The Cornish Heiress (24 page)

Henri d’Onival was also on the road—or rather, beside it.
When the first shot had been fired, he had screamed with terror. That was the
cry that made Pierre think his random, warning shot had hit someone. However,
Henri’s only pain had been an agony of fear. Without thought he had run across
the road, away from the terrifying sounds of gunfire. Blind with panic he had
stumbled and fallen into the ditch on the other side and had lain there
throughout the whole fight, shivering. He had heard Megaera’s pony coming down
the road but had not recognized it for what it was. To his fearful mind the
sound was magnified into a whole army coming to attack them from behind.

The two shots Meg fired and the two screams—hers and that of
the man John crushed—convinced Henri that his position was little safer than
those of the men who were still fighting. He crawled forward in the ditch as
fast as he could, ignoring bruised knees and torn hands and then when silence
had fallen, he got to his feet and ran. He ran until he fell from exhaustion.
By the time his driven body had recovered, his absolute panic had receded. Now
Henri remembered the horses hidden not far from the road. But to get a horse he
would have to return to the scene of the battle. He shuddered convulsively and
began to walk. Nothing would make him go back. Nothing would make him remain
another day. Nothing would make him continue this horrible enterprise. Whatever
Jean said or did, Henri determined he would not listen. He would return to
London. He might be penniless, but be would still be alive. He would find some
other way to pay his debts.

It was nearly morning by the time Henri made his way back to
the inn in Penzance. On the way he had had another terrible fright. The sound
of horses had sent him cowering into the brush by the side of the road. He
feared it was the “law”, or whoever else had come down the road and attacked
them from behind, searching for survivors. In fact it was the survivors
themselves. Henri was lucky in his fear, however; the hired men were angry
enough to kill him. ‘They thought they had been tricked into an attack on Red
Meg’s gang, and they would not have waited to listen to any explanations. Had
they seen him, Henri would have been killed and delivered to Red Meg as a burnt
offering—a token, of good faith that they had been tricked and had not intended
to start an intergang war.

Although he was a little afraid of Jean, Henri was so much
more afraid of being involved, in another situation like the one he had just
escaped, that he knew he could outface his partner. And during the long, walk
home he had conceived a brilliant idea. He did not need to complete the job to
be paid. All he had to do was to threaten to expose d’Ursine—a nice show of
indignation at being asked to spy against the country that had sheltered him
and his parents Yes, d’Ursine would pay—and pay.

Henri was very much surprised to find that Jean had not yet
returned when a grumbling servant had finally been aroused to let him in.
Trembling with joy, seeing a way to free himself from the threats and
importunities of his partner, Henri ordered the servant to wake an ostler and
tell him to ready the carriage. He ran up to the room, pulled the remaining
money out from where Jean had hidden it, threw his things all anyhow into his
portmanteau, and ran down again to wake the landlord and pay the bill.

The innkeeper was surly at first but when he saw Henri’s
battered and muddy condition, he added up the account and took the money. It
was all too apparent that the two men, who had been heard to quarrel, had come
to a violent parting. The landlord was somewhat surprised at which one of the
two had come out the victor, but he wanted neither a murderer apprehended on
his premises nor a violent confrontation—if the other of the pair were still
alive—so he took his money and helped Henri leave as quickly as possible. If
the other did not show up, the innkeeper knew he could sell his clothes and
other belongings. If he did show up, he could throw him out if he didn’t have
money to pay the bill again, or he could sympathize with him if he did.

Unaware of the clearing of the area, Megaera stood watching
Philip go down to the pier. She stood there long after he was made invisible by
the misty rain and darkness, telling herself that she could still see him.
Finally, however, the wet began to penetrate her heavy jacket and she knew she was
only pretending. The boat must be halfway to Pierre’s ship already. Megaera
heaved a deep sigh and blinked back tears. Sweet. It had been heavenly sweet,
but now the bitter aftertaste would begin.

