectly right. The silk is even more handsome.”

  “Yes, but what has this to do—oh, I see. You found Indian muslin?”

  “Yes, and other things. What worried me this morning, when I was no longer drunk, was the—the smallness of the shipment and the—the openness of the man’s behavior. That was why I came here instead of going to the Customs director, whom I know to be in Boulogne. My cousin in Brittany has a friend who not long ago used to trade in Boulogne, and he spoke of you as a very honest man. I do not wish to make trouble for anyone, which is what would happen if I went back to Paris and reported what I have seen. So I came to you.”

  “But why? I have nothing to do with Customs. In fact, I think our Customs men are honest. I do not say there may not be one who has stepped off the straight path, but in general—and I am sure the director…“

  “It would be a very foolish thing for the director of the district to endanger his position and reputation for a few bolts of cloth and a few boxes of feathers. However, to speak plainly, such a man does not like to be told his business by—by a nobody like me. Moreover, it will not be pleasant for him to need to begin an investigation of his personnel.”

  “And if I accompany you he will be forced to do so, eh?” Monsieur Fresnoy said wryly. “Does it occur to you that he will not love me for this either?”

  “Oh, no, sir,” Philip hastened to assure him. “He will blame that on me. I will tell him just what I have done. Moreover, he will know you could not refuse me.”

  Monsieur Fresnoy’s eyes narrowed. “I do not see how this can benefit you, then, since you will still gain Monsieur le Directeur’s animosity.”

  “No, I will not,” Philip assured him earnestly, “at least not if he is an honest man. Oh, he may be angry at first, but as soon as he begins to think the matter over he will think differently. After all, I am sure he does not want a corrupt officer in his brigade. Second, since you know of this problem and I am sure he will investigate, there will be no need for me to report anything to any office. As I said, I do not wish to report this. You know and I know that this may have nothing to do with any Customs officer. There are so m
any coves and little empty beaches. The whole Grand Army could not patrol every one. But the office of the Director General will assume inefficiency…”

  There was a brief pause after Philip’s voice died away. Monsieur Fresnoy looked at his earnest, anxious expression and smiled. “You are a very clever young man, and thoughtful and patriotic too. Yes, indeed, I will go with you.”

  Philip dropped his eyes and looked modest while he murmured his thanks. He did not smile, for he was still only at the beginning of his path, and he certainly did not want the harbor master to guess how comical it was that they should be in perfect agreement. He, too, thought he had been clever and patriotic.

  It happened that the director of the Customs office was in and was willing to see the harbor master immediately. Philip was grateful. This was the only part of the operation that was really risky, and he was glad he would have no time to get nervous and do or say something silly. He had no idea whether this bureau chief happened recently to have been in Paris or whether there was some department rule a high official would know that precluded the role Philip was playing. In addition, if the man was suspicious and wanted identification, Philip had no idea whether his forged papers would pass the inspection of someone who knew what the papers should be. Until now everyone had accepted him on the wealthy Brittany farmer’s word. The harbor master’s clerk had looked at Philip’s papers, but only cursorily, and there was no reason why he should be able to tell forged papers from genuine ones.

  Monsieur Fresnoy was a clever man and, for his own sake as well as Philip’s, started the conversation with a large dollop of butter. Instead of repeating Philip’s suspicions of complicity in smuggling, he explained that this young clerk of the Customs, Philippe Saintaire, was most sensibly in awe of his own superior and sought the intervention of someone with authority outside of his own service to introduce him. Then he went on to describe what Philip had seen in the cove. The reaction was more violent than Philip or Monsieur Fresnoy expected. The director turned brick red and snarled.

  “Can you find the place again? Do you have proof?” Monsieur Fresnoy stiffened imperceptibly. How could he have forgotten to ask those questions himself? A single glance at Philip reassured him that he had not been wrong in his judgment of Philip’s character.

  “Yes, sir, to both,” Philip replied promptly. “As to proof, of course, I could not be sure that the goods would remain where I found them until I could get to see you. Frankly, sir, I was afraid to seek out anyone in authority last night. Monsieur Fresnoy has been most kind, but I confessed to him I had—er—been making a little merry and was not completely myself.”

  “Then you are not sure, really.”

  “Oh, yes, I am sure. I was not—ah—so merry as that. In fact, what I found shocked me so much… Well, I could not carry it all, but I brought what I could back to my room at the inn. I was afraid to carry such stuffs around with me, but if you would send an officer with me—”

  “Yes, very wise.”

  The director jangled a bell and a clerk came in to receive the order. Monsieur Fresnoy rose, saying he imagined he was no longer needed. Philip hastily got up also and took his hand.

  “I cannot thank you enough, sir,” he said. “If you would permit me to call at your house express my gratitude—if I am not too bold.”

  “Not at all,” the harbor master replied, thinking to himself that this was a most polite and proper young man. You have no engagement this evening?”

  “No, sir unless—” Philip turned to look at the director, who waved a negation at him. Philip then smiled at the harbor master and bowed. “Then this evening—at what time?”

