A Castaway in Cornwall

by Julie Klassen

  Alexander frowned. “Too risky. If the authorities find Kent’s boat and begin searching for us, wouldn’t that be the first place they’d look? We had better go farther.”

  “You are no doubt right.” Laura forced a smile and trudged on. She didn’t understand why she felt so very weary. She supposed it was all the tensions and trials of the last few days.

  As they walked eastward through the twilight, rain began to fall. The damp wouldn’t harm Alex’s leather knapsack, but to protect her fabric traveling bag, she slipped it under her cape with a sigh.

  After a mile or so, they reached Porthcurno. The village consisted of a two-story building signposted Seaview Inn and a cluster of low cottages huddled in a narrow valley.

  “Shall we stay the night here and continue on in the morning?” she asked, her legs like lead.

  He hesitated, wearing a grimace. “I think we should press on and get farther away from the ship.” Then he looked at her, his eyes widening in concern.

  “Laura, you look tired. Forgive me. Of course we shall rest here if they have rooms. What a day this has been for you.”

  He opened the door for her. Stepping inside, they greeted the innkeeper, who stood behind a counter.

  “Good evening,” Alexander said. “Have you rooms available?”

  “I have one room, sir, with two sturdy beds. Just right for you and your missus. Well I remember when my good wife was expecting. How she tossed and turned, striving to be comfortable.”

  Laura stared dumbly. Why does he think . . . ? She glanced down at her bulging midriff, and her face flamed. “Oh! I am not, that is . . .” She reached beneath her cape and pulled forth her traveling bag. “I was simply shielding this from the rain.”

  The publican reddened and chuckled awkwardly. “A thousand apologies, madam.”

  “That is all right. An understandable mistake.” Laura swallowed and sent a nervous glance toward Alexander. “But he and I are not—”

  “We are not particular,” Alex interjected. “Are we, my dear?” He laid his hand over hers, covering the fact that it wore no ring. Brows high, Alex asked her, “Will one room suffice? I shall endeavor not to snore.”

  She looked at him, blinking with uncertainty. Then understanding dawned. “Oh, em, yes. I am so tired I could sleep through a gale.”

  The publican looked from one to the other. “Very good. And shall I send up a bit of supper on a tray?”

  “Yes, thank you. You are very kind.”

  He handed Alexander the key. “Top of the stairs, first door on your right.”

  Alex took Laura’s bag and gestured toward the landing. “After you.”

  Reaching the room, he unlocked it, and Laura entered first. Alexander closed the door but remained near it. In a low voice, he said, “Pray forgive my presumption. I was afraid the man would put us out if he knew we were not husband and wife traveling together.”

  “You were right. Good thinking.”

  Setting down their bags, he said, “I will wait awhile, then go downstairs to the taproom and find a quiet corner there.”

  She looked from the beds to him. “No need. There are two beds, as he said, and I trust you.”

  “Do you?”

  She paused to consider. “Yes, I find that I do.”

  “Very well.”

  A knock on the door startled them both. When they didn’t respond, a woman’s voice called, “Your supper.”

  “Oh. Right.” Alex turned and opened the door.

  A chambermaid in her early thirties came in and set the tray down on the dressing table, whipping off a linen cloth with dramatic flair. “Wah-la!” she exclaimed, mispronouncing the French.

  Alex cringed and corrected, “It is voilà.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Thank you.” He handed the woman a coin from his earnings. “Might you help my missus with whatever she needs while we’re here?”

  With an eager glance at the gleaming coin, the maid replied, “Happily, sir. I’ll come back in half an hour to collect the tray and shall help her then, if that suits.”

  “Yes,” Laura replied, thankful for Alexander’s thoughtfulness. “That would be perfect, Miss . . . ?”

  “You may call me Rennet, ma’am.” The maid performed a deep, stage-worthy curtsy and slipped from the room.

  At the woman’s theatrical exit, Laura and Alex shared amused grins.

