Behind the Light of Golowduyn (A Cornish Romance Book 1)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “A mutiny?” she questioned.

  Both men looked to the door with anxious glances before sharing a look of their own.

  Abigail’s irritation grew. She knew what happened aboard their ship was none of her concern. But to be left out of yet another conversation—as she had been with her uncle and Captain Kendricks earlier—grated on her nerves.

  “If you do not wish for me to know anything further,” she said, “I suggest waiting until I am finished with your wound to continue speaking on the matter.”

  She picked at another splinter, but Captain Kendricks’s low voice made her pause.

  “No, it is not that, Miss Moore. This delicate matter involves a member of our crew who is wounded in the next room.”

  Her cheeks burned again. “Oh, I see.”

  “I would not have allowed him up here, but we do not want him to know we suspect him,” the captain explained, “as he might attempt to run.”

  Abigail mentally sifted through the sailors she had tended to that night before settling on the angry young man the surgeon had spoken to about Captain Kendricks. “The boy with the wounded brow? Mr. Lee said he was angry with you.”

  The captain lowered his voice to a whisper. “Myles, yes. His elder brother, Sanders, threatened me while aboard the Valour.”

  “And,” Lieutenant Harris added, “we believe the brothers worked together to start a fire below deck.”

  “What is to become of them both?” Abigail asked, becoming so engrossed in the tale, she nearly forgot to wipe away the blood trickling down Captain Kendricks’s arm.

  “There will be a court martial, but—”

  “Lieutenant Harris, I told you to remain on the cot.” Mr. Lee appeared in the doorway, his eyebrows so thick they were nearly one.

  The lieutenant raised an innocent brow. “The captain wished to speak with me, sir. You know I always obey Captain’s orders.”

  He sent a teasing wink at Abigail, but his smirk vanished as he stood, swaying from side to side until Mr. Lee steadied him.

  “You see?” Mr. Lee said. “You cannot have recovered already.” He led the man from the room and spoke over his shoulder. “Captain, I will return shortly to see how the miss fared.”

  Abigail frowned at the empty doorway.

  “Now is your chance to make quick work, Miss Moore,” Captain Kendricks said when they were alone. “Prove the man is wrong to doubt you.”

  With his encouragement, Abigail moved faster, if only slightly, for she did not wish to cause the captain more pain than he had to have already been feeling.

  Finally, the last of the splinters were removed, and Mr. Lee returned to scrutinize her work. To her great satisfaction, he appeared rather annoyed. “Thank you, miss,” he grumbled.

  She sauntered away with a raised chin, looking back over her shoulder only long enough to see the captain’s look of approval before she left the room.

  Before long, Mr. Lee finished suturing and bandaging the wounded, and the able men prepared to leave with their captain. Only the lieutenant and one other sailor would remain overnight in the warmth of the lighthouse with Mr. Lee to watch over them. The rest would seek shelter in St. Just and other nearby towns.

  As they filed out of Golowduyn, Abigail stood in the doorway, nodding to each sailor who tipped his cap at her in departure.

  Captain Kendricks stood at the back, adjusting his slightly dried shirt over his bandaged arm. Myles Sanders, the angry young man, simply stomped past her without so much as a glance, but a sailor who appeared close to her age lingered at her side.

  “Miss,” he began, “I never seen a prettier girl than ye. What do ye do all night as ye watch this lighthouse?”

  “I watch the lighthouse,” she stated, unimpressed.

  “Ye must tire of bein’ alone. If ever ye yearn for company, might I suggest meself?”

  “No, you may not.”

  The man reached for her hand with his bandaged fingers. “Come now, miss. I’ll show ye a fine—”

  “Bradie!”

  At his captain’s reprimand, the young sailor ducked his head and slunk away from Abigail’s side. The other sailors chortled as he joined them.

  “I do apologize, Miss Moore,” Captain Kendricks said, coming up to stand beside her. “I fear the drink he was given for his pain has weakened his good sense.”

