The Cornish Heiress

by Roberta Gellis

  “But why not, m’sieu?” Désirée asked.

  “Alas I have no official reason to be there, and I must assume they are closed to the merely curious, since the work is for the war—”

  “Naturally we cannot have a stream of visitors who would impede the work,” Monsieur Fresnoy said.

  “Oh, I would keep out of the way and, truly, I am so ignorant about ships that I would not know what questions to ask nor would answers do me much good. I suppose the desire is foolish, but… All day I work with reports of ships and tonnage and the names of far places.” Philip sighed. “It is all words on paper. I had hoped to see how ships are built and to see how they are launched. It would make it all real to me. Ah well, I suppose I should have got permission in Paris…“

  “I do not see what harm it could do for Monsieur Saintaire to see the yards and docks, Father,” Désirée urged softly, “particularly when his patriotic act can leave you in no doubt as to his loyalty.”

  “No, of course it would do no harm, but I do not have time to escort him, and—”

  “Oh, I would not expect that!” Philip exclaimed, horrified. “But is it too much to ask—or is such a thing impossible—for a pass?”

  “That would not do,” Désirée said. “The yards and docks are very dangerous places. You say you are ignorant of ships and shipbuilding. You might be hurt yourself or cause an accident wandering about. Father, if it were agreeable to you, I might serve as guide to Monsieur Saintaire. I could ask Jeannine to go with us so that all would be proper.”

  To Monsieur Fresnoy it seemed perfectly natural that every man in the world should find ships and everything about ships the most interesting subject that existed. It also was pleasing to him that so well-bred a young man, who did not ogle his daughter, should entertain her for a few days. Monsieur Fresnoy was aware that Désirée lived too quiet a life, but he could not bear to think of her associating with the young officers of the army and navy who were here today. They might well be here long enough to win his daughter’s affections, but they might also be killed in the invasion. And there was no one else. No shipbuilder in Boulogne could spare time or timber for merchant vessels, so those were all dropping anchor in other ports. Thus there were no young men but those Monsieur Fresnoy considered unsuitable for one reason or another.

  Philip would be a safe escort Monsieur Fresnoy thought. No girl as sensible as Désirée could fall in love in a few days. Even if that were possible, the young man had the accent and manner of a gentleman. He was in a reserved occupation; he was clever and ambitious. They could write letters to each other, if they wished. Perhaps if interest grew between them, Monsieur Fresnoy would permit Philip to visit again—in a year or two. Then, perhaps in a few years more… Yes, if Désirée fixed her attention on a most suitable young man who was employed in Paris, she would be less likely to be interested in someone closer, more dangerous to her father’s peace.

  In no time at all Monsieur Fresnoy permitted himself to be talked around. It was safer for Philip to go with Désirée and her friend. Désirée was well known in the shipyards. In the past he had spent much time there, and she had often brought him something to eat if he was too busy to come home. Even now he was in the shipyards quite often to smooth things over between Parisian officials and the north-coast shipbuilders or to settle disputes between the workmen of disparate origins who had different ways of doing things. The former sea captain was accustomed to many accents, many ports, many different ways of living.

  The very last thing Philip wanted was a guide, particularly a feminine one who would doubtless be bored and want to leave almost as soon as they arrived. He had been hoping to get lost in places his pass did not entitle him to go to, counting on his uniform, which might not be familiar to workmen who had no reason to examine uniforms closely, to protect him from questions. He murmured that Mademoiselle Désirée was “too good”, she must not trouble to go into a noisy, dirty place most unsuitable to her delicate gender, that he would be very careful and neither cause nor fall into an accident.

