The Cornish Heiress

by Roberta Gellis

  Pierre burst out laughing. “Wonderful! That is wonderful!” Then he frowned. “But do not say she is mute—only dumb, unable to make words. She might forget herself once or twice, and when you are alone you will not be able to stop her from speaking. If someone should hear, it will not be so suspicious. Let her tongue be in some way at fault. Perhaps let her even say a word or two, badly garbled, so that people will think she is ashamed to speak in public but, naturally, not to her husband in private.”

  Megaera stirred and moaned again. Philip looked at her anxiously, patted her shoulder, and whispered reassurances into her ear. Pierre assured him that she felt nothing, or at least she would remember nothing. When she had quieted, Pierre suggested that they move her to the ship.

  “Yes, that would be best. We can put her in your bunk—you will not mind?”

  “I did not intend to sling a hammock for her among the men.”

  Philip laughed. “No. Clearly my head is still not working quite right. But Pierre, I will have to stay ashore and come later. There are several dead men in the cave and a pony tied up outside. I cannot allow the poor beast to freeze or starve, and I cannot simply leave the bodies. John at least, deserves a decent burial. And I had better leave a letter for Meg’s sister—no, I think I will write to her father. He is not good for much, but she says he loves her, and he is still the head of the household.”

  “You will write—but what?”

  “Um—I think that Meg has been invited to stay with Leonie and that she will herself write and explain everything as soon as she is settled. I will have to write to Leonie also. If I leave the letters with the landlord here, will he send them off?”

  At that moment the boy who had gone for the laudanum came in and brought the bottle to Philip. He passed it to Pierre.

  You will see her safely to the ship? I must go and see that the pony is released and John and the others whoever they are, are placed where someone will find them. If she becomes restless, give her some of the laudanum. She will be mad as fire that I have abducted her this way, but I cannot see anything better to do.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Philip was absolutely correct about Megaera being furious when she discovered what he had done. He had kept her dosed with laudanum all the while she was aboard ship. That was not only because he wished to avoid argument. Philip also wanted to be sure both her hangover from the brandy Pierre had poured down her throat and the worst of the headache from the blow of the bullet on her skull would be over before she was fully conscious. Thus it was not until they were safely lodged at Monsieur Luroec’s farm that Philip let her wake naturally.

  She stared at him for a long moment, so long that Philip began to fear she did not recognize him. Then she said, “I’ve had some very queer dreams.”

  “They were not—at least not all of them dreams,” Philip said gently.

  Megaera raised her brows, exclaimed wordlessly, and lifted a hand toward the healing wound. Philip caught the hand. “That part was not a dream then? My head did hurt. What happened?” she asked.

  “You remember being at the cave?” Philip asked in turn. Pierre had warned him that people who were hit on the head sometimes did not remember what had happened just before the blow.

  “The cave?” Megaera repeated. Then she looked around the room. “This isn’t the… Philip, where are we?”

  “Now, do not get all excited,” Philip warned. “Let me tell you what happened.”

  He did not quite get through the tale without interruption, but he had the advantage that when Megaera began to scream at him, her head began to ache. She contented herself with glaring after that. Philip shrugged.

  “I could not bring you home all bloody, with a bullet hole in your head. I do not even know exactly where Bolliet Manor is. For all I knew, you could have bled to death before I found the place.”

  “John would have taken me. What did you do with him?”

  Philip hesitated, then said softly, “I am sorry. I tried to get to him in time to warn him, but I could not. I was behind the flames when the lamp spilled, and he may not have been able to see me. And it happened so fast… He is dead, my love. I am so sorry.”

  Megaera’s eyes filled with tears, but they did not fall. “Poor John,” she whispered.

  “I do not think he suffered,” Philip lied, blanking the memory of John’s open mouth, screaming soundlessly. He could see no reason to tell her that the deaf-mute had lived with that dreadful hole in him long enough to wring one enemy’s neck. “It was so quick.”

  “Very well,” she said, quietly now because the news of John’s death had taken the edge off her anger. “But after Pierre had—” she touched the wound on her head gingerly, “had sewed me up, why did you carry me off to France, you idiot? Everyone will go mad worrying about me at home.”

  “Oh, no,” Philip replied. “I am not stupid. I wrote a very polite letter to your father, purportedly from my stepmother, to say she had taken you to stay with her for a few weeks and that you would write later.”

  Megaera just stared. His stepmother? But Pierre was not married. Was there some cuckolded father who had married the woman Pierre… No, that was far too complicated. Anyhow Philip’s parentage was a side issue of far less importance than this stupid abduction. She protested again, but Philip kept repeating calmly that it was far too late to worry about it now, that Pierre was gone to get them false papers, and that he would not take her back to The Mousehole alone because there was no one to take care of her with John dead.

  “This smuggling must end, sweetheart. It is too dangerous for you. Pierre agrees with me. He will find a new distributor or move his base back to Belgium so that he can trade from Kingsdown again. No, do not begin to worry about your precious sister and her home. I swear I will find a way to pay the interest, at least. My father’s man of business will work it all out.”

  “Your father’s man of business?” Megaera echoed faintly.

