Page 87 of A Castaway in Cornwall
She whispered to the others, “The militia are searching for Alexander.”
Eseld’s mouth formed anO, and Perry stepped nearer to reply without being heard by the others. “Do you know where he is?”
Laura hesitated. Both he and Eseld could be trusted, she believed, but neither were known for discretion. She made do with a nod.
The closure of the hatch had echoed through the church, then faded away, followed by Laura’s retreating footsteps before silence descended. Alexander stood in the cool grey-blue silence of St. Enodoc until his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Then he looked around the chancel, nave, side chapel, and entry porch—buried by sand and unusable. He walked slowly down the central aisle, past the transept leading to the tower, his boots clapping against the smooth slate floor, past rows of wooden pews to a granite font toward the rear. The font and rood screen seemed particularly ancient.
Walking back toward the altar, he sat in the front pew and looked up at the angled ceiling, the black arms of the wrought-iron chandelier holding ghostly white candle stubs. Soft twilight filtered through the modest green-glazed windows—one three-light window above the altar and another in the adjoining side chapel.
In that quiet, reverent place, prayer seemed natural. “Please protect Laura, Father. Let no harm come to her because of me. And in your mercy, please help me get home in time to help Alan.”
Alex then sat back to rest in the sanctuary’s peace... butthat peace was short-lived. Rapid footsteps approached—at least two or three people. The flash of torchlight flared through the glazed windows like a beacon.
“Let’s search the church,” a voice called.
Alexander’s pulse quickened. Remembering Laura’s warning, he tiptoed farther back and slipped into the entrance porch shrouded in sand. He stood still, straining to listen over his pounding heart. He heard the scraping of boots and a muttered epithet.
“Cursed sand is covering the door.”
“Is there another way in?”
Torchlight chased its way around the church, flashing on and off as it passed the high windows of the tower and transept. Alex dared a peek into the chancel. Ghoulish faces pressed to the glass, trying to see inside. He ducked back into the porch, behind the arched doorway, breathing hard. Could they see him? He doubted it, but better safe than sorry.
What should he do if the hatch opened and a searcher descended? Give himself up before violence might be done on either side? Hide in that ancient chest near the font? Try to escape out a high tower window? He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Again he prayed, this time silently and more desperately.Have mercy, Father!
Did he believe God would hear him? Answer him? After all, God had not prevented his ship’s capture, his imprisonment, or the shipwreck. But Hehadspared his life. Alexander hoped that meant God had a purpose for his remaining days beyond recapture.
Yes, he realized. He did believe the Almighty heard his prayers, although God had not promised he would not suffer. If the Father had allowed his beloved Son to suffer and die on this earth, why should a mere mortal like him expect a carefree life?
Your will be done, almighty God.
He heard an unexpected voice outside. A female voice but not Laura’s. The torches moved away from the windows, and darkness descended once more.
Alex closed his eyes in silent relief.
Laura was surprised to hear Kayna Roskilly’s voice. “I don’t think they use that church anymore, for obvious reasons.”
“And who are you, madam?” an officer asked.
“Miss Roskilly. My father is one of the owners of Pentireglaze mine.”
What is she doing here?Laura wondered. The Roskillys lived a few miles away, but surely she knew the vicar entered the church once a year—that therewasa way in. Was Kayna helping them, helping Alex, for some reason?
Laura whispered to Eseld, “What are you three doing out here? Last I saw you, you were at Miss Roskilly’s house.”
“When the constable arrived, Perry drove Kayna and me to his house to avoid the unpleasantness,” Eseld whispered back. “She is staying the night with me, says she’ll feel safer there after the theft. Since Roserrow is only a mile or so from Fern Haven, we decided to walk back, and Perry offered to escort us.”
When had Eseld and Miss Roskilly become such bosom friends? Laura wondered. Clearly while she had been preoccupied with Alexander.
“How nice,” Laura murmured and found she meant it. She was glad Eseld had a good friend, and that Perry had earned the girl’s affection at last. She hoped Eseld would endeavor to deserve him.
In the distance, the same officer asked, “What are you doing out here alone, miss? Or are you not alone, but with a certain Frenchman?”
“Certainly not. I don’t trust Frenchmen. I am out for a stroll with two friends. They shall rejoin me any time, I’m sure.”
Laura whispered a plan, and a few moments later the three walked casually through the lych-gate. At Laura’s nod, they began chatting of nonsense and of the temperate evening, hoping to be heard and avoid any panicked gunshots. As she’d guessed, two officers and François LaRoche stood in the churchyard near Kayna Roskilly.
