The Cornish Heiress (46 page)

“It certainly is.”

But Megaera’s voice was rather absent, as Philip’s had been
before it had drifted away. He seemed more interested in the shape of her lips
at the moment than in the words coming out of them. To be sure he had not
forgotten their shape, because his mouth had been engaged in other activities
previously, he pressed them with his. Megaera understood his problem and
pressed back firmly to be certain the imprint would be clear. From there on
they behaved far more conventionally but no less enjoyably. Afterward neither
had strength for answers or questions. Both slept.

Philip woke some hours later, told Meg to stay quietly
inside the curtains until he called her out, and rang for the servants to
remove the bath and bring dinner. He noticed several curious looks directed
toward the closed bedcurtains, but ignored them, refraining from smiling with
an effort. A wardrobe in the room had furnished a dressing gown for him and,
after the meal was brought and the door relocked, Philip found another for
Megaera. There were women’s robes also, but he preferred that she don the
too-large man’s gown.

By now, for all he knew, new peepholes might have been
opened. If Madame should come to suspect they were wanted by the police, which
she might if she realized Megaera was concealing her sex, she might turn them
in to curry favor. They had discussed this problem in low voices before Philip
got out of bed, so Megaera knew just what to do. They ate quickly, and when
Megaera was finished, she snatched her clothes and went to hide behind the
bedcurtains to dress. Philip pretended to try to tempt her out, but she resisted
his blandishments and only emerged completely clothed.

A good part of what Philip had been saying were promises to
buy the “boy” presents. When Megaera came out from behind the curtains, she
refused to allow Philip to kiss her, pretending that she wanted her “presents”
first. Whether or not they were watched, Philip was taking no chances. They
maintained the pretense consistently, and soon both donned coats and hats to go
out. Madame was at the foot of the stairs when they came down, to ask what the trouble
was and to suggest, if Philip was through with the boy, that he be left with
her.

“An excellent idea,” Philip agreed. “I would hate to think
of him back on the streets again, and it would be lovely to know he would be
here when I return. However, I am not yet ready to part with him. I am only
taking him out to buy him a trinket.”

The woman smiled significantly. “Don’t spoil him,” she
warned.”

But they didn’t turn in the direction of the shops once they
were out of sight. Instead they made for the docks, where, in the last of the
daylight, they saw the
Bonne Lucie
. Both stopped dead. Megaera started
to shake. Now, with safety so close, they began to fear they could not achieve
it. They had just started forward again when a burly form cannoned into Philip,
nearly sending him sprawling on the filthy, fishgut-laden street. Philip
uttered an angry-seeming oath, but permitted his arm to be seized and listened
to Pierre’s voice offering a drunken-sounding apology and urging him to come
have a drink as a “settler”.

Megaera’s fears evaporated, and so did the difficulties.
Philip never found out what story Pierre had told the keeper of the wineshop.
He was careful not to ask after he saw the leer the man gave him. What was
important was that he looked the other way while all three disappeared into a
back room from which only two men, both garbed as seamen and both seeming past
middle age, emerged. Between them the men carried a barrel of cordage. At the
dock a guard glanced at their identification perfunctorily, kicked the barrel,
which did not slosh and thus could not be liquor on which the tax had not been
paid, and let them go.

In Pierre’s tiny cabin they all embraced. Megaera wept a
little with joy and relief, and Philip gave a brief summary of their
adventures. “The only thing I regret,” he said, “was that we had to leave that
parcel of silk with Meg’s clothing.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

“But why ees eet necessary?” Pierre asked. “Where deed you
leave them?”

“With the saddle at the stable where we left the horses. I
would not say they were necessary, only I hate to bring Meg ashore in England
dressed as a boy. There will be talk…”

“Tell me what the package looks like, and Mademoiselle Meg
weell ‘ave eet,” Pierre said, smiling at her fondly. “And do you want to do
sometheeng about the ‘orses?”

“No they will be all right. The owner will sell them after a
while to pay for the feed and, in the meantime, they will get a good rest. Poor
beasts, they deserve it.”

“If the horses are all right,” Megaera protested, “it’s
stupid to go for the clothes. What do I care about talk in Kent or Sussex?”

“Well, I care,” Philip said. “I live in Kent!”

Megaera was hurt, but neither man noticed. Pierre remarked
that he had to speak to the harbor master about leaving port, so he might as
well pick up Meg’s parcel anyway. Megaera promptly forgot her hurt in fear for
Pierre.

