The Cornish Heiress (43 page)

Philip considered the harvest he had garnered, then returned
to Charon and searched him more thoroughly. Sewn inside the waistband of his
trousers Philip found English papers of identification somewhat like his own
but less sweeping in their protection. Charon was a double agent! Now he began
to search in earnest. Putting aside the easily discovered belt under his shirt,
heavy with French and English gold, Philip opened the man’s boots, pried at the
heels, ripped the lining and seams of every garment, but found nothing more.

While his hands had been busy, Philip’s brain had been busy
too. He looked up at Cadoudal, made a sign to him not interfere, and struck the
bound man on the head with the butt of Charon’s gun to knock him senseless. ”I
am sorry about that,” he said, “but he must not hear what I am about to say.
Meg and I must leave at once. I am sure these men were to report back to
Monsieur Fouché. I deduce they were to question me—that must have been the
purpose for the neckcloth to tie me up—since it would be lunatic to question
you. Although what they thought I could know… Well, that does not matter. If
what I hope is true, Fouché cannot expect a report for some time, assuming we
would resist questioning—so we will have time to escape Paris.”

“We must get out of here first,” Megaera said as steadily as
she could. She was standing by the side of the window, where she could not be
seen but where she could look out and avoid seeing the results of her
determination to protect Philip.

“Yes, but we cannot leave this man or any others who may be
below stairs behind.

“No, of course not, but I know how to solve that problem,”
Cadoudal assured him. “I have friends also. If we can overcome the men below
and you can give me ten minutes to summon assistance, you can leave.”

“Good enough,” Philip agreed.

“Wait until I load my gun,” Megaera protested, hurrying to
the table where she had laid the weapon.

“You should have loaded it right away,” Philip complained,
teasingly. “What good is an empty gun? And what an idiot you are to leave it
lying around.”

“I didn’t have time to load it. I thought that man was going
to strangle you. I was going to hit him on the head, and—”

“Adding insult to injury—yes, I see. But he could not have
strangled me very hard with a bullet in him. It would have been more practical
to load and shoot him in the head.”

“One cannot think of everything in a moment of crisis,”
Megaera said reproachfully, and then burst out laughing.

Cadoudal made a strangled sound of distaste at the laughter
and bantering and at Philip’s seemingly callous attitude toward the woman. The
English sangfroid was too much for him. Philip did not bother to explain, he
did not care what Cadoudal thought. He was only glad that Meg’s eyes were clear
again, the lingering shadow of horror in them gone. His seemingly casual
acceptance of what she had done—which now that he thought back on it turned his
insides all fluid with pride and gratitude and love—had reduced the importance
of the two deaths. To scold her for so minor a failing in a jocular manner
almost made an everyday matter of the affair. Megaera still kept her eyes away
from the bodies, but she was beginning to equate them with the vermin she would
casually order killed on her estates.

“Do not hurry your loading,” Philip said next, pulling off
his greatcoat. ”You will have time. I am going to wear this man’s coat and hat
while I go down and see with how many we have to contend.”

A babble of protest broke out from Megaera and Cadoudal, to
which Philip replied briefly as he untied the unconscious man’s hands to remove
his coat. When he was dressed, he took the Lorenzoni from Cadoudal and handed
him the gun that had not been fired, as well as Charon’s gun, which he had
loaded quickly.

“Stop talking foolishly, both of you,” he said sharply.
“Meg, tie this man up again, good and tight. Monsieur Cadoudal, follow me to
the head of the stairs and come down slowly, unless you hear shots or other
sounds of violence. Then do what you think best—but do it fast! Meg, when you
have the prisoner secured, take my coat and hat and follow Monsieur Cadoudal.”

He wanted to tell her to escape with the Frenchman, that
Cadoudal could provide her with a guide who would take her to Dieppe, but he
knew with both despair and an intense joy that he would be wasting his breath.
If he ran into trouble, Meg would be right there beside him, fighting to her
last breath to save him. Debt or no debt, bastard or no bastard, he would have
her as his wife, even if it meant severing ties with his father and Leonie.
That would hurt, but not nearly so much as losing Meg.