  An adoptive father? But Philip was French—no, he had said he was English. It began to seem as if she had jumped to a wrong conclusion. Yet Pierre had called him mon fils, and she knew enough French to recognize that meant my son. Also, Pierre went to extraordinary lengths to oblige Philip and to protect him. But Philip gave her no time to think out the problem. He had changed the subject and was reminding her that he had to carry a message to Paris.

  Megaera had accepted that without doubt when he first said it, but suddenly she realized she knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about Philip. Everything she believed she knew had been cast into doubt. “To whom? For what purpose?”

  There was a hard suspicion in Megaera’s eyes now. She might cheerfully defraud the government of taxes she felt they had no right to collect, but she was a loyal Englishwoman in any contest with the French. She had no intention of aiding and abetting a spy. What if the message he was carrying to Paris would in some way injure her country?

  “Sweetheart,” Philip began, and reached for her hands.

  She snatched them away. “You have been using me,” she whispered with horror.

  “No!”

  Philip had been about to tell her he could not answer her questions. After all, the plot to unseat Bonaparte was a state secret, and he really did not dare to mention the name Cadoudal. What Meg did not know could not slip out. However he could see she would not accept a simple statement that he was a loyal Englishman. She must be reassured, and words alone would not do it. Philip pulled off his boot and pried open the glued leather, so that he could show her the pass signed and sealed by the Secretary for Foreign Affairs.

  Megaera sighed with relief. In fact she was so impressed that she hardly noticed the different spelling of his name. Even if she had, it would not have meant anything to her. Because of her father’s “little” weakness and her early marriage, Megaera had never had a London “Season”. She had no acquaintance among the ton, and if the other families who did, like the Moretons, had ever mentioned the St.
Eyres, it had passed over her head. She passed back the paper and watched Philip work it carefully into his boot again.

  “But I will be the greatest danger to you,” she protested. “My French is—is schoolgirl stuff, and I’m sure my accent would scream ‘English’ to anyone who heard me. How could you be so foolish as to drag me along with you?”

  “I have answered that four times already,” Philip said reprovingly, “but I will tell you once more. Because I love you. And I cannot see why you should be a danger to me. Since married men are not called up for conscription, you are a ready excuse why I am not in the army. Moreover, Pierre and I together have thought of an excellent reason for you not to talk in public—you are afflicted of the tongue; not mute but unable to say words normally. We can use the hand signs we used with poor John. Think about it a few minutes, love, while I get some glue from Monsieur Luroec to fix this boot again.”

  By the time Philip returned, Megaera was not only reconciled but was bright and cheerful. She had at first been worried about the servants’ reaction to her absence, but she realized that her father’s valet would read any letter addressed to Lord Bolliet. Usually such letters were invitations, and Colson knew which to refuse outright and which to mention to his lordship. When he found the letter announced Megaera’s visit to Leonie, he would inform Rose, the housekeeper, and the butler. It was a stroke of luck that Philip had taken such a dislike to Mrs. Edward Devoran. If he had addressed the letter to her, it would have lain unopened and the household would have been frantic.

  With that worry off her mind Megaera realized that she was thrilled with this chance for adventure. She had got used to doing rather unusual things, and it seemed to her she might be of real use to Philip. Who would suspect a man traveling with a mute wife to be a spy? Spies did not customarily bring along their womenfolk. As to the muteness, it would be easier for her than for many because of the long hours she had spent working with John, to whom it was useless to speak. She would be able to do an excellent imitation of a person with a speech impediment. And if she could not speak the chances were that people would believe she was sort of simple. That might be valuable.

  The only thing that bothered Megaera was the lie she had told. It was tenderly amusing that Philip should be so fiercely protective and have taken her nonexistent sister in such aversion, but it would not be funny at all when he learned the truth. She could not forget that icy fury that had taken him when she had implied he might take unfair advantage of knowing who she was. This time would be even worse. He would be convinced that her apologies then had been all false. Megaera did not believe he would abandon her in France, but she could not bear the thought of his hurt and rage when he discovered she had not trusted him.

  Why, oh why, had she not told the truth at once? Should she tell him now? Megaera shuddered. He would be so angry. Perhaps he would leave her here until his mission, was finished. Perhaps he would be so upset that he would be thrown off balance and betray himself to the authorities. No, it was too late now. She would have to wait until they were back in England. There Philip would be safe and it would not matter as long as he was safe if he never spoke to her again.

  To divert herself Megaera plunged into a discussion of how Philip’s mission was to be accomplished when he returned to the room. He was a little surprised at her complete about-face, but put it down to sweetness of disposition and most willingly told her what he had outlined and Pierre had elaborated.

  As soon as their papers were ready Philip and Megaera would travel by road to Paris. They would be nouveaux mariés on their voyage de noces. He would keep his old role as a Customs officer, but now one stationed in the provinces who wished to show his new wife the great city of Paris. Meanwhile, Pierre would sail around to Dieppe. There he would linger, selling his legal and welcome cargo of leather, boots and shoes, heavy woolen cloth, and other such necessities. He could drag out negotiations for some time, seeming to be looking for the best price. If Philip and Meg had not arrived at Dieppe before he disposed of his cargo, he could pretend his crew was off on a spree, or do some fishing. Possibly the weather would oblige by being nasty. In any case he would return to Dieppe every evening or every other evening.