  The faint, polite protests that were all Philip dared allow himself did him not the slightest good. Désirée would be delighted; her father was “very happy to accommodate him”. Philip could only thank both with as much enthusiasm as he could summon up and hope he would be able to keep the pass and get in another time. Perhaps, he told himself as he walked back to his lodging that night, it would be all for the best. At least he would be recognized as a guest of the harbor master. But while the surface of his mind remained occupied with the question of his mission, a vague puzzlement stirred below. Every outward aspect of voice and manner marked Mademoiselle Désirée a proper and modest girl. Still…

  The pleasant surprises started as soon as Philip arrived at the harbor master’s home at the appointed time the next morning. Désirée and her friend were all ready to go, a pleasant change from the few times Philip had escorted English girls, who seemed to think that an hour’s wait would endear them to their escorts. Then, there did not seem to be any secrets to be kept about the yards or docks at all. Désirée was obviously well known and was greeted with respect. No place was forbidden. Philip’s questions were all answered with the greatest good humor and apparent frankness.

  At first Philip was very careful, despite his fear that Désirée would wish to leave too soon. He asked every question with respect to merchant vessels, where and how cargo would be carried, where and how cargo could be hidden. His “ignorance” was instructed. These were not cargo vessels. They were meant to carry guns, men, and horses—for the invasion. Philip waxed ecstatic with patriotism.

  “I am very happy to hear such sentiments,” a pleasant tenor voice behind him remarked.

  Philip turned, smiling, to repeat his enthusiasms in new words, but the smile froze on his face when he saw the two girls curtsying deeply. It was Bonaparte himself, at the head of a modest group of master craftsmen and naval officers. Philip bowed also, holding his breath. From the back many uniforms were indistinguishable from one another, but the First Consul could not fail to recognize the service to which Philip “belonged” as soon as he saw the front. And, indeed, the next words out of his mouth were, “You are of the Douane. What are you doing here?”

  “I am in the office of clerks,” Philip got out, “and all day I read and write of ships of which I know nothing. I was curious, my lord.”

  Was there a flicker of satisfaction in Bonaparte’s eyes at the use of the honorific reserved for the very highest nobility? Philip could not swear to it because the penetrating blue-gray eyes did not linger on him but passed to the girls, who promptly curtsied again. Bonaparte opened his mouth to say something, then recognition came.

  “Ah, Mademoiselle Désirée!” A swift glance around. “Is your good father here?”

  “No, sir. He could not take time from his work to escort Monsieur Saintaire, yet he felt Monsieur Saintaire deserved to see what he wished because of his service to the state, so he asked me to show him what I could.”

  “Yes?” Bonaparte encouraged. “Service to the state? How has Monsieur Saintaire served the state?”

  Given tacit permission, Désirée launched into a description of Philip’s discovery of the “smuggled” goods. She glossed lightly over the time of his discovery, saying he had been returning from a visit, which Philip assumed was what her father had told her. Decent girls were supposed to be ignorant of the existence of whorehouses. Also, she somehow implied that it was the Director of Customs who had introduced Philip to her father and recommended that the young man’s curiosity be satisfied. Philip was puzzled by this, since Désirée knew the true facts but he guessed it was because she did not wish her father should bear the blame of permitting an unauthorized person into the facility. Whatever her reason Philip was delighted, since it would have been embarrassing, to have to explain why he had gone to the harbor master rather than the director to report. Moreover, the way the story was coming out, it sounded as if he had
been recognized and accredited by the director of his own service.

  While Désirée spoke, Philip had ample opportunity to examine the bogeyman all England feared. He did not look much like a bogeyman. Bonaparte was about average height, or a little below for a Frenchman—which made him a good six inches shorter than Philip’s own six feet—and he was rather handsome. The blue-gray eyes were large and of a very intent expression under a lofty forehead with fine, down-slanting eyebrows. His skin was very clear and very pale, particularly white on his hands, which Philip felt were too small and too graceful for a man. There was, however, nothing unmasculine about nose and chin, the former long but straight and handsome, the latter strong and determined. His smile, directed now at Désirée, was peculiarly charming, the lips very mobile and expressive.

  “So,” Bonaparte said, turning his eyes on Philip again, “a most honest and patriotic young man.”