  Monsieur Fresnoy looked at the dark, handsome face, remembered Philip’s implication with regard to what he had been doing the previous night. Clearly this was a correctly brought up young man, who understood the amenities. One worked off one’s lust on the class of women who did such things; one did not seduce one’s equal’s (or superior’s) daughters. He named a time, said a polite farewell to the director and went away thinking that Philip might be an amusing companion for Désirée.

  The rest of the morning and the early part of the afternoon were too busy to permit Philip time for thought. It took all his concentration to remain in character, not to seem to know too much or too little, to seem interested enough in the problem of who was doing the smuggling. This last, naturally enough, was scarcely a subject on which Philip desired that the truth be uncovered. However, he soon realized he was not the first to bring information that English goods were being smuggled into this area.

  At first Philip could hardly believe his good luck, but when he was finally dismissed with a commendation he realized that it was the most natural thing in the world. Boulogne was full of men becoming wealthy from the huge shipbuilding contracts, plus naval and army officers who were training the men who would sail the invading fleet and take part in the proposed invasion. These contractors and officers had been here for months and could expect to remain for months longer. Doubtless their wives had come to stay with them. There would surely be social affairs to mark the economic rejuvenation and to relieve the tedium of camp life. The women would need constant additions to and refurbishments of their wardrobes, since each group moved in a closed social circle in which one saw the same people over and over. There would also be the subtle striving among the women that always existed in closed social circles, the desire to lead the pack in fashion and elegance. This was the perfect situation for a market in forbidden trifles.

  What a fool he had been, Philip thought. He should have known that Pierre would not have suggested his taking along some of the goods unless smuggling was likely. On the other hand, to Pierre, smuggling was likely anywhere. He seemed to think it was the natural condition of man. Well, perhaps he was right. Philip lay back on his bed and finally allowed himself to laugh heartily. What a tale he would have for his father and Leonie—and for Meg. It had worked so well!

  The harbor master had been too interested in his story to check his credentials, and after all, it was not his business. But the way he had introduced him to the Director of Customs had certainly given the impression, that Monsieur Fresnoy knew the man he was introducing. He had even managed to surmount a last, unexpected danger when the director had offered to write to his superior to commend him for his alertness and devotion to duty even on vacation.

  Philip had gasped with shock—and had barely managed to change that to an indrawn breath of amazement at the director’s generosity. Surely it would be too much trouble, he had said politely, envisioning the hunt for him that would begin as soon as the director was informed that no such man was employed in the service de bureau.

  “Not at all,” the director insisted, a little surprised, for it seemed a bit odd that so clever a young man should not wish to capitalize on his achievement.

  Fortunately, by that time Philip had caught his breath and had a moment to think. He lowered his eyes and bowed. “Since you are so kind,” he murmured, “could you do me the infinite favor of—of giving the letter into my own hand. I—I am new in the office, you see, and my name might be meaningless. Letters can get lost…“ Philip allowed his voice to drift away.

  The implications were plain. This clever young man had been too clever, perhaps, and annoyed his fellow workers or offended his superior. Or, simply, he was clever enough to wish to carry a commendation personally to someone higher up than his own superior. Well, why not? Ambition and cleverness should be rewarded. The director nodded and smiled.

  “Very well, come tomorrow afternoon. My clerk will have the letter for you.”

  Philip confounded himself in thanks and bowed himself out, remembering not to sigh with relief or wipe his brow until he was well away from the director’s office. That had been a narrow squeak and, really, it was not yet over. In well-meaning innocence the director might still write to someone in Paris to commend him, thinking that such an action would serve to confirm the letter he w
ould carry.

  It would behoove him, Philip thought, sitting upright, to move as quickly as possible to get his information. There was no time to spend courting the harbor master’s daughter. He would have to use more direct methods. However, he found that he was not to have any choice about meeting Mademoiselle Fresnoy. He had hoped to be shown into the harbor master’s study, where they could talk in privacy and he could be politely indifferent if the daughter invaded her father’s sanctum, as Pierre said was her custom. Instead he found himself shown into the parlor and introduced to Mademoiselle Désirée.

  Philip did what he could. He first thanked the harbor master most sincerely—he was quite genuinely grateful to the man and hoped Monsieur Fresnoy would not get into trouble if the truth were later discovered. Then he mentioned the letter of commendation and, using that as a wedge, inserted the information that he did not expect be in Boulogne longer than a week. All the time he had been speaking, he had been aware of occasional, but very intense, glances from Mademoiselle Désirée. It was an odd sensation, like little flickers of heat that touched him. Yet he could not catch her looking at him even once. Each time he turned politely toward her to include her in the general, impersonal remarks he was making, her eyes were demurely lowered, fixed on some small piece of needlework she held in her lap.

  It was when he began the next stage of his attack, which was to regret that he probably could not obtain permission to get into the port facilities and dockyards, that her eyes first met his. The brief flashing glance gave him a shock. It was avid and at the same time calculating, but so swiftly veiled that Philip could hardly believe the demure face he saw held those eyes.