Still, when she reached home and got into bed she found that
there was no time for bitterness or tears. She was so tired between fear and
excitement and the fact that she had slept hardly at all the previous night,
that she fell asleep as soon as her head was down. Compensating, she slept very
late the next morning. Rose did not wake her. She had become accustomed to her
mistress sleeping late this past year, although not so late as these last two
weeks.

Thus Megaera came slowly awake when she was fully rested.
She woke up happy, as she had ever since she had given herself to Philip in
Falmouth. In the next moment she remembered that this morning was different
from those other mornings. She was not going to spend the day in a rosy haze,
just killing time until she could go back to Philip. Philip was gone. Then, before
her heart could sink, before the bitterness of loneliness could overwhelm her,
she remembered the letter she had promised to send out in the mail.

With a gasp of alarm Megaera jumped out of bed and looked at
the little gold clock on the nearby table. It was too late to catch the morning
mail at Penzance, but a groom could catch a second coach that started after one
o’clock. She flung on a peignoir and rang furiously for Rose. Between dressing,
telling the maid to send a footman to the stables to warn a groom he would have
to ride to Penzance to catch the afternoon mail, and finally going out to the
stables herself to give the groom the letter and the money to pay the express
charges, Megaera did not have time to become depressed.

Even after the groom had ridden away, spurring his mount to its
best speed, life conspired to hold off sorrow. Looking around, Megaera noticed
subtle signs of neglect. The horses were not suffering; the grooms of Bolliet were
chosen equally for their love of their charges and for their skill in handling
them and their trappings. However, cleaning and repair, particularly of the
stable and yard, were not favorite duties. Lord Bolliet seldom came down to the
stable. Even when he did, he saw little. In the last month Megaera had been
distracted, first by her worry over what Black Bart might do next and then because
of her total concentration on her affair with Philip. She had not, she realized,
visited the stables herself for some time—and it showed.

The head groom was summoned, and his ears were well reddened
by the time Megaera let him go. But his neglect was only a symptom of a more basic
disease. Megaera realized she had been concentrating so much on her smuggling
activities that she had been neglecting her other duties. She returned thoughtfully
to the house to examine the private books she kept. The outlook was brighter
than she had expected. She had two quarters worth of interest in reserve, and
it was time for rents to be paid by the tenant farmers.

With a sense of horror Megaera realized that she had no idea
what kind of harvest it had been. She knew that she must have discussed such
matters with her tenants, but her mind had been so far away that she could not
remember what had been said. It was time, and long past time, that she should
pay some attention to the estate. If she did not, she would soon be ruined in a
way other than unpaid debts. Land in which an owner had no interest was soon
mistreated and exhausted. Megara knew that not all Bolliet’s troubles were
owing to what Edward had done. In the years between her mother’s death and her
own development to an age where she could control her father, the land had been
mismanaged. It was only now really recovering, and she had nearly let it fall
into bad heart again.

In many places such close attention was not necessary. The
rich heartlands of England produced well even with indifferent care, but in
Cornwall land could not be neglected. There was great contrast in the arable
land. There were rich valley folds, but these were narrow and steep-sided. Most
of the land was thin soil over rock, some of it so poor that it provided
grazing only for a few sheep. The remainder would bear crops if carefully
tended, but neglect of any kind, particularly in manuring the land or not
permitting the fields to lie fallow, brought about swift disaster.

During the years Lord Bolliet drank and gambled and Megaera
was too young to have either understanding or authority, several farms had been
completely ruined. Two still lay derelict. One, that to which the cliff house
belonged, was probably spoiled for all time. The other, Megaera had been
thinking of renting again. The hay taken from the fields had been good that
last August. It was time to consider that and also to talk to the farmers about
what should be planted. Megaera had developed a painless technique for this and
for preventing the tenants from appealing to her father, who had a tendency to
agree to anything to get rid of the men. She went round late in the autumn,
asking what needed repair before the winter storms. At the same time crops and
fields to be left fallow were discussed.