  Then Laura looked at him with a mixture of wonder and gratitude. “You think of everything.”

  His eyes glimmered with sadness. “I only wish that were true.”

  Alexander hoped Laura would not come to regret traveling with him, but feared she would. He gestured for her to take the seat at the dressing table, while he sat on the only other chair in the room. She handed him one of the bowls of stew and a spoon, and they began eating.

  The tender chunks of beef, carrots, and onions in rich gravy were delicious and warming, reminding him of his father’s favorite, beef bourguignon.

  They ate in silence, an awkward tension between them. They had spent many hours in the guest room in Fern Haven and had shared the same cabin on the ship, though they had rarely been alone, with the crew sleeping in shifts.

  They were certainly alone now. Was that why this felt so different? So . . . dangerous?

  When they finished eating, Laura stacked the used bowls and cutlery and set the tray aside. The uneasy silence stretched.

  Laura reached up and began unpinning her hair. “I hope you don’t mind. The pins are digging into my scalp.”

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  Her long hair cascaded down around her shoulders in a veil of autumn colors—deep amber, cinnamon, maple leaves. His chest tightened.

  She massaged her scalp, and his fingers itched to stroke the silky length.

  “Your hair is beautiful,” he said, unable to stop himself.

  “Thank you.” She dipped her head, clearly self-conscious.

  Trying not to stare, he stood, searching the room for some distraction. “I will, em, clean my teeth.” He turned to the washbasin, scrubbed his teeth with the brush and tooth powder from his knapsack, and washed his face and hands, glad for the cold water.

  The maid, Rennet, returned as promised, and Laura smiled at her. “If you could help me with the fastenings?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  To keep up the pretense that he planned to spend the night with his “wife,” Alexander remained in the room, instead of escaping like the interloper he knew himself to be.

  He licked dry lips. “I will, em, just read while you change.” He repositioned the chair, angling it away from them, and sat down, trying in vain to read the New Testament and Psalms he’d found on the side table.

  The maid undid the back buttons and loosened the lacings of the shapeless black frock.

  His rebellious eyes now and again shifted to the side, catching a glimpse of bare shoulder in the dressing table mirror.

  Steady, Carnell. You are not really married, however you might wish you were at this moment. Think of something else. . . .

  But he was losing the battle. A minute or two later, he cleared his throat and rose. Stepping to the door, he said, “I think I will go down for a glass of something while you ready for bed.”

  He quickly fled the room—and the tantalizing sight of Laura Callaway getting undressed, her gorgeous hair down around her shoulders.

  Half an hour later, he knocked softly and let himself in. The room was darker now, the fire burned low and only one candle left alight—the one on the side table beside the empty bed.

  Laura lay on her side in the other bed, facing the wall, blankets pulled up to her ear. Asleep or feigning it?

  He removed his coat and hung it on a peg. He yanked off his boots, then removed his waistcoat and folded it with military precision. He pulled his shirt over his head, washed it out in the basin, and hung it near the fire to dry for the next day. He was too warm as it was, but remembering Laura’s earlier shiver
ing, he added a scoop of coal to the fire before climbing into bed, wondering if he would get any sleep lying this close to her.

  Slumber had barely overtaken him when he was awoken by the sound of someone pounding on a distant door. Alex leapt from bed and crept to the window. Below, he saw two men holding lanterns and another official-looking man in uniform.

  “Open up!”

  A window squeaked open, and the innkeeper called out, “We’re full up, my good fellows, and the taproom closed for the night.”

  Laura joined Alex at the window, gripping his arm in fear.

  “We don’t want a room, we want a word,” the officer called back. “We are searching for a Frenchman. An escaped prisoner of war. He may be traveling with a young woman.”

  Laura whispered, “I’m so sorry. You were right. We should have gone farther.”

  Clenching his jaw, Alex hissed, “We may have to make a run for it. Or at least I will. You have done nothing wrong.”

  “Except aiding and abetting you?”

