A Castaway in Cornwall

by Julie Klassen

  “Ah, Miss Roskilly,” Eseld began. “There you are. We wondered where you got to.” Eseld clearly relished her acting debut.

  Miss Roskilly looked from person to person, no doubt thinking quickly. “And here are my friends now.” She gestured toward the trio, then explained to them, “I heard voices in the churchyard and walked over to investigate. These men were looking for a way in, but naturally I told them there isn’t one.”

  “Well, there is—” Perry began, but Laura silenced him with a quick elbow to the side. He might be a learned doctor, but his ability to read female cues was certainly lacking.

  “Well, there it is,” Eseld finished for him, smiling from man to man. Laura was glad at the moment for her cousin’s feminine appeal. She really had the most charming smile.

  The taller officer smiled back, while the other remained aloof. LaRoche scowled.

  The stern shorter officer asked, “Did you see a Frenchman—a Captain Carnell—out here somewhere? We thought he’d be with Miss Callaway there.” The officer nodded toward Laura.

  “Miss Callaway is with us,” Eseld said, sliding a protective arm around her.

  The shorter officer frowned at Miss Roskilly. “I thought you said two friends.”

  “Well, yes, but I didn’t want to mention the gentleman. I wouldn’t malign my friends’ reputations for the world.” Kayna spoke imperiously, as though greatly insulted, and Laura realized she was the best actress of them all, and more intelligent than Laura had credited.

  LaRoche spoke up, disgust on his face. “They are all in on it together. It’s obvious. Where did you hide him? Must we search each of your houses?”

  “You gallant officers are welcome to visit, of course,” Kayna said. “But do not bring that man.” She pointed at François. “And don’t trust anything he says. We took him in after he was shipwrecked, and how does he repay us? By stealing from us and seducing my lady’s maid.”

  François smirked. “Jealous? Angry I turned my attentions to your French maid, once I realized what a cold witch you are?”

  “Whatever the reason, I can only be grateful you left our home. Don’t come back.”

  “What did he steal?” the officer asked.

  “Nothing,” François insisted.

  “Liar. He stole the money we’d raised at the charity ball and a pair of garnet earrings my maid had taken to clean. Perhaps more. My father is meeting with the constable now. In the meantime, I would lock him up and search him if I were you. Take him to Bodmin Gaol and save yourself the trouble of recapturing him for arrest.”

  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Laura thought. She was certainly grateful for the brave young woman’s assistance, but she hoped LaRoche would not take revenge for her sharp tongue.

  The Frenchman said, “If anyone is a thief, it is Captain Carnell, the man who calls himself Alexander Lucas. He stole my papers. Probably stole your money as well.”

  One of the officers asked Miss Roskilly, “Have you seen this Captain Carnell?”

  The young woman shrugged. “I have seen him once or twice during his stay, but not recently. Nor do I know where he might be bound. Perhaps Padstow? I honestly don’t know his plans. I doubt any of us do.”

  She looked at the trio, who all dutifully shook their heads.

  “Look around you,” the young woman added. “There are not many places to hide out here, except perhaps the sexton’s shed. Busy Padstow would be a far better place to conceal oneself.”

  Laura almost wished she would not keep mentioning Padstow. For if Laura was successful in finding a ship to take Alex away, it would most likely be harboured there.

  “We had better be heading back,” Miss Roskilly said. She took Laura’s arm companionably and started the walk back to Fern Haven. Perry and Eseld followed.

  The officers made no protest as they left. Laura looked back and saw that one man kept a gun trained on LaRoche while the other searched the shed.

  Laura wasn’t sure the officers believed their protestations of ignorance, but she knew for certain François LaRoche had not.

  When they reached Fern Haven, Eseld and Perry continued into the parlour, but Laura talked quietly to Miss Roskilly in the passage.

  “Thank you. I don’t know why you helped us, but thank you.”

  “Do you not?” Her dark eyes glinted. “That is easy. I have always had a soft spot for true love. Just look at how I maneuvered Perry and Eseld into each other’s arms.”