  “It is difficult to be otherwise when you are an example to us all, my lord,” Philip replied, taking a chance and laying flattery on with a trowel.

  He was rewarded with a brilliant smile, which confirmed what that first flicker of satisfaction at being called my lord had implied—that Bonaparte was a man who enjoyed flattery. Further confirmation came in a kind but condescending dismissal of the ladies to a “more appropriate occupation”, coupled with a gracious invitation to Philip to accompany him on his tour of the shipyards. Philip choked, nearly strangling on laughter. Surely this must be the first time in history that the leader of a nation invited an enemy spy to accompany him on a tour of an installation preparing for invasion of the spy’s country. The mild strangulation did Philip no harm, Bonaparte took it to be an expression of unbelieving awe, and Philip encouraged this useful delusion for all he was worth as soon as he caught his breath by stammering thanks and gratitude.

  Several times more that morning Philip was forced to cover hidden emotions with gasps of spurious admiration—but the emotions were no longer mirth. Nor was the admiration all assumed, for it was impossible to be in Bonaparte’s company without admiring the man. His manner to the workmen was perfect. There could be no doubt that his presence and comments—he had a surprising grasp of anything that was told him—did inspire them to the greatest effort of which they were capable. It was remarkable, too, that a man of such vanity should be able to listen to and accept statements from the experts who accompanied him that obviously went against his desires.

  Naturally, Philip had made himself inconspicuous among the First Consul’s entourage. The invitation did not imply that Bonaparte intended to act as a personal guide—for which Philip was truly grateful. He preferred that the penetrating gaze of the First Consul be turned on men and things other than himself. His speech, he knew, was perfect—and Bonaparte, whose mother tongue was Italian rather than French, probably would not have noticed any irregularity in that anyway. His manner was good enough in general—in England he had always been accused of being French in his ways. Still, there was something in those blue-gray eyes that made Philip too aware that he was not French. Such a feeling was dangerous; it could cause awkwardnesses that would not appear if it did not exist.

  However, as an anonymous member of the group that trailed Bonaparte, Philip had the enormous advantage of having his questions answered without needing to ask them. Bonaparte was as interested as Philip himself in how long it took to build a ship, in whether it would be possible to speed the process by adding men to the labor force or by any other expedient. Nor could any spy have been more interested in how many ships had already been completed and of what types they were.

  All this was the most wonderful good fortune, and the answers Philip had to his unasked questions were in some measure consoling. It was immediately clear that no invasion would be launched that year. Not nearly enough ships were ready to carry an adequate force across the Channel. Privately, Philip did not think the fleet could be ready during the early part of the next year either. That was not his responsibility, however. If he brought home the information he had, those more expert than he could calculate a probable date far better than he could. In fact Decrès’s deputy was assuring the First Consul that the ships could be ready by the summer of 1804, and the master shipbuilder, although he did not dare contradict the deputy of the Minister of Marine, was biting his lips and looking very nervous. Philip assumed from this that the deputy’s prediction was oversanguine and that it might not be until 1805 that the fleet would be ready. Nonetheless Philip felt cold with fear. It seemed to him that however long the event was postponed, it would come. There was iron-hard determination in Bonaparte’s face, and when he spoke of the need to conquer and for all time control “perfidious Albion”, his voice rose and thinned into a cry of fanaticism. It must be war to the death. Either England or France must go down to utter defeat. Philip realized it would not be enough to prevent or defeat an invasion, to win some battles, and to make a peace. Bonaparte would only begin all over again. To achieve a lasting peace Bonaparte would have to be destroyed—killed or removed from power in such a way as to be sure he could never grasp it again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Philip went back to his inn, after Bonaparte had finished his tour of the Boulogne docks and shipyards, in no mood for polite conversation. His mission was complete. He had the information for which he had come—straight from the horse’s mouth as it was said—and it was not very pleasant. In the privacy of his room he wrote down in brief and cryptic form everything pertinent that he had heard and seen. He did not think the letters, which were abbreviations of English names of ship types, and numbers would be meaningful to anyone who found them, and to be sure he interspersed totally, irrelevant symbols and numbers between the real information, marking the irrelevant materials with checks, dashes, and little stars.