“Don’t let him,” she begged Philip.

“It will be no trouble for him, love,” Philip soothed. “He
feels left out. We have had all the adventures. And you might as well have the
silks.” He looked sternly at her. “You will not be seeing so much of Pierre, so
he cannot bring you others. I have not changed my mind. No more smuggling for
you.” He kissed the scar on her scalp, where the hair was just beginning to
grow in around the thin line that marked her wound.

“You cannot assume the debt for Bolliet,” she said faintly.

“Since I still do not know how much it is,” Philip pointed
out dryly, “I do not know whether I can or not, but I told you not to worry
about that anymore. Something will be arranged. Now, I must go first to London
to deliver Cadoudal’s letters and the papers we took from Charon. Most likely
they will keep me for several days asking all kinds of questions—mostly
irrelevant. But after that, my love, I will escort you back to Cornwall and
I
will speak to this precious sister of yours. If she is too proud to accept my
help, then she must ‘dree her ane weird’, as it is said. She cannot batten on
you any longer.”

“But Philip—”

“Do not ‘but Philip’ me,” he snapped angrily. “I will see
that your father comes to no hurt. Perhaps he can be established in a wing of
Dymchurch House if you desire that he be near you—”

“Philip—”

“I will not listen! This is ridiculous! I cannot bear to see
you so worried. I tell you that if your sister were worth one hair on your head,
she would never have permitted you to endure such dangers for her. Did she
ever—”

“There
is
no sister,” Megaera cried desperately, and
burst into tears.

Philip gathered her into his arms. She cried so seldom; she
had passed through such horrible dangers without crying. “Do not cry, love,” he
pleaded. “Do not cry. If she is so precious you, I will learn to love her. We
will see…“ His voice stopped as the sense of Megaera’s words came to him. He
had been reacting only to her pain. “What did you say?” he asked.

“I said there is no sister,” Megaera sobbed. “
I
am
Megaera Devoran, Mrs. Edward Devoran.”

There was a rather long silence, during which Megaera clung
to Philip while his arms gradually released their hold on her. Finally he
gently undid her grip on him and moved back a step. “Did I hear you aright?” he
asked. “Was that story all a lie?”

“Not the debt. Only—only who I was,” Megaera whispered.

“But why?” Philip breathed “Why did you lie to me?”

“I was afraid,” she confessed, wiping her eyes with the back
of her hand like a child.

“After what was between us you still thought I would betray
you or blackmail you?” Philips voice was cold.

“You don’t understand! When I saw you at the Moretons’ I
couldn’t think what you were doing there. I believed then that you were
Pierre’s natural. What could I guess but that you were cully-catching?”

“Even so,” Philip said, “what had that to do with you and
me? Does a man, even a cully-catcher, gull the woman he loves?”

‘“But I thought—”

Unfortunately Philip did not allow her to finish. If he had
let Megaera go on she would have mentioned Désirée and he would have understood
that fear and jealousy had combined to unbalance her judgment. Instead he chose
to leave the cabin, to walk the deck and fume until Pierre returned with the
package and with permission to sail with the tide. He, asking innocently
whether Meg was asleep, was treated to a full, furious recitation on women’s
deviousness and lack of faith. Pierre looked at Philip blankly, then smiled.

“That is to be compared with your honesty and openness, no
doubt,” he remarked. “Exactly what have you told
her
? Does the poor girl
even know your name?”

“Of course she knows my name,” Philip shouted. Then he
stopped and wondered,
Did she
? What had he told Meg about himself? “I
must have…“ he began, but his voice drifted away when Pierre raised his brows quizzically.
“But I did not lie,” he bristled.

Pierre laughed. “Perhaps not in words.” He thrust the package
of silks and clothing into Philip’s arms. “Here, take this. It is a good excuse
to go down. Possibly you can make your peace with her before she realizes you
are no better than she. Tell her, if she asks, that I have duties on the ship,
which is true enough.”

However, it was too late. For a while after Philip left, Megaera
was desolate. She had known he would be furious when the truth came out. Then
she began to feel ill-used and to tell herself that if he could discard her for
a little white lie, told out of fear, she did not need such a man. And she could
not have him anyway, she told herself. His parents would never accept her. It
was better to save herself the shame of such a rejection and, more important,
save Philip from an open break with his family. It was easier to put it that
way, much easier, than to face the fear that Philip did not wish to marry her, had
realized after she identified herself that a carte blanche was no longer possible,
and had seized on her confession as a way out. Thus, when he knocked she would
not admit him nor answer his pleas to be forgiven. At last he left the package
and retreated.