  They both glanced through the open parlour door, where the couple stood near the hearth, faces shining by firelight as they gazed at each other.

  Kayna said, “You know she initially admired Treeve, while he clearly admired you. I was able to show her the error of her ways and the futility of pining for him. Now that you have made your interest in another so plain, hopefully Treeve can be swayed in time as well.”

  “I don’t want Treeve,” Laura insisted. “I never have.”

  “I know you don’t. Why do you think he wants to win you over? Men are so proud. Can’t stand it when a woman doesn’t think they’re God’s gift. That was the mistake I made—letting Treeve know I admired him. So he has given up the chase, unless it is the chase for my dowry.” She sighed.

  “And Monsieur LaRoche?”

  A frown flickered over her pretty face. “I admit I briefly admired him—the mysterious Frenchman under my own roof. Surely you can understand that. He can be charming when he wishes to be, when he wants something. But refuse him, and you see the real man. The selfish, scheming, dangerous man.”

  “You were very brave tonight, the way you spoke to him.”

  She shrugged. “He was being escorted by armed militia. I had nothing to fear at the time.”

  “And now?”

  “And now . . . let us hope the officers take my advice and keep him under lock and key.” A tremor passed over the slight woman.

  Laura pressed her hand. “How can I help?”

  Miss Roskilly held her gaze with intense, glittering eyes. “You can help by taking your French captain and leaving this place. François will continue to pursue him, and hopefully, we will have seen the last of him here.”

  “You think I should leave with a man I barely know? Leave my uncle and just . . . run off with him in secret?”

  The woman shrugged. “Come. I saw him kiss you on the roof. Besides, you have made no secret of wishing to be anywhere but here since you arrived. Why do you think you were never fully accepted? Well, now you have your chance.”

  Was it true? Had her own disdain of the place and its people been the real reason she’d never belonged? Laura swallowed a hard lump, then said, “No one is going anywhere until we find a ship to take Alexander across the Channel.”

  “Then you need look no further than Treeve Kent.”

  “Treeve?”

  Kayna nodded. “I had been curious about his clandestine nighttime activities, so I had our manservant follow him. I feared he might have a lover in Padstow. He does in a sense. Her name is the Merry Mary.”

  Laura blinked in surprise.

  “If you hurry, you can probably find him at the Fourways Inn with his new friends.”

  Mrs. Bray came stalking out of her husband’s study. “Laura . . .” Seeing Kayna, she hesitated and greeted her politely. “Good evening, Miss Roskilly. Welcome. May I have a private word with Miss Callaway?”

  “Of course.” The young woman joined Eseld and Perry in the parlour, while Mrs. Bray led Laura into the study and shut the door. Uncle Matthew sat there, looking ill at ease.

  Mrs. Bray hissed, “The militia were here again. I told you they’d be back. They had the other survivor with them. The Frenchman. He told us that your ‘Mr. Lucas’ is in fact a French naval captain. An enemy officer! Did you know it?”

  Laura shifted awkwardly, feeling guilty for keeping her suspicions to herself. “I have wondered where he came from but knew nothing for certain. . . .”

  Kindhearted Uncle Matthew said, “We still don
’t know that he meant any harm.”

  Mrs. Bray ignored him, keeping her gaze on Laura, eyes snapping with anger. “You brought that man into my house. I never wanted him here. If he endangers us all, it will be on your head.”

  Uncle Matthew tried to intervene. “My dear, please . . .”

  But Mrs. Bray held her ground, pinning Laura with a hard stare. “Do you hear me?”

  Feeling ill, Laura nodded and turned to go. “Yes, I understand.”

  Laura walked over to Brea Cottage to ask a favor. With Miss Chegwin’s approval, Jago accompanied Laura on her errand to St. Minver, driving her in the donkey cart.

  When they reached the Fourways Inn a short while later, Jago tied the reins and walked around the cart. As he helped her down, Laura saw Treeve Kent coming out with a few men she did not recognize.

  “Miss Callaway,” Treeve called. “What are you doing here?”

  Noticing Jago, the other men hung back, but Treeve walked toward them, a smile on his handsome face.