The tense agony Megaera endured when Philip left the room
was somewhat mitigated by the force with which she hit the third man when he groaned
and twitched as she retied him. Cadoudal had not quite left the room. He winced
at the
thonk
the blow made and muttered an involuntary prayer of
thanksgiving that his association with this “sweet” English lady would soon
come to an end. He hated to think what might happen if he inadvertently
offended her, but worse than that, he had no idea how to deal with her. How and
about what did one talk to a woman who swatted men like flies?

The period of doubt was very brief. In minutes Philip had
called to Cadoudal to come down. Megaera was on his heels, her gun drawn. If
the Frenchman thought her vicious, she thought him weak. Neither was correct,
but the misunderstanding was not significant since their association was not to
be renewed. They found Philip holding the last of the agents and the entire staff
of the Epée, whom the agent had conveniently assembled in the kitchen. There had
been no trouble at all. The agent had not even had his gun in hand. He did not
need it. No more was needed to quell the staff of the Epée than to show his
credentials and tell them that what happened was none of their business and was
sanctioned by Monsieur Fouché.

All the male members of the staff were summarily bound, and
Philip watched them while Cadoudal went out for the agreed ten minutes.
Actually, the time stretched to twenty, and Megaera was frightened to death, thinking
they had been abandoned. However, Cadoudal did return, and Megaera had spent the
time usefully in removing all traces of blood from Philip’s face, finding a
clean shirt and neckcloth for him among the landlord’s clothing, and in general
removing any trace of the conflict from her own as well as Philip’s outer
garments.

They returned to the Milles Colonnes, told the landlord that
they would stay another day since they had met friends, and walked out carrying
only the small parcel of silks Megaera had purchased—which were wrapped around
the breeches, shirt, and jacket she had been wearing when Philip abducted her.
The garments had been cleaned while they were at Monsieur Luroec’s farm and packed
with Philip’s clothing in case they should need to make a run for it. Over his arm
Philip carried the greatcoat he had taken from the agent, which concealed Megaera’s
boots.

A fiacre took them to the stable where the horse and
carriage that had brought them from Brittany were kept. Philip paid the bill
(with Charon’s money—he thought that a nice touch) and left two francs to
reserve a place two days hence when, he said, he and his wife would return. So far,
although both Philip and Megaera had been watching as carefully as they could
without being obvious, they had seen no sign of anyone following them. However,
the worst was yet to come. If word of the failure of his plan had come to Fouché
there had been time by now to have watchers at the gates.

Of the two, Megaera’s appearance was the more distinctive. She
did what she could, sitting as far back in the carriage as possible, exchanging
her pelisse for the extra greatcoat pinning her hair away from her face and
covering it with the too-large hat. She also removed her shoes and put on the
boots Philip had carried out. They took the road to Versailles, heading
southwest toward Dreux, the road they had followed into Paris.

Since they were not stopped at the gate, Philip and Megaera
assumed that Cadoudal had given them the few hours he had promised. Philip made
the best of the time that he could, but he knew that pursuit could not be long
delayed. When no report of what had happened came to Fouché he would send to
find out why. Even if the landlord claimed the agents had taken him, Cadoudal,
and Megaera away to protect himself, Fouché would know something had gone
wrong.

When the horse tired, Philip stopped at a posting house.
Megaera removed the man’s hat but continued to wear the overlarge greatcoat,
which hung down right to her feet. Philip shepherded her tenderly into the inn
and requested a private room with a good fire. His wife had caught a chill, he
explained. He did not explain why he carried in a parcel, but that was not
necessary. If it contained something valuable, he would not wish to leave it in
the carriage. While Philip ordered something to eat—they had never had dinner
with Cadoudal—Megaera changed into the men’s clothing that had been hidden in the
parcel of silk. The waiter who brought the food noticed no difference in her,
she was sitting by the fire still huddled in the greatcoat. Since her face was turned
away, he did not see the sweat beading it.

