Page 74 of A Castaway in Cornwall
She nodded. “The Transport Office. This newspaper was not my first indication that you and your friend might be prisoners of war. I am also fairly certain that your name is not Lucas. Am I right, Captain Carnell?”
Breton vessels were [once] a regular feature of Cornish ports, as were the Breton residents in many port towns. A common language and their status as semi-autonomous states linked Brittany and Cornwall.
—HELENDOE,THEMARITIMEHISTORYOFCORNWALL: ANINTRODUCTION
Chapter 14
Atense moment followed Laura’s challenge. Alexander grimaced and looked around. “Where can we talk privately?”
Without a word, she led him to Miss Chegwin’s cottage, knowing the older woman would not mind and that she and Jago had gone to take a meal to the Penberthy family. Laura supposed she should not risk being alone with the man now that she knew he was a French prisoner of war, but logical or not, she was not afraid of him.
They sat together in the quiet sitting room, early-afternoon sunlight and a chilly draft coming in through the small windows. Brea Cottage was damp and cold, but at least they were out of the biting wind.
Looking grim yet resolute, he began, “You are right. My name is Capitaine Alexander Lucas Carnell.”
Laura had guessed as much but still flinched to hear him say the words, the name, with a decidedly French pronunciation... She drew a shaky breath and asked, “A captain of...?”
“The French navy.”
Just as LaRoche had intimated. A lump of betrayal lodged in her throat. “But you told us you were from Jersey and had been educated in Cambridge. Were those lies too?”
He shook his head. “I concealed my nationality to avoid recapture, but most of what I told you is true. I spent many happy summers with my grandparents who lived on Jersey. And yes, I was educated in England as well as in France. My mother was a British diplomat’s daughter. That is how she met my father, who is fromCornouaille.”
He pronounced itCorn-uh-way, which sounded a bit likeCornwall.
“In the Bretonlanguage, we sayKernev,”he explained. “It is a region of Bretagne, in France. You call it Brittany.”
“Brittany...” Realization flared. “Miss Chegwin said something about that. Is that why you understand Cornish?”
He nodded. “I had always heard there were ancient ties between ourregion and Cornwall, and that Breton is quite similar to the old Cornish language, though I’d never heard it till I met your Miss Chegwin.”
“I see.” Noticing his eyebrow and lip were still bleeding, as well as his hand, Laura retrieved a cloth and Mary’s medicine case and began cleaning his wounds with one of her fragrant salves.
Barely hiding a grimace, he explained, “After a few terms at Cambridge, I returned home and enlisted in the navy. About a year and a half ago, my ship, theVictorine, was captured during a battle, and I was taken prisoner along with my men. We were transported to the Norman Cross prison, north of Cambridge.” He added wryly, “Not exactly how I imagined returning to my alma mater.”
She dabbed the ointment on his cut eyebrow as he continued.
“I was surprised to find François also in the prison. He was from my home village. I had known him since boyhood and heard he’d begun spying for the British. At first I did not believe those rumors. I reasoned that if hewasworking for the British, they would not leave him locked up in that remote prison. They would covertly have him released, perhaps in a prisoner exchange. But no.
“I saw him talking to the prison superintendent more than once, and it made me wonder. ... With that many captive French officers, not to mention the Dutch and other French allies from Spain, Italy, and some German states, there was plenty of information to be had at Norman Cross. And although clandestine correspondence was prohibited, some sneaked through, especially among the paroled officers. François hinted that this was why he stayed.”
She moved on to his injured mouth, lingering there, noticing again that his lips were fuller at the center.
“For some time I lived in the barracks with my men. The place was overcrowded, but being an officer, I was eligible for parole in a neighboring town. When ... conditions in the prison worsened, I accepted. It was not true freedom, as we were required to remain within the town limits and observe a strict curfew, but once on parole, I was able to send and receive a few clandestine letters of my own. Through one of these, I learned Daniel’s wife was expecting a child and my father was ill, and through another, that my brother, Alan, had been arrested as a spy and was being held in a French prison. I feared every day would be his last. So many royalists had already been executed.”
Compassion swept over Laura. She longed to comfort him but—still stung by his deception—concentrated on treating his wounds instead.
Alexander went on, “They allowed me to have one of mymen live with me as a servant, providing I would vouch for his character. I requested Daniel. Once I learned of Alan’s imprisonment, I determined to try to get home to help him, but I never should have asked Daniel to escape with me. He might have lived out the rest of the war in prison and then gone home to his wife and child. At the time, I felt justified because Daniel was sickly. I thought I was helping him. I did not think through the possible consequences. It’s my fault he’s dead.”
Laura’s heart squeezed. “You were trying to help a friend. You could not have predicted shipwreck.”
“True. Still, I knew the risks, though we were both eager to return home. Him for the birth of his child and me to help Alan. We disagree politically, but he is my brother, and I love him.”
“That’s why you said you could understand my mother’s urgency to go to Jersey and try to save her sibling,” Laura observed.
“Exactement.”
Laura blinked. It was the first time he had spoken French to her.
