Page 21 of A Castaway in Cornwall
He did understand English, then. The corners of his eyes crinkled with laughter lines, or perhaps he’d spent a lot of time in the sun at one point in his life, although at present he was quite pale. Either way, even that small smile lent attraction to his face, and she glimpsed dimples through his whiskers.
He resumed eating, though more slowly.
While he did so, she explained, “You also suffered from lung fever, but you seem to be well on your way to recovery.”
When he’d scraped every morsel, she handed him a table napkin, and he wiped his mouth as politely as any gentleman.
He handed back the bowl, pressed his lips together, and appeared to be gathering himself for a great speech. Then he said in a stilted manner, “Thank... you.”
She smiled. “You are very welcome, Mr....? I wish I knew what to call you.”
Again the dropping of eyes and careful thought before he replied. Then he slowly and carefully enunciated each syllable, “Alexander Lucas... ”
“Mr. Lucas, a pleasure to meet you.”
“And, em, you.”
He stilled and patted his chest as though for pockets and then looked over at the side table, expression pained anew to find it all but bare.
“My ... belongings?” he asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.
“Oh.” She went to the dressing chest and gathered the few things she’d discovered in his pocket. “I found these in your pantaloons.” She added awkwardly, “When we were laundering them, I mean.” She did not want to be thought a wrecker.
He accepted the coins and watch and studied them on his palm. “This ... is all?”
His English was excellent, yet there was a faint accent she couldn’t quite place.
“Yes, I am sorry. You wore no coat when we found you.”
He winced, then opened the watch.
“I cleaned and dried it as best I could, but it has stopped, I’m afraid. Perhaps a watchmaker might repair it. We haven’t a watchmaker here, but a larger town would.”
He nodded, but said no more.
Alexander stared at the watch and few coins in his hand, trying to remember. Where had the rest of his money gone? And his possessions—one possession in particular? Had it even been his? He’d held it in his grasp so fleetingly....
He looked again at the watch. His father had given it to him before he left home. It was precious to him, yet looking at it nowbrought only pain. Even so, he was glad it had not been lost to him, as had so many other things: his freedom, his brother, theVictorine, Enora, and nearly his own life.
He glanced up at the lovely young woman sitting beside him. Her voice was already familiar—he had heard her reading to him—though this was the first time he could see her face clearly. Before now, she’d seemed a figment of his imaginings—his fevered imaginings, apparently.
He’d thought he’d been dreaming. TheKittiwake’s cook had told him the local legend of a beautiful mermaid who’d lived in the estuary between the Atlantic and Padstow’s safe harbour. Centuries ago, a young man fell in love with her, but when she refused to marry him, he shot her in a jealous rage. In revenge for his vile act, the mermaid cursed the harbour by throwing sand into it, and ever since then, sailors had been dying on the sands of the Doom Bar.
In a haze of confusion, Alex had seen the blurred image of a red-haired woman bending over him, her windblown hair falling around her face, her eyes like amber pools. He’d thought the legend of the mermaid had invaded his dreams.
Now he knew the woman was real and had a name, although he’d already forgotten the whole. Laura something.
He ran a finger over the coins and another piece of memory returned. He’d used several coins to buy passage on a ship. And not only passage for himself, but for his closest friend. His heart began beating dully within him. Where was his friend now?
He wanted to blurt out all his questions and demand answers, but he refrained. He must tread carefully. He had not reached his hoped-for destination but had instead been cast ashore in unfamiliar territory. The woman had tried to reassure him, saying she was friend not foe. But loyalties, heknew, could change. It took only one glance at his stitches and rope-burned wrists to prove that fact. He would not trust again so easily.
After careful thought, he set the coins and watch on the side table. Then he took a deep breath and asked, “The other men?”
The young woman’s expression remained somber. “I am sorry to tell you they all died in the wreck. You were the only survivor.”
Waves of shock and grief washed over him, stronger than any gale. He felt a dozen vicious stab wounds, this time to his heart.No. God, no.
“We buried them in the churchyard,” she went on gently. “Everything was done properly, rest assured.”