  “It has happened before,” she said, eying the men as they made their way through the darkness and falling rain. “Especially when they have the sense to realize that I am, in fact, a woman.”

  She stared at him pointedly, but he did not squirm as she had expected him to. Instead, his eyes shone brighter.

  “I assure you, Miss Moore,” he said, “had I seen your face before your cap, there is no possible way I would have ever mistaken you for a boy.”

  He walked away to join his men, and Abigail stared after him, the corners of her lips tugging upwards until he vanished in the darkness.

  Chapter Three

  By dawn, the storm had passed. The calm waves reflected the soft pink clouds above, and the sparrows’ shrill chirps sounded once again.

  Abigail stood near the edge of the cliff, breathing in the earthy smell of the damp grass as she eyed the beach. The sand was littered with debris. A few sailors had returned that morning to filter through the wreckage, no doubt looking for any of their belongings that might be salvageable. She scanned the men, telling herself she was looking for no one in particular.

  “Quite the mess, is it not?”

  Abigail turned to see her uncle coming up behind her. “The ship is clearly beyond saving,” she said, “but at least most of the men are safe.” She tilted her head to one side. “Why are you awake so early, Uncle?”

  “I couldn’t sleep after the last of the sailors left this morning,” he said, leaning both hands on his cane in front of him. “I stayed awake to update the logbooks. The one thing I am still capable of doing.”

  “How are your knees after last night?” she asked. She knew better than to dwell on his gloomy words.

  “Sorer than usual.”

  She looped her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder, hoping to provide a little comfort to his downtrodden spirit. “Perhaps you might consider walking to Mr. Craig’s today for a tincture. You always cheer up after your visits with him.”

  Mr. Craig, the town apothecary, often provided her uncle with pain relief for his knees. The two had become easy friends over the past few months, their visits usually lasting until the early hours of the morning.

  Abigail knew the friendship helped Uncle Ellis to forget about his current situation. Though she felt, at times, that her uncle was forgetting her in the process, too, she still encouraged their visits to help improve her uncle’s mood.

  “Perhaps another day,” Uncle Ellis said. He turned to the sailors on the beach below. “I thought to invite Captain Kendricks to join us for dinner this evening.”

  “Oh?” She tried to appear as apathetic as possible.

  “I was going to look for him on the beach this morning, but…” He stared down at his cane with clear aversion.

  “Allow me to help then,” Abigail offered. “I will be ready just as soon as I extinguish the lamps.”

  Uncle Ellis expressed his gratitude, but she waved it aside. After all, she could not have passed on the opportunity to ease her uncle’s burden, no matter how many chores she was setting aside to do so.

  And if she just so happened to see the captain of the HMS Valour again, too, then that would be fine, as well.

  “Have any more bodies washed ashore, Lieutenant Johnson?” Gavin asked.

  “Yes, sir, two,” the second lieutenant replied.

  Two. And three others found just before dawn. That brought the death toll to twenty-one. Twenty-one men Gavin had failed to protect.

  He knew the amount was minor compared to other shipwrecks—and to the number of men who had perished due to battles and illnesses aboard the Valour. But those who had
died the previous night, they had been so close to home, so close to completing their voyage.

  And now, Gavin would sign twenty-one letters for the families of those brothers and sons, fathers and uncles, who had served their country but would never return home.

  “Continue the search along this beach and others, Lieutenant,” Gavin instructed as the knot in his stomach tightened. “As far as Tregalwen, if needs be. I need the total number of deaths listed before we make for Penzance tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And send Bradie to keep a watch on Myles,” Gavin said, lowering his voice. “At least until we are certain he won’t be charged with his brother. He’s not likely to leave until the ship has been paid off, anyway, but I should like to ensure he does nothing else reckless while he’s still under my command.”

  Lieutenant Johnson nodded before walking away.

  Gavin rubbed the back of his neck, returning his attention to the wreckage of his ship.

  His concern for the fate of the Valour had passed the night before when he’d watched the simmering fire and gusts of wind eventually cause the foremast to fall. Since then, his worries had centered on the men he had lost—and the Sanders brothers who were the cause of it all.

