Page 55 of A Castaway in Cornwall
As they neared Pentire House, Laura’s stomach quivered in a bundle of nerves, and she gripped her hands tightly on her lap.
Perry, ever observant, asked, “Feeling all right?”
Laura forced a smile. “Perfectly well.”
She did not tell them the man living with the mineowner’s family might be dangerous. She had only Alexander’s word for it. For some time, she had known Mr. Lucas was hiding something and suspected he may have lied about his identity. What else might he be lying about? She did not want to besmirch François LaRoche’s character before she’d had a chance to talk to the man herself.
When they arrived, they entered the stately stone house andwere shown into the drawing room. There, a stranger sat low in an armchair, wearing, she surmised, Mr. Roskilly’s long, patterned banyan. His hands, with bruised knuckles, rested on the upholstered arms. He looked like a slouching king on a throne.
Miss Roskilly sat on the sofa near him, one hand on the long narrow bolster. The man raised a languid finger and stroked the back of it. Kayna looked down, blushing. They were the picture of a romantic tête-à-tête.
The butler announced their arrival, startling Kayna. Her guest looked up when Laura and Eseld entered but did not rise. His long dark hair fell back from his face, revealing striking blue eyes and an upper lip much fuller than the bottom. Dark whiskers dotted fair skin, less thick than Alexander’s had been. His eyebrows, she noticed, were also sparser. Miss Roskilly had said he was handsome. Laura was not sure she agreed.
The man looked from female to female, eyes alight with interest and perhaps appreciation. He gave a slow, closed-mouth smile. The expression creased his left cheek more deeply than a dimple, revealing a deep scar in the shape of a shepherd’s crook.
Recalling Alexander’s warning, Laura stopped where she was, going no closer.
Kayna Roskilly began, “Miss Mably and Miss Callaway, please meet François LaRoche.”
“Enchanté,” he said.
“Dr. Kent you already know,” she continued. “And this is his brother, Treeve.”
The men nodded to one another.
“Do tell us about your experience,monsieur,” Eseld urged. “Miss Roskilly said you survived by strapping yourself into one of theKittiwake’slifeboats?”
LaRoche nodded. “That’s right.Le bateaurolled on the sea like a toy. Laid upon her beam-ends until I was sure to capsizeany moment...” The Frenchman went on to regale them with the story of his escape, his accent heavier and more foreign than Alexander’s.
When he finished his “heroic” tale, Laura thought of what Mr. Lucas had said about this man cutting loose the other lifeboat before anyone else could escape. Was it true? Should she ask?
Hedging, she said, “The others were not so fortunate,monsieur. At least eight men and a boy were left on board with no way to escape. Was there only one boat?”
He looked at her, eyes narrowing. “There was one more, but I believe the other men were washed overboard before they could get to it.Quel dommage.”
Laura held his gaze. “One man survived anyway, thank God.”
“The other survivor I mentioned has been recovering at Fern Haven under Miss Callaway’s care,” Kayna explained.
The Frenchman’s blue eyes glinted. “Lucky man.”
Laura gestured to Perran and added quickly, “Dr. Kent tended him as well.”
Perry nodded, then said, “Perhaps you know each other, though I realize if you were passengers instead of crew, you might not be acquainted.”
A line appeared between the man’s brows. “A passenger, you say?”
“Yes.” Laura felt an unexpected wave of protectiveness wash over her. If Alexander Lucas was not who he’d said he was, did she want this stranger to expose him in front of so many? And he not there to defend himself? She licked dry lips and chose her words carefully. “Though perhaps you are not acquainted, because when he heardyourname, he said little about you. Only that you two met on the ship.”
“Did he?” LaRoche twisted a gold ring on his little finger.“The only passengers I knew were men named Marchal and Carnell.”
Marchal had been the name of Alexander’s friend, Laura recalled. The latter name sounded familiar as well. Had that been the surname embroidered inside thechapeau brasshe’d found? She lifted her chin and said evenly, “Several victims were unidentified, but the survivor’s name is Mr. Lucas.”
He hesitated, eyes glinting. “Lucas, is it? Interesting. Then perhaps he is not the man I thought him. And Marchal?”
“Buried in the churchyard, I’m afraid.”
“Well, that is something. And how is this Mr. Lucas? Recovered from our ... mishap?”