It was just as well that they set sail very soon. Pierre
managed to keep Philip busy helping to work the ship. It was a short passage,
although bitter cold, and Pierre sailed boldly into Newhaven. It took some
hours before anyone high enough in authority could be found to accept Philip’s
credentials and free the
Bonne Lucie
. Philip was necessarily deeply
engaged in these negotiations and had no time to spare for Megaera. She was a
deep anxiety at the back of his mind, but Pierre’s freedom was his first
responsibility. Until he was sure of that, he could do no more than arrange a room
for her at the best inn in the town.

A deep depression lit by small flickers of resentment—which
Megaera repressed by reminding herself that she deserved what she was getting
for her abandonment of propriety and morality—sent her to bed numb and silent.
By the time Philip had been successful in arranging permission for Pierre to sail
again, it was two o’clock in the morning. Exhaustion had conquered Megaera’s
depression, and she slept. Philip tapped softly at her door when he returned
from seeing Pierre off, but he was really grateful that there was no reply. He
went to bed and to sleep, too tired to worry.

Megaera and Philip were wakened at first light as Philip had
requested. It was a long drive to London, even going post in the luxurious
carriage Philip had ordered to be sent round from Brighton nine miles away. The
start of the day was not auspicious. A nasty cold rain was falling, and
Megaera’s mood was in perfect accord with the weather. Before Philip could
speak, she demanded that he send her back to Cornwall at once.

“I do not have enough money,” he replied, paling slightly.
“Meg, please try to understand. It is my duty to get to London as quickly as
possible with the information I am carrying, so I cannot accompany you, and I
simply do not have enough money with me to pay for another carriage, horses,
outriders—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Megaera snapped. “Do you think I’ve
more hair than wit? Give me enough to pay my passage on the Mail—”

“No,” Philip interrupted. I cannot allow you to travel that
way. I know you are angry with me. I do not blame you, but if you would let me
explain—”

“I don’t want your explanations! I want to go home.”

The only explanation Megaera could think of that would make
her angry was an exposition on why Philip could not ask her to marry him, and
she certainly did not wish to listen to that. Philip looked as if she had
slapped him, but he tried again.

“Meg, listen to reason—”

“It is always I who must listen to reason. Was it reasonable
for you to drag me off to France? Why is it more reasonable for me to go all
the way to London before starting for home than—”

“Because I can provide more comfort for you that way.
Perhaps I have not always done the right thing or been reasonable, but I have
not been as silly as you are right now,” Philip snapped.

That ended the conversation. Each consumed very little breakfast
in a haughty silence, during which time the horses were put to the carriage.
After a punctilious and totally unnecessary question as to whether Megaera was
finished eating (she had not touched anything for ten minutes), Philip escorted
her formally to the carriage, made sure the bricks for warming her feet were
hot enough, the rug tucked securely enough around her, the picnic basket
properly stocked and where she could reach it. Then he told the postilion that
he would drive, which caused the man to gape at him as if he were a lunatic. It
was very rare that a toff drove a post chaise; it was unheard of for one to
drive in such weather.

However, he did not drive long. In a few minutes there was a
tap on the glass. Philip turned his head and saw Megaera urgently beckoning to
him. He pulled up the horses, got down, and opened the door. “What do you
want?” he asked.

“Do not be such a fool, Philip,” Megaera said quietly. “You
will be soaked and frozen. Let the postilion drive.”

Philip looked at her, but she would not meet his eyes. He
turned away from the door, not really sure himself what he was going to do, but
the curve of her cheek was so lovely and her mouth was so sad… Philip told the
postilion to drive on, and swung himself into the carriage. There were a few
moments of silence while he shook the wet off his hat and took off his gloves
to blow on his fingers. Megaera stared out the window, and Philip stared at
her. Color began to rise in her face. Philip’s lips twitched.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, “do not be so angry. I realize
that I seemed to be blaming you for lack of confidence in me, while I was
withholding my own confidence from you, but it is not true. You will think me
an idiot, but Meg, I just
forgot
to tell you who I am.”

“Forgot?” Megaera was so surprised that she was momentarily
distracted from her pain.