  An immovable weight pressed down on his chest—a weight he vowed he would never feel again. Yes, the time had come to request his official retirement from the navy. The actions of the Sanders had prompted the idea—and the wrecking of the Valour had settled it. All he needed to do now was find something that would bring him more fulfillment than he’d ever experienced as a captain in the navy.

  Such a task couldn’t be too difficult. Could it?

  “Hello there, Captain!”

  Gavin looked over his shoulder to see Ellis Moore walking along the beach toward him, his niece by his side in a simple, dark brown dress.

  She looked to be about three and twenty, though the light freckles spattering her nose and upper cheeks gave her a youthful air. He had already noticed the color of her hair before in the low light of their home, but in the sunshine, her auburn locks glinted a deeper red.

  “Good morning,” he greeted, walking up to meet them.

  Mr. Moore leaned heavily upon his niece, and Gavin wondered how she managed to remain upright, being a full head shorter and a great deal thinner than her uncle.

  “How fares your wound, Captain?” Mr. Moore asked.

  “Much better after the careful attention of your niece, sir,” Gavin said. He noticed the slightest hint of pink crossing Miss Moore’s cheeks. “And I am in far better shape than most of my men, so for that I am grateful.”

  “Rightly so. The ship doesn’t look very good, either.”

  Gavin stepped aside to face the wreckage. “No, she’s beyond repairing. We will salvage what little we can, and watch for any belongings to be washed ashore, but any hope of the Valour sailing again was washed away in the storm last evening.”

  “Shame, that,” Mr. Moore said.

  Gavin noted Miss Moore’s silence, but when he looked toward her, her eyes darted away.

  “So how long do you plan to stay then, Captain?” Mr. Moore asked.

  Gavin reluctantly drew his gaze away from the woman. “I will make for Penzance tomorrow when the ship is paid off, then return to St. Just to oversee the salvaging for a few days.”

  “In that case, you must stay with us at Golowduyn.”

  Abigail blinked several times to keep her eyes from rounding in surprise. Captain Kendricks, stay with them? What was her uncle thinking? They hardly had room for each other, let alone another man.

  “Thank you,” the captain said with a sincere look of gratitude, “but I couldn’t. I will need to return to Penzance a time or two in the coming weeks. It is nearly a two-hour ride, so it would be better if I stayed there.”

  Abigail’s relief was short-lived as her uncle pressed on.

  “Oh, please,” he said. “You will be far more comfortable staying with us than you would at The Golden Arms or any other inn in Penzance. And my niece is a wonderful cook, especially compared with what you would eat elsewhere.”

  Her uncle had obviously forgotten that her cooking was dependent on them actually having funds for food in the first place. What was she to feed him, a crust of bread? A fried egg? That would hardly be sufficient for a man of the captain’s stature.

  “You would really be doing me a favor,” Uncle Ellis continued. “I spend many evenings alone while Abigail tends to the lights. I would love to have a companion to speak with again.”

  Abigail bowed her head. Her uncle’s words stung. She knew he had not meant to offend her, just as she knew their duty was to see to the lighthouse before all else. Even still, she had constantly attempted to engage her uncle in conversation. Had he truly not noticed her efforts? Or was Captain Kendricks simply better company than Abigail could ever be?

  A strange jealousy pricked her heart. “Captain Kendricks has already responded, Uncle. You should not press him.”

  She caught the captain’s eyes on her. “Yes, and I could not impose.”

  “You would be no imposition at all. Tell him, Abigail. Don’t you wish for him to stay with us?”

  Abigail’s cheeks burned red. How could she answer such a question? She considered speaking the truth for a single, brief, moment—that Captain Kendricks would be an imposition on their income, their space, their time—but after one subtle, firm look from her uncle, she bit her tongue.

  “Your staying with us would be no imposition at all, Captain,” she said. “We would be delighted to have you.”

  “There, you see?” Uncle Ellis said.