  He put the paper into his pocketbook quite openly, hoping that no one would ask what it meant or think it important. A little thought produced an explanation if anyone did ask. The symbols could be initials and the numerals prospective contributions to a worthy cause. Deciding exactly what the worthy cause should be was the next step, but Philip never got that far. A scratch at the door heralded a servant with a delicate missive. Philip restrained his groan and his expletives until the servant was gone, and then expressed himself freely for a minute as he perused the invitation to dinner penned by Mademoiselle Désirée.

  His first impulse was to refuse, but he did not dare. He had said he would be in Boulogne for a week. If he disappeared suddenly, that would be suspicious. In general, perhaps not, but to leave abruptly on the very day he had toured the docks and shipyard was stupid. Nor could he say he had been recalled to his office. Such an order would naturally come through the director’s office. Perhaps a sick relative? No, Philip told himself. He was merely indulging himself because he didn’t wish to sing praises of Bonaparte, as he knew he must to remain in character.

  There was nothing he could do but accept. He would have had to make some kind of farewell visit anyway, so the note he wrote and sent with a servant from the inn was graceful. The combined efforts of his father, grandfather, and grandmother-by-marriage had finally drilled into him the need for graceful forms to avoid hurting and offending those who did not know him well. It was fortunate, however, that his host and hostess could not see his sullen expression as he wrote. By the time he set out for Monsieur Fresnoy’s house, the expression was gone. Philip knew that the invitation was tendered out of pure kindness for a young man alone in a strange place. He could not be ungrateful, no matter how inconvenient the kindness was in reality.

  Philip spent the first few minutes of his walk to Monsieur Fresnoy’s house thinking up praises for Bonaparte that would not stick in his throat, but his mind was soon distracted. He had the strangest impression that someone was watching him, and the sensation did not pass as he completed the length of the street—which it would have done had someone been peering out of a window. Philip stopped abruptly and turned, at the same time clapping a
hand to the pocket in which men carried their purses. Pickpockets were rife and clever, and such a gesture would imply no personal uneasiness, only that Philip thought someone had tried to rob him.

  The street was quite full at this time, of course. All sorts of people were there, well-dressed ladies and gentlemen either going out or home to dinner, officers and men of the army and navy on and off duty, laborers and sailors going about their business or seeking amusement, and the usual number of ill-clad loiterers. As swift as Philip’s movement had been, he did not surprise anyone with what might be considered an unhealthy interest in him. Several people had noticed his action and also glanced around, but there was no one close enough to him and no one who started to run on whom to pin suspicion. Philip shrugged and continued on his way, his hand ostentatiously on his pocket.

  As he walked Philip wondered whether he had somehow given himself away and was being watched by the spy-catchers of the Ministry of Police. In the next moment he told himself that was ridiculous. Why should such men bother watching him? Surely it would be safer to arrest him and try to beat the truth out of him. Perhaps no one was watching him and following him at all. It could be his own awareness of his mission, that gave him the feeling he was suspected. He could think of only one reason for not being taken into custody at once. It was possible that they wished to discover whether he had any confederates.

  If so, of course they would be sadly disappointed—or would they? Would they accuse Monsieur Fresnoy and Désirée because they had helped him quite innocently? That was an ugly thought. Philip remembered his father’s tales of Paris in the Terror. Innocence was no armor then, for there was no justice to protect the innocent. But Philip’s memories of Roger’s and Leonie’s vivid descriptions of the haunted, fearful people checked his flight of fancy in that direction. Bonaparte might be an enemy of England, might even be a fanatic who wished to rule the world, but he was no madman like Robespierre, who thought he could build a pure and secure nation on a foundation of death and terror surrounded by a sea of blood.