Philip laughed. “We were so close I never remembered that we
had not been—been properly introduced. Let me make it good. I am Philip Joseph
Guillaume St. Eyre, only son of Roger St. Eyre of Castle Stour, Kent. My uncle
is Sir Arthur George Joseph St. Eyre, Bart. of Stonar Magna, Kent. When we
reach London, I can present bona fides for myself, but the Moretons know me. I
was staying as a guest—not a cully-catcher—and I went to Eton with Perce, Lord
Kevern. They will vouch for me I am sure.”

“Ah, that’s easy enough to say when we are so far from
Moreton Place,” Megaera remarked wickedly. She had almost forgotten, in her
amusement at the formal way he introduced himself, that endless misery was
waiting to swallow her. She couldn’t help teasing him in revenge for that
remark about cully-catching. Then she laughed at him for looking taken aback.
“Never mind,” she said, “I don’t need bona fides, and I’m sorry I hurt you,
but—“

He didn’t want explanations and interrupted eagerly, “Am I
forgiven?”

“Am I?”

The answer to that took some time and eliminated any need
for explanations. Emerging from an embrace that was growing far too passionate
for their cramped quarters, Megaera sighed.

“What is it, love?” Philip asked tenderly. “You are not
still worried about those stupid debts, are you? There can be no problem at all
now that the lands will be yours someday. Leonie can buy up the mortgages if my
father has not quite enough to cover them, and—”

The kiss was sweet and the concern for her worries kind, but
Megaera had not heard the one thing she wanted to hear. Philip still said
nothing of marriage—and now a woman’s name, familiarly spoken with a note of
tenderness had come out. “Who is Leonie?” Megaera interrupted sharply.

“Oh, you jealous little cat,” Philip chuckled. “Do you think
I ask my wealthy mistresses to… No, no, love, do not lose your temper all over
again. Leonie is my stepmother and as far from the wicked kind as it is
possible to get.”

“I don’t see why it should make any difference whether the
lands will be mine or not,” Megaera said. “Why should your stepmother be
willing to buy up the mortgages? If I cannot make money smuggling, it will take
forever to pay them off.”

“But my dear Meg, Leonie would think it highly improper for
her daughter-in-law to be involved in smuggling,” Philip said gravely, but with
laughing eyes.

“Daughter-in-law?” Megaera echoed. “Are you married?” she
shrieked.

“Married?” Philip repeated, totally confused. “Of course I
am not married. What are you talking about?”

“Then who is Leonie’s daughter-in-law? Didn’t you say—oh,
you mean Leonie’s son’s wife. But what has her smuggling got to do with my
estates?”

Philip just sat staring at Meg with his mouth open. He had
lost control over the conversation completely. In fact he seemed to have lost
contact with reality. “Do you think everyone casually takes up smuggling?” he
asked. Then, before Megaera could answer, he shook his head sharply. “We do not
seem to be speaking the same language. Perhaps I had better go back to the
beginning. Leonie has no son—unless you mean me—and her daughter-in-law is
you.”

“You mean you are going to tell your family that we are
married?”

Megaera was completely confused by Philip’s use of the present
tense rather than the future. Instead of recognizing that he had long
considered himself married to her, she thought he intended to lie about it to
remain free while his stepmother bought out the mortgages. She did not know
whether to be hurt by his desire to avoid marrying her, revolted by the
sneaking device, or touched by his concern for her safety.

“But Philip,” she said faintly, “I don’t see… I mean, that
isn’t right. Surely they will ask for proof before they… I know there are legal
arrangements…“

“Yes, and they take a damned long time, too,” Philip said
aggrievedly, concentrating on his own thoughts so that Megaera’s broken
sentences did not quite penetrate. “I did think of marrying you by special
license, but I am afraid it would hurt my father’s feelings—”

“You mean you wish to marry me?” Megaera asked. If his
concern was for his parents rather than that he himself thought her unworthy of
marriage, it would be easier to bear.

Philip looked at her with abstracted eyes. “I am not sure—”

“What do you mean, you aren’t sure?” Megaera shrieked,
bitterly hurt.

He jumped with surprise at her ferocity, and anguish in her
voice. “I did not mean to hurt you, love. Of course we will do just as you
like. If you want St. George’s at Hanover Square, that is what you will have. I
only thought of a special license because I—because I want to be with you, and
if we wait for the settlements to be arranged—”

“Do you or do you not want to marry me?” Megaera asked,
shaking him in exasperation.

Enlightenment came to Philip. His eyes opened wide and he
drew in his breath, torn between amusement and apprehension. “Good God,” he
murmured, “do not murder me, Meg, please do not. I—I guess I forgot to ask
you.”