  “If need be, say I forced you to come.” He pulled on his boots and stepped to the room’s other window, this one facing the side of the inn. “I think I can lower myself to that porch roof and jump down from there.”

  “I am going with you,” she whispered back.

  “No.”

  He grabbed for the window latch, and again the publican’s voice reached them from below. “We have no Frenchmen here. And our only female guest is a tetchy woman large with child, and woe to anyone who disturbs her slumber.”

  “You sure?” the officer asked.

  “’Course I’m sure. You’ve searched my establishment before and found nothing and angered my guests and my good wife to no purpose. You’ve cost me custom.”

  The door to their room creaked open, and Laura barely stifled a gasp. Rennet slipped in, finger to her lips, candle lamp in her other hand. She beckoned them to follow her. They did so, tiptoeing to the far end of the room, to what looked like an ordinary wall. Her fingers worked some hidden latch, and a panel slid open. The flickering candlelight revealed a closet-sized compartment with several stacked half ankers and a crate of tea atop them. Smuggling contraband.

  Laura and Alex stepped inside, the maid shoved his damp shirt, coat, and knapsack atop the crate, and then closed the panel, shutting them inside the compartment, just as the front door below opened.

  In a loud, long-suffering manner, the innkeeper said, “Very well, if you insist on searching the house again, be quick about it.”

  In the darkness, Alexander slid a protective arm around Laura’s waist, and she leaned against him, her soft hair against his bare chest. Could she feel his racing heart? He took a steadying breath and prayed they wouldn’t be discovered.

  Through a thin crack in the panels, they saw the maid tidy one bed, then stuff a pillow beneath her dressing gown and climb into the other.

  The chamber door burst open, and the three men charged inside.

  “Wha—!” the woman screeched in alarm, sitting up as best she could with her enlarged middle. “What’ee doin’ in my room? Have’ee come to murder me in my bed? Get out this instant, or I shall scream. Out, out, I tell’ee. If’ee make my poor child come early, that innocent life will be on yer heads and the heads of yer own children!”

  The officer held up a palm. “Calm down, madam, calm down. We are only searching for an escaped prisoner of war.”

  “Are’ee blind, sirs? I am no prisoner, not even a man. Out, out, I tell’ee!”

  With a quick look under the bed, the men sheepishly left the chamber, and continued their search of the inn. Half an hour later, they left the premises with nothing to show for their efforts.

  When all was quiet again, the maid whispered for them to wait and slipped from the room. She returned shortly to open the panel for them.

  “I’ve brought some warm milk to help’ee sleep,” she said, as though nothing so very out of the ordinary had just occurred.

  “Th-thank you,” Laura managed.

  “We are obliged to you,” Alex added.

  The maid nodded. “Good night, sir. Madam. I’ll be back in the morning.” And she let herself out without another word.

  In the morning, Alex was up and out of the room before Laura awakened. Thoughtful of him to give her privacy to dress. The same maid came in with warm water, sent up by “yer mister.”

  When Laura asked the time, she was surprised to find the hour so advanced. She brushed her tangled hair and washed in the heavenly warm water. Again Rennet helped with her lacings and fastenings. In hindsight it had been very foolish of her not to bring only front-fastening gowns. Today she wore her own dress, rolled up Miss Chegwin’s black one, and shoved it into the bag with the few other things she had packed. When she looked in the mirror, she saw that she looked more like her own self again.

  “Thank you again for hiding us last night,” Laura said. “That was quite a performance.”

  Rennet smiled. “Do’ee think so? I always wanted to be an actress on Drury Lane, but Pa said it weren’t proper. I said, ‘Better’n cleaning chamber pots all my livelong day,’ but, oh well, here I be.”

  “You are a talented actress.”

  The maid dimpled. “Thank’ee, ma’am. That makes me very happy to hear.”

  When Rennet left, Alex returned with bread, butter, and cups of hot strong tea for them both. Laura could have kissed him.

  After they had eaten, she removed a few coins from her reticule and extended them. “For the room.”

