Page 79 of A Castaway in Cornwall
She held the candle to the neck while he again inserted a finger and, with effort, drew out a thin rectangle of paper that had been coiled beneath the letter. He flattened it, and they looked at its face. It was a bank note for fifty pounds, drawn on Mortlock’s Cambridge bank and signed by banker John Mortlock himself.
Alexander drew a long breath. “So it was François who stole from the superintendent’s office. My parole agent mentioned the theft to me.” He shook his head. “I cannot be caught with this. The militia would no doubt assume that I was the thief, if François has not already accused me.”
Laura held out her palm. “I will take it to the custom and excise office. It may not go back to the prison directly, but it will go back to our government, which is better than nothing.”
“I agree.” He relinquished the bank note with obvious relief.
Loud pounding shook the front door.
Startled, Laura impulsively grasped Alexander’s arm, her fingers curling partway around his sturdy bicep.
Had François come as he’d threatened to do?
She heard Newlyn’s timid tread, followed by the front door opening and an official-sounding voice announcing, “Lieutenant Moore and Ensign Rogers of the North Devon Militia, here to question yer houseguest.”
She didn’t recognize the officers’ names. Militia regiments were usually required to serve away from home, and were frequently moved to reduce the risk of them sympathizing with locals during times of civil unrest.
Alexander stepped forward, but Laura held him back, whispering, “Not yet. Not while we have the bank note. Go out the kitchen door and back to Miss Chegwin’s. Stay out of sight.”
“I don’t like the thought of running.”
“And I don’t like the thought of you returning to prison.”
He ran a hand over his face. “Very well.” He slipped out, and she gingerly closed the door behind him. Hopefully, no one would see him from the windows.
She tiptoed into the passage and from there heard voices in the parlour. Uncle Matthew, Mrs. Bray, and the two militia officers.
“He has been gone since early this morning, I believe,” Mrs. Bray said. “I don’t know if he plans to return, though I assumed so.”
Her uncle added, “He would not leave without saying good-bye.”
The parlour door closed, muffling their voices.
Laura wished she could hear what they were saying but did not want to be caught eavesdropping.
The officers must have asked to see the room where their guest had been staying, for a few minutes later the parlour door opened again and Mrs. Bray led them upstairs. Laura ducked back into the kitchen, unnoticed.
What conclusions would they draw from his few possessions, a borrowed Bible, and pair of shoes? Had he left his watch? Would they open the back as she had done and see it had been made by a French watchmaker? Unlikely. Thankfully, he possessed little else to give away his nationality.
While Laura considered her next move, Eseld arrived home, sneaking through the kitchen door as Laura and Alexander had done, looking a little guilty.
Seeing her, Eseld pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh, good. It’s only you.”
Laura vaguely wondered where she had been but let the comment pass. She asked, “Are you still going to Padstow with Miss Roskilly this afternoon?”
“Yes. Have you changed your mind?”
“I think I will go with you.”
Eseld’s face brightened. “Excellent. I am meeting her at the ferry in an hour’s time. Your uncle has offered to drive me.”
The girl was always eager to visit the shops of larger Padstow. Laura did not tell her shopping was not why she wanted to go to town that day.
At the kitchen door, Eseld turned back. “Have you any spending money?”
Laura nodded. “I plan to leave Padstow with a lighter purse.”
Eseld grinned. “That’s the spirit!”
