The Cornish Heiress Read Free Page A

of French ship movements.
When the Netherlands was overrun by the French, Pierre returned to his native,
Brittany and from there, succeeded in making contact with a smuggling gang in
Cornwall.
    During the Peace of Amiens, Pierre had visited Roger and
Leonie once or twice just for the pleasure of seeing them. He told them he had
made a most satisfactory connection in Cornwall with, believe it or not, a
woman. “She drives a devilish, bargain,” Pierre had complained, shaking his head
at the paring of a profit he did not in the least need but felt obliged to make
as large as possible on principle. However, she was honest, he insisted, which
was more than two other groups he had dealt with before. Roger had choked over
the word “honest” in connection with smuggling, but, he did not argue. He knew
what Pierre meant. Smuggling was illegal, but if you did not overcharge and
fulfilled your commitments as to quantity, and quality it was not, in Pierre’s
opinion, dishonest.
    Since the renewal of the war Roger had not seen his friend,
but he knew where to reach him. West of Penzance on the rocky Cornish coast was
an alehouse called The Mousehole. There messages could be left, as they had
once been left at the Soft Berth in Kingsdown. The trouble was that The
Mousehole was three hundred miles from London rather than about seventy. If it
had not been for that, Roger thought as he made his, way to his legal chambers
the next morning, he would have been inclined at least to ask Pierre’s advice.
He was at his wits’ end regarding what to do about Philip.
    * * * * *
    When Roger arrived at his office on the morning of October
8, he found a message requesting that he call in at the Foreign Office at
eleven o’clock. Roger looked at it blankly and then told his clerk to cancel his
appointments from ten-thirty on, unless he could handle the problem himself.
Actually, Roger was somewhat relieved. His mind was so full of Philip that he
doubted he would have been much good to either a legal or a political client.
    The meeting at the Foreign Office, on the other hand, would
probably not require any serious thought. Lord Hawkesbury liked to hear himself
talk, but he liked an audience too. There would probably be a group among whom Roger
would be lost. By and large Lord Hawkesbury’s ideas were harmless, so Roger did
not feel obliged to do or say anything beyond a nod now and again. He was somewhat
surprised, therefore, to find his lordship alone and to be waved to a seat on
the opposite side of his desk.
    “I am given to understand that you know France and the French
very well,” Hawkesbury began.
    “I have done business with them for many years,” Roger
replied cautiously. “Both my wives were born in France I have visited many
times and from 1791 through 1794. I lived in France. Whether that means I know France
and the French, I am not sure.”
    “You know that Bonaparte was assembling a fleet at Boulogne
to invade England just before the peace, and that work was resumed on that
fleet with enormous energy when war was declared again.” Hawkesbury touched a file
of papers. “Some of the information seems to have come from you, but we have other
information that implies that work on that fleet was never completely
discontinued.”
    “I do not believe the latter can be true,” Roger remarked. “A
friend—the one from whom I obtained the other information you mentioned and,
er, whose name I prefer not to give, told me that the craft already built were lying
unprotected and were decaying from neglect. This was some time in May, shortly
after the declaration of war. I have no reason to disbelieve him, as we have
been friends for nearly thirty years and he has risked his life for mine more than
once.”
    Hawkesbury looked at him. “Yet a man may do things for his
country that he would consider below mention on a personal level.”
    “You mean he might have lied for the sake of la belle France ?”
Roger smiled. “No, he is not