there were no rooms. Where the devil did you say this
Mousehole was?”
“Pierre said you must take the coast road out of Penzance. About
a mile and a half along the road, there are a few houses. Just beyond the last one
the road branches. You must take the left fork. Pierre said to look hard; it’s only
a rough track and pretty overgrown. Another mile and a half or so will take you
to The Mousehole. It’s on a tiny cove.”
“Smuggler’s rest, eh?” Philip suggested.
“Probably,” Roger replied, “but if I know Pierre he doesn’t
land cargo there. I doubt he even brings in the Bonne Lucie . By the way,
he also calls her Pretty Lucy when he’s in England. For Pierre it would
be too obvious to use a regular smugglers’ place. I’m sure they know his
business, but he doesn’t do it there.”
But Philip had not been listening. His brow was furrowed
with his own thoughts and he was repeating “Penzance, Penzance,” under his breath.
Then he said louder, “Five miles from Penzance! That is what he said. Five
miles from Penzance.”
“No,” Roger insisted, “I’m sure Pierre said a mile and a
half—”
“Not Pierre,” Philip interrupted, his eyes dancing. “Perce
Moreton lives five miles from Penzance at a place called Sancreed. I think I
might just arrive at Perce’s—”
“Without an invitation?” Roger asked, horrified.
“I have had many invitations, but who wanted to go all the
way to Cornwall at the time?”
“He may not be at home.”
“Know he is at home, Philip said with a laugh. “On at me
about the delights of Cornwall when he was trying to wean me from my wicked
ways. It will not matter if Perce is not there either. His mother and father
know me pretty well. Always took me along with Perce for tucker when they came
to visit him at Eton. Perce told them I was an orphan because you had run away
to France— Oh, good God, that is perfect!”
Roger looked at his son warily. Joy and mischief mingled in explosive
proportions in Philip’s face. “I have a feeling that I am about to become the
goat,” he said faintly.
“Watch your horses,” Philip recommended.
“I was driving before you were born,” Roger pointed out,
nonetheless checking on his team. His son was a notable whip.
“Naturally,” Philip responded. “It must be that familiarity
breeding contempt thing—unless, of course, you just do not have the knack…”
Roger could not help laughing. “It’s you who are losing your
knack, my boy. That red herring is far too smelly. Now just what does my being
in France thirteen years ago have to do with Lord Kevern’s parents?”
“Well, I do not think anyone ever bothered to explain to
them what happened to you—I mean, the subject never came up. Likely Lord and
Lady Moreton still think you are not much of a father, abandoning me like that
right after my mother died—”
“I didn’t expect to be gone for more than a few weeks,”
Roger said guiltily. “I’m sorry—“
“Do not be ridiculous,” Philip interrupted. ” Grand-mère
et Grand-père were there. I worried about you, sir, but I did not
feel abandoned. Anyway, it is going to be very useful now. I shall tell the
Moretons that you have thrown me out.”
“What!” Roger roared.
“Well, what other reason would I have for going to Cornwall,
of all unlikely places? And for staying? And for coming back? You have paid my
debts three times, given me a stake, and told me to get out and not come back.
That is quite—“
“Quite outrageous!” Roger broke in. “Philip, you are
enjoying this!”
“Certainly,” Philip agreed promptly. “And you see it is
reasonable that in such straits I would join, the smugglers—to sustain my bad
habits, I guess.” He could see pressure building up in his father and added
slyly, “Are you going to try to tell me you did not enjoy getting Leonie out of
prison and helping all those people escape? Martyred, were you?”
“I was very worried about Leonie’s
Mousehole was?”
“Pierre said you must take the coast road out of Penzance. About
a mile and a half along the road, there are a few houses. Just beyond the last one
the road branches. You must take the left fork. Pierre said to look hard; it’s only
a rough track and pretty overgrown. Another mile and a half or so will take you
to The Mousehole. It’s on a tiny cove.”
“Smuggler’s rest, eh?” Philip suggested.
“Probably,” Roger replied, “but if I know Pierre he doesn’t
land cargo there. I doubt he even brings in the Bonne Lucie . By the way,
he also calls her Pretty Lucy when he’s in England. For Pierre it would
be too obvious to use a regular smugglers’ place. I’m sure they know his
business, but he doesn’t do it there.”
But Philip had not been listening. His brow was furrowed
with his own thoughts and he was repeating “Penzance, Penzance,” under his breath.
Then he said louder, “Five miles from Penzance! That is what he said. Five
miles from Penzance.”
“No,” Roger insisted, “I’m sure Pierre said a mile and a
half—”
“Not Pierre,” Philip interrupted, his eyes dancing. “Perce
Moreton lives five miles from Penzance at a place called Sancreed. I think I
might just arrive at Perce’s—”
“Without an invitation?” Roger asked, horrified.
“I have had many invitations, but who wanted to go all the
way to Cornwall at the time?”
“He may not be at home.”
“Know he is at home, Philip said with a laugh. “On at me
about the delights of Cornwall when he was trying to wean me from my wicked
ways. It will not matter if Perce is not there either. His mother and father
know me pretty well. Always took me along with Perce for tucker when they came
to visit him at Eton. Perce told them I was an orphan because you had run away
to France— Oh, good God, that is perfect!”
Roger looked at his son warily. Joy and mischief mingled in explosive
proportions in Philip’s face. “I have a feeling that I am about to become the
goat,” he said faintly.
“Watch your horses,” Philip recommended.
“I was driving before you were born,” Roger pointed out,
nonetheless checking on his team. His son was a notable whip.
“Naturally,” Philip responded. “It must be that familiarity
breeding contempt thing—unless, of course, you just do not have the knack…”
Roger could not help laughing. “It’s you who are losing your
knack, my boy. That red herring is far too smelly. Now just what does my being
in France thirteen years ago have to do with Lord Kevern’s parents?”
“Well, I do not think anyone ever bothered to explain to
them what happened to you—I mean, the subject never came up. Likely Lord and
Lady Moreton still think you are not much of a father, abandoning me like that
right after my mother died—”
“I didn’t expect to be gone for more than a few weeks,”
Roger said guiltily. “I’m sorry—“
“Do not be ridiculous,” Philip interrupted. ” Grand-mère
et Grand-père were there. I worried about you, sir, but I did not
feel abandoned. Anyway, it is going to be very useful now. I shall tell the
Moretons that you have thrown me out.”
“What!” Roger roared.
“Well, what other reason would I have for going to Cornwall,
of all unlikely places? And for staying? And for coming back? You have paid my
debts three times, given me a stake, and told me to get out and not come back.
That is quite—“
“Quite outrageous!” Roger broke in. “Philip, you are
enjoying this!”
“Certainly,” Philip agreed promptly. “And you see it is
reasonable that in such straits I would join, the smugglers—to sustain my bad
habits, I guess.” He could see pressure building up in his father and added
slyly, “Are you going to try to tell me you did not enjoy getting Leonie out of
prison and helping all those people escape? Martyred, were you?”
“I was very worried about Leonie’s
Similar Books