  When he neared, she began, “I understand you own a ship.”

  He tucked his chin in surprise. “Who told you that?”

  “Miss Roskilly mentioned it.”

  His golden eyebrows rose high. “Did she indeed?”

  Laura nodded. “Is it true?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “Do you captain the ship as well?”

  “No, I leave the navigation to those more expert than myself.”

  “May I ask what you use her for? Or am I better off not knowing?”

  “Oh, family business and the like.”

  She let the dubious reply pass. “I wonder if you might do something for me?”

  “Anything for you, Miss Callaway. You know that.”

  “You may reconsider once you hear what I want.”

  He stepped closer. “Sounds intriguing.”

  “I wonder if you . . . or someone you know, might be willing to take a passenger on his next voyage to trade in the Channel Islands.”

  Several emotions passed over Treeve’s face. Surprise. Suspicion. Admiration?

  “Always knew you were clever. Clever and pretty. What a captivating combination.”

  “Miss Roskilly surpasses me on both counts, actually. She is more clever than I realized. I have a new appreciation for her, after tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll explain later. Can you help me?”

  “Help your Frenchman, I believe you mean?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I would be only too happy to see him sail away, Miss Callaway, if I did not know it would make you sad.”

  “Seeing him recaptured or shot would make me far sadder. It’s only fair to tell you the militia are searching for him. So my request is not without its risks.”

  “As are most worthwhile endeavors—even the less noble ones.”

  He considered, then drew himself up. “Yes, I know someone. Reliable, respectable. Some might even say devilishly handsome.” He winked at her. “But can I trust you to keep all of this to yourself?”

  “Absolutely. I have lived here long enough to understand things like free trading are sometimes necessary in the face of hard lives and poverty. But for you to be involved—a Kent of Roserrow?”

  “Poverty is no respecter of persons, Miss Callaway. And when one of the leading families of the parish struggles to pay their bills, they cannot fall on the mercy of the parish poor fund as others might. We must protect the family name and save face.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “And you must admit, it’s a face worth saving.”

  She shook her head, giving him a tolerant smile. “Yes, Treeve. You are good-looking, as you well know.”

  “Thank you, my sweet.” His grin faded. “If only I did not have to pull it from you.”

  He inhaled. “These days it’s up to me to bolster the family fortunes. My father has his head in the sand, and my mother, if she has a clue, has turned a purposeful blind eye. Perry is too busy lancing boils and handing out laudanum to notice what I do. Most assume I am a lazy ne’er-do-well. But I do pretty well, I must say. I’ve taken to it like a duck to water, as the saying goes. Tea, brandy—terribly taxed. A little trip to Guernsey or Jersey, and . . . voilà. Saves my family money on what we consume ourselves, and the rest I distribute through profitable channels. Discreetly, of course.”

  He squared his shoulders. “How soon can your Frenchman be ready?”

  “Anytime. The sooner the better. Though beware the preventive men.”

  “I am always aware of them. Hazards of the trade. We’ll leave late and won’t chance the quay. Have him meet me at St. Saviour’s Point at two in the morning. Should be half tide by then.”

  “But the ferry doesn’t run in the middle of the night.”

  “Come, Miss Callaway. I’m sure a clever, resourceful female like you will work out something. Also, outfit him with dark clothes, and don’t tell a soul where we’re going. Promise?”

  “You have my word.”

  “Shall we shake on it?” He offered his hand, and she put her fingers in his.

  His eyes glimmered with surprising sadness. “Ah, how I have longed to hold Miss Callaway’s hand. And hopefully not for the last time.”

  From Padstow Point to Lundy Light,

  Is a watery grave by day or night.

  —TRADITIONAL CORNISH SAYING

  Chapter 17

  Before leaving the Fourways Inn, Laura gave Jago money to go in and buy two pasties—one for him and the other for Alex. On the way back, Laura asked him to drive to Black Rock. When they reached the ferryman’s house and knocked, Martyn came to the door. By that time of night, the boy’s eyes were heavy, clearly eager for his bed, but she handed him a gold coin and his eyes snapped awake.