They ate as quickly as possible and left. The horse was not
rested, but that did not matter, since Philip did not intend to drive him much farther.
He took the next crossroad leading north. Somewhere along that road Philip lost
his red-haired wife and acquired a mute servant boy garbed in his master’s
castoffs. Megaera quite willingly sacrificed her dark red mane, it was Philip’s
eyes that were filled with tears as he hacked off her hair with his knife. She laughed
at him, assuring him it would soon grow again, but he felt to blame for her
sacrifice.

Next Philip drove the carriage into a field, unhitched the
horse and bestrode it bareback with Megaera behind him, her women’s clothes now
hidden in the parcel of silk. They rode to the next village. It was a small place.
Here, Philip dared show Fouché’s pass and ordered that François Charon be
supplied with horses. He said he had lost a wheel on his carriage, paid for two
horses, and made an exchange of the other for two saddles. The owners might have
made difficulties had Philip tried to make such arrangements on his own, but
Fouché’s name was a talisman. The former Minister of Police might not be loved
but, in or out of office, no one had any desire to cross him. Everything was
settled quickly, and Philip and Megaera were off again.

They rode out of the village on the road, but it soon curved
west and they abandoned it, riding across the barren, wintry fields as close to
due north as they could. They had hardly spoken to each other at all, except
for necessary questions and directions, but now Philip looked across at
Megaera, utterly ridiculous in the too-large greatcoat and hat tied to her head
with a scarf to keep it from falling off and exposing her.

“I must be insane,” he said.

“Why?” Megaera asked anxiously. “Are we lost?”

“No, of course we are not lost. It has just occurred to me
that on some crazy pretense that I was protecting you, I have exposed you to
hideous dangers, to the discomforts of riding all over a foreign country in the
dead of winter…“

“I don’t mind,” Megaera said cheerfully. “In fact I’m rather
enjoying myself. I do hope we won’t be caught, though.”

“You must be insane too!” Philip exclaimed.

Megaera glanced at him mischievously. “It is certainly best
that we both be afflicted,” she agreed. “Otherwise we would be constantly at
odds with each other, and that would be a sad shame.”

“Meg!” Philip sputtered, but he was still troubled and the
laughter soon died. “Do you realize that I could have left you safe at Luroec’s
farm until Pierre—”

“Oh no you couldn’t!” Megaera interrupted heatedly. “What do
you think I am, a parcel that may be left until called for? I told you that you
were an idiot to drag me to France, but once you did that you were stuck with me.
Why, are you regretting my presence?”

“Bitterly,” Philip replied.

Megaera knew perfectly well that Philip was suffering pangs of
conscience for not having foreseen that his task would not be quite as easy as he
believed, but she chose to misunderstand. “I don’t see that I’ve been burden to
you up to now,” she said huffily.

“Burden! I would be dead if not for you, my darling.”

“Then isn’t it fortunate that I am a little lacking in that modesty
and delicacy which would make me miserable under these circumstances and
instead—”

“You are a bold and bewitching wench,” Philip finished. “Oh,
Meg I love you so. I wish—”

Megaera could see in his face that Philip was going to say something
very serious, possibly explain why he could not propose marriage. What could
she do? She was beginning to suspect he was more than a smuggler’s bastard,
much more. If that were so, naturally he would not consider marrying her. She
had said she was a bastard herself, and had slept with him without even a
pretense of reluctance. She had already made herself ineligible to marry, she
realized.

Nonetheless Megaera knew she would be furious if Philip offered
her a carte blanche. Ridiculous as it was, she was hurt that he had accepted
her story. She knew it was wrong but still felt he should have seen through the
pretense, recognized her for what she was. She had not minded when he said he
would “take her away with him” while she believed him to be Pierre’s
illegitimate son. A smuggler’s bastard would not know any better. A gentleman,
however, should know better, should recognize his own kind. Megaera could not
bear to let him make the proposition. Desperately she tried to divert him.

“Not in a stubbly field in the middle of the winter!” she
said.

“That was not what I was going to suggest,” Philip
protested, laughing.

“Liar,” Megaera remarked succinctly.