  Exactly how Philip and Meg would come aboard ship had been left to the spur of the moment. Pierre had several plans ready. There would be no trouble about Philip finding the ship. Dieppe was not a naval base, and there was no reason why people should not walk the docks just to look at the vessels there. Philip knew the Bonne Lucie as well as he knew his own yacht.

  Megaera had no quarrel with any of this, but she pointed out that Philip had snatched her away without so much as a change of linen and in boy’s clothing. What was she to do about that? It had all been arranged, Philip said with a touch of pride. Monsieur Luroec’s daughter had already gone to Rennes to procure suitable clothes and would be back tomorrow or the next day. Meanwhile, Megaera was to get back her strength. She laughed at him at first, saying she felt fine, but in fact she found when she got out of bed that she was shaky and tired easily. It took her all that day and part of the next to get the clotted blood out of her hair and find a style for it that would conceal the gash in her scalp.

  In this endeavor Philip was no help at all. He was willing enough to assist in washing, drying, and combing her hair, but he looked at her with a perfectly fatuous expression each time she asked whether she had hidden the bare spot and said she was more beautiful—bare spot or no—than ever. This led Megaera to ask tartly, but with laughing eyes, whether he was hard up again. She expected to put him out but found she had underestimated her lover. Philip merely opened his dark eyes wide and said, “Always, when I am with you. How could it be otherwise?” which made her blush.

  Active or idle, the two found great pleasure simply being together. Pierre returned with the necessary forged papers. Monsieur Luroec’s daughter brought clothing suitable to a new bride. If the style was a little more flamboyant than Megaera herself would have chosen, that was all to the good. It was truer to what a girl of the class Megaera was pretending to be would have chosen. Only the most minor alterations were necessary, and Megaera was delighted with the rich Lyons silks, which were not obtainable in England or brought prohibitive prices.

  Neither Philip nor Megaera had ever stopped to wonder how they would deal together over the long run when their time was not filled with urgent tasks. Their attraction to each other had been intense and largely physical, and had been markedly heightened by the feeling that they would soon be parted again. During the five days it took them to reach Paris over the muddy rutted roads of winter, they had adequate time to realize that they liked each other’s company even in dull and uncomfortable circumstances. They barely made twenty miles a day, for the hours of light were short and it poured icy rain.

  However, they had no trouble aside from the condition of the roads and the weather. Philip was armed to the teeth, remembering the attack on the road from Ambleteuse, and Megaera now carried one of the quick-loading Lorenzonis in her pocket and the muff gun in her muff. There was not the slightest need. No threat of any kind troubled them. Virtually no riders appeared on the road; everyone who could not travel in a sound carriage simply postponed business until the weather should improve. Even carriages were few and far between, and these were as tightly closed as Philip’s, the drivers as indistinguishable as he was himself.

  The dearth of travelers made Philip and Megaera particularly welcome in the inns at which they stopped. They had the best room, the best service, and every extra consideration the host or hostess could devise. Megaera’s “affliction” seemed to increase the attentions they received. La pauvre petite had only to set her eyes on something to have it brought to her at once. No one seemed surprised that Philip had married her—so sweet her smiles, so beautiful as she was. Some of the men sighed and murmured that they wished they had thought of it themselves.

  The first day or two Megaera found the enforced muteness a difficulty,
but she made up for it in bed and in the carriage, only falling silent when someone passed them. As they traveled Philip debated with himself the wisdom of really explaining his mission to her. State secret or no state secret, she was already involved up to the eyes, and it was unfair that she should not know what they were to do. He had been very pleased by her restraint, she had asked no questions at all, and he had just about decided that he must tell her as they came down the low hills around Dreux and began the last thirty miles of their journey on the better roads and relatively flat land around Paris.

  Megaera had been interested in the hilly countryside, mentally comparing what she could see of the farming practices with those of Cornwall, but she soon ceased to watch the gentler panorama. “We should be getting pretty near Paris now,” she said.

  “Tonight, if the road stays good, or early tomorrow. Are you very tired of traveling my love?”

  “No, not at all. I am dry and warm, but—Philip, I don’t wish to pry, but is there something, some way I should or should not behave? Is there any way at all I can be of help to you?”

  He turned his head away from the road to smile brilliantly at her. “We always think alike sweetheart. I had just decided that I had better tell you the whole thing now. It is a state secret, you see—oh, do not look so troubled. All that means is that someone has behaved like an idiot and would rather that the whole world did not know of it. Those dunderheads at the Foreign Office—and for all I know at the War Office, too—allowed themselves to be convinced by their own desires and a man called Méhée de la Touche, who I suspect was sent by Bonaparte’s government if not by him personally, that France was ready to rise against the ‘foreign usurper’ and welcome back the Bourbons.”

  “But, Philip, that’s ridiculous, Megaera exclaimed. “Everything is so quiet, and even though winter is always a hard season, everyone seems—well, rather content. Oh, I know people were complaining about the taxes and this and that—my French is good enough to understand what they say—but…“