By experience the tenants had learned that, if they did not
abide by these informal agreements or have very good reasons for any changes
they made, Mrs. Edward Devoran would make their lives a living hell. The
smallest aspect of what they did would suddenly come under scrutiny from the
mash fed the chickens and the shoes on the horses (if one had any) to their
wives’ housekeeping. It was not worth it—and it did not pay either, the
longtime tenants told the new ones. Mrs. Devoran read all the books on new
methods of farming but she wasn’t one for fads. She took advice from the best
farmers in the neighborhood to be sure the books were “right for Cornwall”.
What was more, she was not above taking advice from her tenants—if she thought
it was for the good of the land.

It was time, Megaera told herself firmly as she came away
from the stables, for Mrs. Edward Devoran to take over from Red Meg. There were
a few deliveries still to make, but not many. Nearly all Red Meg’s customers
were well stocked, knowing the coming of the winter gales would cut down the
smuggling traffic. The decision was no wrench for Megaera. She was glad to
avoid the “smuggling lay” right now. Deliveries would bring Philip too much
into her mind, whereas Mrs. Edward Devoran’s activities could have no
association with him. What could a smuggler’s bastard know about the management
of land?

Megaera almost wished that Pierre’s regular run would be
interrupted too. Philip had told her it would be “a long time” that she must be
prepared to wait, yet she knew she would expect to see him when Pierre came
again, that she would be miserable when he was not there—even though she knew
he could not be. No, she would not think about that. There was work for Mrs.
Edward Devoran. Philip had nothing to do with Mrs. Edward Devoran—nothing at
all.

It was fortunate that Philip knew nothing of Red Meg’s alter
ego. It was the security he felt in her love, the certainty that she would be
waiting and they could come to some permanent arrangement, that made it
possible for him to put her—not out of his mind; he could never do that—in the
back of his consciousness. The knowledge that Meg was his was a warm,
comforting glow that helped rather than hindered his concentration on other
things.

The
Bonne Lucie
had made the crossing without
difficulty. There had been sail on the horizon to the west in the morning,
possibly an English vessel patrolling, but the
chasse-marée
was in no
danger. She was of small draft and rigged for speed. She could easily find
protection in the shallow waters of some cove on the coast long before the ship
could come up to her—if it should be in the least interested in doing so. Since
the sail disappeared it was apparent that whatever ship it was had not thought
the
Bonne Lucie
worth investigating.

By noon they were lying to under a steep headland. With a
glass Philip could see that there was a village where the land fell away into a
valley to the north. The ship’s boat went ashore, and a little while later a
horse and rider set out from an area hidden by a fold of the land. The rest of
the day was spent idling, Pierre complaining that the delicate cargo Philip and
Meg had chosen precluded fishing, an activity in which an honest Breton
fisherman should be engaged. It was impossible, he said, to contaminate such
fine fabrics and feathers with the unromantic aroma of fish.

The tone was light, but the lookouts kept sharp watch.
Bonaparte had no objection to smugglers who brought in woolen cloth and
leather. Boots, jackets, and guns were welcome also, but frills and feathers,
which would drain the purses of the people without providing material benefit
or assistance to the war effort were forbidden fruit. Because they were
forbidden, they were so much the more valuable. Pierre might complain as a
jest, but he would be well pleased—so long as they could avoid the unwelcome
attention of French revenue officers.

They had a plan even for that, but it was only a delaying
tactic. Philip, who had his forged papers ready, would say the cargo was
already confiscated and under his control. Unfortunately, as soon as the
Customs men had time to think, they would know he was lying. His “guardsmen”
would have been members of Pierre’s crew, and they did not have the proper
uniforms. Pierre growled with irritation when he mentioned that. Bonaparte was
uniform mad.
Everyone
wore uniforms even the least, last, jumped-up
civil guard. The worst of it, Pierre confessed, was that it worked—at least a
little. The uniforms seemed to rouse the pride of the men. It cost much more to
bribe them when they were in uniform.