There was a brief, breath-held silence while Megaera tried
to decide whether to burst out laughing or slap Philip’s face. He watched her
anxiously, but with just a glint of laughter in his eyes.

“But Meg,” he wheedled, “I never intended anything else. I
thought you knew. It would be most—”

“If you say it would be most improper not to marry me after
what you have done, I
will
murder you,” she spluttered. “A remark like
that would be insulting rather than—”

Naturally she was not allowed to finish. “It will have to be
a special license,” Philip sighed after he freed his lips to catch his breath.
“I do not think I will survive months of lawyers fiddling about with
settlements.”

“Or I either,” Megaera agreed frankly, “but we must. You
cannot distress your parents by doing something you know they would dislike,
especially when the woman you wish marry will not be at all… Oh Philip, perhaps
we had better not. I could not bear to be the cause of an estrangement between
you and your family.”

“Do not be foolish. I would marry you even if no one in the
world would ever speak to me again, but there will not be any estrangement. My
father and Leonie are not that kind.” Philip’s voice was firm, but his eyes
were worried. “Perhaps we could say nothing to them about—”

“No. No, Philip, you—or I—must tell them everything as soon
as possible. It cannot be concealed. Too many of our memories are tied up with
what I have done, and as soon as Pierre sees your father… No. For them to hear
from anyone but you or me would be terrible.”

“Yes.”

They reached the end of the first stage before either spoke again.
Philip asked if Megaera wanted to have some tea or stretch her legs, but she
merely, shook herhead. Now that she realized Philip had never scorned
or undervalued her, she was racked by guilt. She had enough good sense,
however, to realize there could be no question now of running away or refusing
marriage. It was a good thing that she had had only a few hours of sleep the
previous night and none at the night before that. Soon after the carriage
started off again, sleep overcame her.

When he was sure Megaera was well and truly asleep, Philip
took over the reins again. The rain had stopped, and the Brighton to London
road was particularly good because it was traveled so often by the Prince
Regent and his court. Philip was a far better whip than the hired man, so that
the ride was smooth and swift, but Philip need not have worried about Megaera.
Emotion and physical fatigue had combined to form a powerful soporific drug.

Megaera was roused finally by the frequent stops and starts
of London traffic and the loud clatter of wheels over cobblestones. By now she
was too accustomed to being in strange places to be alarmed, but she wondered
for a frightened minute or two whether she had dreamed the escape and they were
back in Paris. Then as sleep receded she realized the unintelligible cries of
the street vendors were only a coarse accent new to her. The words were
English. The houses went on and on. Megaera shuddered. They were in London
already. She sat upright and tried to straighten her crumpled bonnet. It was
hopeless.

Tears rose into Megaera’s eyes. She would certainly begin on
the wrong foot with Philip’s family. She was wrinkled and dirty, her hair shorn
raggedly and looking worse than it should because the bonnet had been chosen to
sit over the heavy coils of her long hair. She had no baggage, not even clean
underlinen. It must be obvious to anyone that she was Philip’s mistress,
traveling with him without even a maid. But perhaps he would not take her
directly to his parents’ house.

Where else could he take her? No decent hotel would permit
her to cross the threshold in the condition she was in, no matter how clever
the story Philip told. And if the manager could be convinced, it would only
make matters worse. The story would be all over Town in no time. Suddenly
Megaera peered anxiously out of the window. Surely he would not take her to a
bawdy house again! Although her fear was not immediately relieved, she could
see that the streets were getting wider, the houses neater and better cared
for. They were moving into a better part of the city—but Madame’s house in
Dieppe had been on quite an elegant street.

The doubt could not linger. The houses changed from good to
elegant and then to grand. Megaera shivered again. She had no idea that
Philip’s father was so wealthy. From what Philip said, Roger was a younger son
of a baronet, since his uncle was a Sir Arthur. As the carriage pulled up
before a veritable mansion, Megaera shrank back farther in the carriage, so
terrified that for a moment she really considered opening the far door of the
vehicle and running away. Only the hard fact that she had no purse, no
acquaintance, and nowhere to go held her in place.

The door opened very promptly to Philip’s knock, giving
immediate evidence of how precious a member of the family he was. The butler,
clearly a well-trained and august personage, was so relieved and pleased to see
Philip that his dignity broke, and he exclaimed, “Master Philip! Thank God!”