  “Sorry to ask, Martyn, but could I trouble you for a private, late-night crossing?”

  “At that price? Indeed you may.” The youth often took the helm, especially in the evenings when his father had too much to drink.

  “There is something else I’d like from you as well.”

  They talked for a few minutes about arrangements, and then Laura left him.

  Finally, she and Jago drove to neighboring Porthilly. There, she let herself into the St. Michael’s vestry, where a pile of donated clothing awaited to be distributed on Boxing Day. She picked a suitable garment, folded it tightly, and tucked it under her arm before rejoining Jago for the drive back by the light of the moon and stars. Laura was glad for Jago’s company. It would have been a little frightening to walk alone after dark on less familiar roads.

  Reaching the tall sand dune, she directed Jago to park near the sexton’s shed and surveyed St. Enodoc from there, making sure no one was near. Then she approached the church, climbing up the mound and onto the roof. She opened the hatch, nerves pulsing in her stomach, hoping she would find Alexander well.

  “Are you there?” she called down in a strained whisper.

  “Laura?”

  Her heart hitched to hear him say her given name.

  The half moon of his face appeared in the dim light from the transept windows. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Restless and anxious about you.”

  “I am well. Here, catch.”

  She tossed down the pasty, which he deftly caught.

  “Eat that. And put this on.”

  He set the pasty aside and extended his hands to catch the bulky garment.

  “I have to go to Fern Haven before they send up an alarm, but I will be back to get you out as soon as I can. We are meeting a ship tonight.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Saying the words aloud solidified the conclusion that had gradually been forming in Laura’s mind. We are meeting a ship tonight. . . .

  This, she realized, was her opportunity to go to Jersey, as she had long wished. To learn the final fate of her loved ones as she had helped so many others do. Was it so wrong to want that knowledge, that peace, for herself? And when would she
ever have another chance?

  When they returned to Brea Cottage, Laura went inside to speak with Miss Chegwin.

  “May I borrow a dark dress?” she asked.

  Miss Chegwin reared her head back in surprise but then agreed. “Certainly, my dear.” She retrieved an old gown of black crepe and handed it to her. She did not ask why, but her wide eyes shone with questions and concerns.

  “Meur ras, Mamm-wynn,” Laura said in trembling Cornish, then quickly embraced the woman. Thanking Jago as well, she departed.

  Laura stopped at the ice cellar to gather a few more things, then returned to Fern Haven. Setting the items aside, she greeted her uncle and Mrs. Bray, and then made a pretense of going to bed. Newlyn came in as usual to help her undress.

  “I am going out again,” Laura said to the girl. “I don’t want you to worry if you come back in and find me gone. Nor to raise any alarm, all right?”

  Newlyn’s eyes rounded like an owl’s. “Are’ee meeting that Frenchie?”

  “I will be in the company of two respectable persons known and trusted by Mr. and Mrs. Bray. I’d rather not say more.”

  “Are’ee elopin’, miss?”

  “No. Not that . . . exactly.”

  “Oh, miss . . .” Wariness glimmered in the girl’s eyes.

  “Not another word, all right?”

  Newlyn nodded. Her expression remained troubled as she brushed out Laura’s hair and helped her into Miss Chegwin’s mourning gown, but she asked no more questions and bid her good night and . . . good-bye.

  Laura hoped what she was about to do wouldn’t harm Eseld’s reputation. For the first time, she was glad they were not really cousins. Knowing how much Perry adored Eseld, Laura doubted anything she did could change his affections.

  When Newlyn had gone, Laura packed the ark and a few other things into an old leather knapsack she’d found, wrote a letter to her uncle, and then blew out her candle. She prayed he would not be too worried. Considering her recent angry outburst, Mrs. Bray might actually be relieved.

  Laura waited until the house was quiet, then tiptoed to her uncle’s study and tucked the note six chapters ahead in his Bible. Then, taking the knapsack for Alex and a lightweight fabric traveling bag for herself, she slipped out of the house. She didn’t ask Jago to accompany her this time. She had decided she must go alone.