Page 115 of A Castaway in Cornwall
“Will you show me where they are buried?” Laura asked.
“Certainly—when you are more fully recovered. You are still quite weak.”
Laura turned to the older woman, who watched the reunion with misty eyes of her own. “Did you know my mother? Is that why you called me Sara?”
The nurse nodded. “Yes. I was at the harbour buying fish when you collapsed. You resemble her a great deal. I thought I was seeing a ghost.”
Laura smiled softly. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“Mrs. Tobin insisted your friend bring you here so she couldcare for you,” Aunt Susan explained. “She also devotedly nursed your mother throughout her illness.”
The woman’s chin trembled. “I only wish we could have saved her. Saved them both.”
Laura reached for her hand. “Thank you for trying.”
The wind picked up, and Mrs. Tobin insisted her patient move inside. So the women helped Laura to her feet and settled her in a snug parlour. Laura and her aunt sat near each other, Susan in a padded chair and Laura on the sofa. Mrs. Tobin discreetly left them to talk, only coming in to pour tea and offer sandwiches.
Laura sipped her tea, the questions she longed to ask lodged in her throat. Instead, she asked, “Do you live nearby?”
“I live here with Mrs. Tobin,” Susan explained, “and have ever since my husband’s death. I have been here all the while.”
“Have you? I did not realize.”
“I was getting over a cold when you arrived a few days ago, so I kept my distance. You were out of your senses from the fever, and the laudanum only made it worse. I was afraid you would not recover and I wouldn’t have a chance to”—her voice hitched—“explain.”
Laura swallowed hard and asked, “Why did you never contact me?”
Pain pinched the older woman’s features. “I did try, my dear. Please remember that I was seriously ill at the time and barely survived. And when I did begin to recover physically, I was overwhelmed with grief—grief over the deaths of my husband, beloved sister, and your father as well. I was laid low in a deep melancholy for a long while, unable to rouse myself even from bed. I had no interest in living, almost wishing I had died with the others.
“Then I remembered you. My sister’s daughter. I wrote toyour parents’ home address, but the house had been sold, and the new owners could provide no information about your whereabouts.
“I went through your mother’s letters and found the name of the girls’ seminary in one of them. I wrote to the school, and the matron wrote back with Mr. and Mrs. Bray’s direction in Oxford. But that letter was returned as undeliverable. Apparently, they had moved away.
“I also wrote to your father’s young partner and, through him, learned the name of your parents’ solicitor. He helped me track down an address for your aunt and uncle in Truro, but I never received a reply to that letter either. I began to think that perhaps you did not wish to be in contact with me. Or that the Brays did not wish it for some reason.”
Aunt Susan shook her head. “Had my husband lived, I might have been successful in discovering your whereabouts. But his connections to Britain, his access to official channels, died with him. And you must remember that France and England have been at war for years. It wasn’t exactly easy to convince anyone to spend time on what seemed to them a trivial domestic matter. I am ashamed to say I gave it up, figuring you were better off with your aunt Anne than with me, a guilty shell of a woman living in far-off Jersey.”
“Aunt Anne died in childbirth, not long after I went to live with them,” Laura said. “Uncle Matthew was a broken man as well. But eventually he rallied and married again. Through his second wife, he came into a living in the north of Cornwall.”
“Where?”
“St. Minver is the name of the parish. Near Padstow.”
“No wonder my letters went unanswered.”
Laura nodded. “Matthew Bray wrote to Uncle Hilgrove via the garrison, but the letter was returned, markedDeceased.”
Aunt Susan winced at the word. “Yes. I was convalescing here with Mrs. Tobin by then. Eventually, the new garrison commander moved into our former house. I was ill for so long, and my fate so uncertain, that I became a forgotten woman.”
“I am sorry.”
Susan rose and restlessly paced the room. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I should have tried harder, not given up. Will you forgive me?”
Laura looked up at her and saw not only her mother’s sister but also her mother herself, looking at her with pleading brown eyes so like her own, asking for forgiveness for leaving her. For losing her.
“Yes, of course I forgive you,” Laura said, thinking,I forgive you both.
Alexander walked through theHavre des Pasneighborhood, thinking about Laura. He knew he would soon have to leave her to go to France, and he was resolved to go alone. With his and his family’s futures so uncertain, he was in no position to do otherwise. But in the meantime, he prayed for her full recovery.