  He shook his head. “No need. I have my earnings from the salvaging work.”

  “Save that for the journey.”

  “It would not be gentlemanly to allow you to pay my way.”

  “The money is from the sale of the jeweled salamander. Not mine, really. In fact, I would feel better about spending it on returning another treasure rather than on myself.”

  “A treasure now, am I? Better than flotsam, I suppose.” He winked.

  Her face warmed in embarrassment, but she saw that her words had pleased as well as amused him, so she could not regret saying them.

  They packed their few remaining things and went downstairs.

  Finding the publican alone, Laura said, “Thank you, sir, for your . . . discretion . . . last night.”

  The man nodded sagely. “I’m a publican in Porthcurno, madam. I make it a practice to deny anything the revenue men ask me.” He cleared his throat. “Rennet told me where she hid you. I trust I can count on your discretion in return?”

  “You may indeed.”

  They smiled at one another and settled their bill, and the two travelers began the long walk to Penzance. The day was cold, damp, and misty. A few carriages passed by, and Laura hoped one of them would stop and offer them a lift, but none did.

  Ten miles was going to be a tiring trek, especially in the rain, which grew heavier as they trudged along the road.

  Seeing her traveling bag getting wet, Laura again tucked it under her cape, wishing she had brought a stout leather valise instead, although it would have been heavier.

  A wagon passed them, and the driver stopped his horses with a “Whoa now, boys.” Then he called to them, “Where are you two bound?”

  “Penzance.”

  “That’s a long walk for a woman in her condition. Climb up.”

  Alex looked at her, brows high in surprise, then bit back a smile.

  The farmer nodded toward the ewes in the wagon. “I wouldn’t make my girls walk so far.”

  “You are right, sir,” Alexander said humbly. “And we sincerely appreciate your offer.”

  He helped Laura up onto the bench and squeezed in beside her.

  They continued on their way. The wagon would win no races, but it was better than walking the whole ten miles.

  Reaching Penzance, Alex offered the man something for his kindness, which he waved away. After thanking him, they spent some time walking around the harbour, inquiring about a ship. Finding no one willing to
help them, Laura asked a passerby for directions to Quayside Cottage. After their late start, slow pace, and futile inquiries, the sky was already darkening.

  When they found their way to the house, Laura handed Alex her bag and whispered, “Let me talk to him first.”

  Alex nodded and stood off to the side behind her. Laura took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  A few minutes later, a short, rotund housemaid answered. “Iss?”

  “Good evening. I am here to see Mr. Truscott. Is he at home?”

  The woman hesitated, looking her up and down. Laura lifted her chin and managed a small smile, hoping to look more ladylike than she surely had over the last few days.

  “I’ll see. Wait there.” She shut the door, leaving them out in the cold.

  Lord, please let him remember me and look on us kindly.

  The door opened again a few minutes later, and a thin, balding man stood staring at her, wariness etched into his features.

  Laura swallowed. “Good evening, Mr. Truscott. I apologize for the unexpected call. But you did say if I were ever in Penzance, I should visit you.”

  “And you are?” he asked.

  “Laura Callaway. I wrote to you about your first wife, some months back. And I received your kind and, may I say, unexpected response.”

  His expression transformed into one of wonder, then fell. “You’ve missed the wedding, I’m afraid.”

  “I know. I hope it went off well?”

  “Yes, the new Mrs. Truscott and I are blissfully happy. I wish you could meet her, but her niece just had a child, and she has gone to stay the night with her so she can rest.”

  “How kind of her.”

  “Yes, that’s Ruth.” He shifted uneasily. “I know I offered you some reward, but now I fear you mistook me for a rich man. I hope you did not come all this way expecting a great deal of money.”

  “No, sir, I did not. We are . . . passing through, my friend and I, and our ship had to land unexpectedly and is unable to take us farther. If you happen to have a spare room—”

  “Your friend?” he asked, leaning to the side and looking toward Alex.

  Alexander stepped forward and bowed. “At your service, sir.”