Page 22 of A Castaway in Cornwall
She gazed at him, her golden brown eyes glimmering with compassion. “Were you ... close to the others?”
He nodded, no longer seeing her, but rather Daniel’s face. He murmured, more to the departed man than to her, “My friend, my good friend...”
Then he looked at her again, an ember of hope flaring. “Are you certain?”
She hesitated. “What did your friend look like?”
He thought, then said, “Shorter than I am. Straight black hair. Dark eyes.”
She winced apologetically. “That is a fairly general description. Give me a few minutes, and I shall bring in my list.”
She soon returned and flipped through a bound journal until she reached a certain page and then began to read, “‘Man aged 40–45. Grey hair. Green eyes. Rotund. Still wearing apron.’ Perhaps the cook?” She glanced up at him for confirmation.
He nodded. “Yes.”
She continued, “‘Man aged 25–30. Black hair. Brown eyes. Strawberry birthmark on his left brow... ’”
Alexander’s heart deflated and his face crumpled in grief. “Yes. He had such a mark.”Oh, Daniel. I am sorry, my friend.
His eyes filled, and he turned his face away. Would she think less of him for weeping? At the moment, he did not care. He wiped his eyes with the napkin and held out his hands for the journal.
She handed it over, and he read through the rest of the list himself.
Initials T.O. inside his waistband and thecollar of his shirt.Alex stilled, nerves prickling through him. Did she know what those initials meant?
He read further.
Boy aged 13–15. Red hair. Blue eyes. Freckles.
“Oh no.” He groaned. “The boy too?”Dear God, why the boy? So young...
He read on, recognizing descriptions of the captain and several others of the crew. There was one more description he’d expected to see. He turned the page, but nothing else was written.
“This is all?” he asked.
“Yes. We buried nine—eight men and a boy.”
“There was at least one more.” He flipped back and read through the list again. “Did one man have a scar on his left cheek, like a shepherd’s crook?”
He drew the shape on his own cheek.
“No. I would have noticed and written it down.” She reached over and tapped the page.
“Are you sure? He had long dark hair and fair eyes.”
She paused to consider. “I suppose it’s possible I missed such a detail. Some of the bodies had been battered by the rocks, sorry to say. But I am ... fairly certain.”
Alexander muttered an epithet under his breath. “Then one man is not accounted for.”
“Bodies don’t always come to shore immediately. He might wash up farther down the coast. And some never reappear at all.”
Uneasiness filled him. He grimaced but said no more.
She rose. “I know this has been difficult news, so I will leave you for a while. May I bring you anything before I go?”
He shook his head but did not meet her eyes. There was only one thing he needed, but he feared it was lost forever.
Laura left Alexander Lucas to grieve. She wished her uncle or Miss Chegwin had been there to deliver the somber news and comfort him afterward. Either of them would have done it more tactfully, she imagined. Her heart went out to the poor fellow.
