Page 97 of A Castaway in Cornwall
“I see.”
Treeve cocked his head to the side. “Have some sailing experience, do you?”
Alexander flashed an ironic smile. “A bit.”
As they sailed south, the lugger moved easily through the swell without taking on water or broaching. Thankfully, the breeze was steady and the sea mild.
“Coming about,” the skipper called. “Watch the boom.”
Finally, when they safely passed Gulland Rock and Trevose Head, Laura released her first easy breath.
She felt Treeve studying her profile. “You look exhausted,” he said. “Why don’t you go below and get some sleep? The cabin is small, but there are bunks and a mess.” He pointed to the deck doors in the bulkhead. “I’ll show you. It’s a little tricky.”
Sliding back the cabin hatch, the smells of damp nets, fish, smoke, and sweat assailed her.
“Sorry. Still smells like pilchards, I know. Though nowadays, she carries less odoriferous cargo. Watch your head.”
She knew he referred to smuggling cargo, likely tobacco, brandy, and the like.
Going below, he lit a candle lamp from the embers in the stove and set it on the shelf. She saw the cabin had five bunks, three across the transom and two on either side. Oilskin hats and coats swung gently from nails beside each. A miniatureblack lead range was bolted to the floor, while lockers on either side held coal for the fire.
“We use that for cooking fish or heating pasties,” Treeve explained. “We eat simply while on board.”
There was also a small enclosure in the fore of the cabin: a bunk with walls on three sides that offered a bit more privacy than the others.
Treeve gestured to it. “You may have my bunk. Probably the cleanest and most comfortable.”
Laura hesitated. “I don’t know that I should.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Miss Callaway, you are a single female on a ship of men. I fear it is futile to worry about propriety at this point.”
She sighed ruefully. “True.”
He pointed to a crate near the stove. “There are potatoes and bread, along with butter and cheese. You can heat water for tea on the stove.”
“I think I’ll just lie down for a while, if that’s all right.”
“Of course.” He gestured to his bunk. “My castle is your castle.”
“Won’t you need to sleep?”
“I may come back and join you later.”
Her mouth fell open. “Treeve!”
He grinned. “Teasing. Mostly.”
“Just wake me in a few hours, and I’ll get up so you can sleep.”
“Very well. If the night remains quiet, I may. Take care with that candle. Don’t want to start a fire.”
“I shall.”
Treeve paused, then said, “I suppose your Frenchman should stay out of sight as much as possible. Do you mind if I send him down? He can take one of the other bunks, assuming you trust him in such close quarters?”
“I do. And you are kind to think of him.”
“I am not so selfless. If the militia or one of the revenue ships is searching for him, I don’t want to give them any reason to stop us.”
