Page 43 of A Castaway in Cornwall
“Sixteen ... no, seventeen years now. How quickly time passes. I am ashamed to say I cannot recall the exact date, but my father could no doubt tell you to the hour.”
They reached Fern Haven, and he held the gate for her.
“Thank you,” Laura said. “And thank you again for coming to my aid.” In the shadows, she reached for his hand and squeezed his fingers.
“It was my pleasure,” he replied, stepping closer.
An unexpected urge to kiss him washed over Laura. She banished the startling impulse and quickly let herself into the house before she could act on it.
As Laura made her way downstairs for breakfast, she saw Mrs. Bray holding Uncle Matthew’s black greatcoat—the one Laura had worn the night before—at arm’s length. Nose wrinkled and face puckered, she marched into her husband’s study and asked, “Why does your best coat smell of rotting fish?”
Laura gave a guilty wince as the door closed behind them and tiptoed into the dining room.
She had taken one bite of toast when Mr. Lucas entered.
“Good morning, Miss Callaway,” he said, giving her a fond smile.
A strange warmth spread through her chest at the sight of him. Her rescuer of the night before was looking especially handsome with his hair combed back and a freshly shaven face.
“Good morning, Mr. Lucas.”
Displeasure flickered over his countenance, and his smile dimmed for some reason. Had she said or done something wrong? Have marmalade on her face or crumbs in her teeth? She quickly raised her table napkin and dabbed at her mouth, just in case.
After helping himself to a plate of eggs and kipper from the sideboard, he sat across from her and said, “I have been thinking about your pastime.”
“Oh?”
“Have you received other responses, besides the letter you recently described to me?”
She nodded. “A few. Some have thanked me for letting them know. A wife wrote that she had already seen news of the ship’s fate but appreciated the confirmation that her husband had been properly buried. And one family came here to retrieve their grandson’s Bible.”
He tilted his head. “Are the people who reply to your letters always thankful? As Sophocles said, ‘No one loves the messenger who brings bad news.’”
“Good point. And you’re right. Not all have been thankful. I received one very angry letter.” She gave a dry chuckle. “Perhaps it is God’s way of keeping me humble.”
“Can you tell me what the letter said?”
“If you give me a moment, you can read it yourself.” She went upstairs to retrieve the letter from her desk and handed it to him upon her return. Laura stood at his shoulder as he read the words, though she remembered them all too well.
Miss Callaway,
I know you meant well in writing to inform us of Lt. John Hathaway’s death. John was my only son, and I loved him, despite his flaws. As long as he was alive, or believed to be alive, his sisters and I could go on living in Hathaway House, safe and provided for. My husband died last year. And since then his will has been held in probate court. The estate is entailed, and goes to our son, John, if living, and if deceased, to the next closest male heir, my husband’s nephew. But thanks to your confirmation of my son’s death, the wheels of probate are once again turning, and the will is soon to be executed. I am to have a small annuity, barely enough to live on, while my husband’s heir is to have the house and all the rest. This nephew demands that we leave, as we have no legal right to stay and he says he has no reason to go on housing and feeding us, insolent devil that he is!
What are my poor girls and I to do with a mere one hundred pounds a year to live on? If one of my daughters does not marry well soon, I fear it will be the workhouse for us, all thanks to you.
Think twice before you meddle again.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Eugenia Hathaway
The words were a blow to Laura’s stomach, just as they had been the first time she’d read them. She had wanted to do some good, not make anyone’s life worse.
“Do not feel bad. It was not your fault,” Mr. Lucas said. “Would the son not eventually have been declared dead?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “The woman was upset and probably regrets writing such a mean-spirited letter.”