“I am not!” Philip exclaimed. “I may be insane, but not insane
enough to want to make love under those conditions.”

Megaera shrugged. “Then you are a liar in another way,” she
said provocatively. “Didn’t you tell me—not so long ago either—that you were always
ready—hard up, you called it—when you were with me?”

Philip blinked. He knew perfectly well that Meg was teasing him,
but he was not sure why. Was it just so that he would not go on blaming himself
for exposing her to danger? He hardly knew how he replied because he suddenly wondered
if he had been a fool. Did Meg want him to stop blathering on about how sorry
he was he had brought her because he was frightening her? He studied her face,
but there was no fear there. No, she must have stopped him because she did not
want him to finish what he was saying. She didn’t want him to marry her and
take over her family’s debts.

Damn it, she
was
insane, insisting on supporting that
useless sister and father at the risk, of her own life. Well, that was over. If
he had to tie her down or blow up Pierre’s ship, Meg’s smuggling days were
over. And that was as foolish as Meg’s insistence on managing without help. She
was no silly schoolgirl who could be ordered around. If he convinced Pierre to
stop trading in Cornwall, that would only make matters worse. Nine chances out
of ten Meg would just make contact with another smuggler—and that might be far
more dangerous than leaving things alone.

Pierre really deserved the name generally bestowed on
smugglers; he
was
a “gentleman”, but most were not. Somehow Philip knew
he would have to convince Meg to let him shoulder her burden, but he had no
idea at the moment of how to go about it. All in all he was grateful to her for
stopping him. If he had proposed, she would have felt obliged to refuse him,
and that would only have complicated the situation. This was not the time and
place anyway. After they were safe he would be able to concentrate properly.

Having come to this conclusion, Philip put Meg’s personal
problems out of his mind temporarily. The sun was pretty close to setting, and they
needed to find a road before it grew dark. Fortunately this was not far to
seek. Before they had traveled another fifteen minutes they saw the spire of a
church. They were at Maule, Philip was told when he asked, and they were
directed toward Mantes, where they could find a road going north to Abbeville. The
farmer to whom they spoke did not seem surprised at their having lost their way.
He thought they had come out of Paris on the new road being built to Boulogne.
This was unfinished in many places, and there were detours on which many came
to grief.

Philip was delighted with this information, since Mantes was
on the direct road to Dieppe. It was highly unlikely that Fouché’s men could
scour the countryside so thoroughly as to question this farmer. Nonetheless
Philip was not taking even so remote a chance as to name their true destination.
Their route out of Paris should direct their pursuers toward Brittany. If they
should be traced this far, however, Philip’s questions would imply that they
were going to cross at the shortest point, probably from Calais, or make for
the Belgian border.

In addition to information, Philip obtained a loaf of bread,
cheese, and sausage. They rode on, making better time along the road until the horses
began to flag. Then they found a barn, warm enough with the heat of the cattle.
They let the horses rest and lip over some hay while they themselves ate. Fortunately
the barn was large and they stayed at the end farthest from the house. They intended
to be quiet, of course, but they were both somewhat giddy with fatigue and the
aftermath of extreme tension and they fell into giggles over the difficulties
of eating in the dark.

Things were not so funny as the night wore on. They made their
first change of horses without difficulty at Mantes, where Philip asked the way
to Abbeville again. Since there was only one tired ostler and Philip wanted to
be sure of good horses, he used Fouché’s pass. The ostler could not read, but
he recognized the seal and he made haste to lead out two excellent mounts. In
fact he was so awed that he never stopped to wonder why the master helped him
to transfer the saddles while the servant leaned wearily against the wall with
closed eyes.

Megaera was reaching the limit of her endurance, but she managed
to mount and stick to the saddle for a while longer. She could feel Philip
looking at her with anxiety every few minutes, and second by second she clung
to her horse until, at last, all her efforts could not retain wakefulness. The
reins slipped from her hand and she sagged. If it had not been for Philip’s
watchfulness, she would have fallen. He caught her, brought the horses side by
side, and with some feeble help from her took her up before him in the saddle.