  Finally, Captain Kendricks relented. “Very well. I accept your offer with gratitude. I expect to return from Penzance in a day or two, and then I should be glad to stay with you.”

  “Excellent,” Uncle Ellis said.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to my men.” The captain bowed, his eyes lingering on Abigail before he turned and walked away.

  Abigail stared after him. She ought to be angry that he was upsetting her life, her routine. But after one brown-eyed stare in her direction, she was looking forward to the captain’s stay more than she cared to admit.

  And she was sorely confused because of it.

  * * *

  Two days after the shipwreck, Gavin sat in the tavern in St. Just, wondering if the meat on his plate was truly fish or if the cook had simply replaced it with a slab of something molded from old bread. His lips pulled down with disgust, and he pushed aside the uneaten food.

  It was just as well. He would be at the lighthouse soon for dinner. He hadn’t eaten all day, but he could wait, especially if that meant not becoming ill by eating whatever had been placed before him.

  At any rate, he was not at the tavern to eat.

  He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and ignoring the ache in his wound. The room was dark, lit only by a few small windows to one side of the establishment. Gray smoke from pipes lingered in the air around the occupied tables, and a large fire crackled at the side of the room.

  Hidden behind the bar counter, Gavin silently watched Myles Sanders across the crowded room. The young man sat with cards in one hand and a drink in the other. His blond hair was tied at the nape of his neck, though most of it hung in strings around his face. His sunken eyes were framed in a grayish purple—evidence of sleepless nights and hours spent in the dark room gambling.

  Gavin had not expected to see the boy again after leaving Penzance. The ship had been paid off, the crew having received pay for their time aboard the Valour, so why had Myles returned to St. Just? It was not a port town, and the boy’s only family was his elder brother, who was still imprisoned, awaiting a court martial in Penzance.

  Now that a few days had passed since the shipwreck, Gavin’s anger had slowly dissipated toward the boy, replaced instead with pity. After all, Sanders was the one behind the destruction, Gavin was sure of it. Myles was merely a pawn.


  In truth, Gavin wondered if the attempted mutiny might have been prevented altogether had he assigned an officer to watch over Myles from the start of their journey, providing the boy with a better example than that of his corruptive brother.

  But it was too late now.

  Sanders would soon receive a guilty sentence, and Myles would be left to fend for himself.

  At the thought, a strange sense of responsibility settled on Gavin. Surely something could be done for the boy, to help him in some regard.

  But as Myles slid two cards face down across the table, his sunken eyes darting to the other men around him, Gavin knew the truth. Myles Sanders would not accept help from anyone—least of all the man responsible for the capture of his only brother.

  “How was Penzance, Captain?” Lieutenant Harris asked. He approached Gavin with a drink in his hand. “Are you a free man?”

  “It would appear so,” Gavin responded. He motioned to the seat across from him, and Harris sat down. “I was astonished the Admiralty pardoned me so quickly.”

  “That is because you were not at fault for the shipwreck, sir.”

  As captain, Gavin had to answer for the destruction of the Valour. Thankfully, a few of his men had been present to speak up for him before the Admiralty, and since his own reputation was untarnished, Gavin was proven blameless in the disaster.

  Though, was he truly blameless if he could have done more to prevent it?

  As Harris took a drink from his cup, Gavin’s eyes wandered again to Myles as the boy ran trembling fingers through his greasy hair.

  “A local farmer has hired a few men from the Valour, Myles being one of them,” Lieutenant Harris said, lowering his voice and motioning across the room with a toss of his head.

  So Myles had come back to St. Just to earn funds. Of course. Since he would not be returning to the sea without his brother—and had no other family to help him—the boy would need some way to provide himself with a living.

  Unless, of course, he gambled all of it away first.

  Shouts echoed throughout the tavern. Two men stood from Myles’ table, both accusing the other of cheating. A large man with black hair that stretched across the length of his arms reached for both men and dragged them straight out of the pub by their collars. A few men cheered, but Myles remained seated, silently staring at the cards strewn across the table.