Read Online The Cornish Heiress by Roberta Gellis - Free Book Online Page A

up in addition.”
    “We must know about the ships. If we had had more
ships available in the Mediterranean, Bonaparte would be in our hands now He
would never have reached Egypt and never have come back either. And there was
not even a threat of invasion then. Now, with the patrols we are forced to keep
the French have far too easy a time importing all kinds of supplies. Our
blockade is much hampered.”
    “I understand,” Philip assured him.
    Before he could say more, d’Ursine rose and brought the
documents to Lord Hawkesbury. He examined them and nodded. “This will cover
most eventualities. You have an identity as Baptiste Sevalis, a Parisian
merchant. It is the best that can be done if you will not be more specific
about— No? Very well, then.”
    He drew a seal from a locked drawer; d’Ursine tipped wax
onto the paper and Lord Hawkesbury applied the seal to the passes. The identity
papers had been previously sealed with forged French seals. When all was dry,
he passed the sheets to Roger, who read them and passed them on to Philip. With
a nod of approval Philip did not bother looking at them. He would have plenty
of time to examine everything later. He folded the sheets carefully and stowed
them in a pocketbook, which he placed in an inner breast pocket.
    A few more words were exchanged, but it was obvious that
Philip was not attending and was all but visibly quivering with impatience.
Hawkesbury smiled and asked if he was eager to be on his way.
    Philip laughed and looked shocked. “Not today. If I am going
first to my friends to divert suspicion I must take clothing and my servants.
All this must be arranged if I wish to go early tomorrow. If you will give me
leave, my lord?”
    “Of course.” Hawkesbury stood and came around the desk to
shake hands with him. “Good luck, my boy. You have those passes, your identity
papers, and that list of our men in that area of France. But be wary. Not all
of our agents are to be trusted completely.”
    “I will not go near any of them unless I am at my last gasp,
my lord—and I cannot think why I should be.”
    Roger stood up also, but Hawkesbury had reminded himself of
something else. The funding for the venture had not gone through the
complicated channels yet, but the draft could be forwarded to Philip anywhere
if he wished to leave an address. Roger said hastily that he would advance the
funds to be repaid when Philip returned and that Hawkesbury should hold the
draft. Ungratefully, Philip was almost audibly grinding his teeth with
impatience, and Hawkesbury’s secretary obviously felt the same way. Regardless
of the fact that his employer was still speaking, d’Ursine bowed silently and
left the room by a side door. Roger and Philip were not so fortunate. Before
Hawkesbury had finished his thanks, regrets, warnings, and promises, d’Ursine
had had time to write and dispatch two brief notes.
    One of these reached François Charon, an émigré who
dealt in foreign books and manuscripts. When he had perused the note, he
circumspectly burnt it and rewrote the pertinent information—that a “Parisian
merchant” named Baptiste Sevalis was in reality an English spy—on a thin spill
that eventually came into the hands of Joseph Fouché. The other was delivered
to the house of a young gentleman, also an émigré , whose valet hesitated
for some time before deciding to wake him. Jean de Tréport was not the easiest
master to work for.
    Outside of Lord Hawkesbury’s house at last, Philip flicked
his whip and the boy who had been holding his horses’ heads sprang away. The
animals surged forward, just a little too fast, as if sensing their master’s
eagerness.
    “Are you going first to Leicestershire?” Roger asked.
    “No, of course not. I intend to do exactly what we planned.
But listening to Hawkesbury gave me the pip. That man has flatulence of the
mouth. Moreover, that secretary of his sounds a little mad. He is just the type
to run all over town telling