Page 24 of A Castaway in Cornwall
Before you judge me to be heartless, allow me to confide that Prudie left me for a smuggler more than two years ago. They met while he was here in Penzance, and he convinced her to sail away with him. She was sure great adventure and romance awaited her. She did not go off in secret, but brazenly announced her plan and asked for whatever remained of her modest dowry to help fund her expenses. She was not worried that the amount was small, certain her new lover would be able to provide for her richly from the spoils of his nefarious trade.
At the time, I was hurt—my pride and my heart. But since then, I realized she had not loved me in years, if ever, for all of my misspent devotion. All the same, I would have gone on providing and caring for her had she stayed. But she did not.
Since her departure, I have slowly formed a friendship with a neighbor, an upstanding widow of sterling character. A godly, church-going woman. Ruth Hodge has accepted my friendship and occasional companionship over a meal or friendly game of draughts, but no farther. I have fallen completely in love with her and wished I’d had the sense to marry her or someone like her years ago when I’d had my chance.
As it was, Ruth would not have me. She was fond of me, I knew. Even loved me. But as long as I had a wife living, she would not consent to be mine. For my wife might return any day, she reasoned, beg forgiveness, and ask me to take her back, which according to Ruth, I would be obligated to do.
So I have been trapped.Wehave been trapped in a torturous, yearning purgatory of Prudie’s making.
Now, after receiving your letter, Prudie’s calling card, a lock of her auburn hair, and the clipped article from theWest Britonnewspaper, my dear Mrs. Hodge has at last agreed to become the new Mrs. Truscott. My genuine better half, helpmeet, and true love.
I am the happiest of men, and it is thanks to you.
I realize the chances are remote, but we invite you to our wedding breakfast on the third of the month, or to visit us should you ever be in our part of Cornwall. I will happily reward you for your kind offices, a reward I dare not include within for fear of theft, but yours for the asking at Quayside Cottage.
My deepest gratitude,
John Truscott
Penzance, Cornwall
Laura’s emotions swung from disbelief to amazement. Reading the final lines a second time, she blew out a breath of relief. Of all the responses she’d anticipated, she’d never expected this. She had written several letters during her years on the coast but had received few replies. This ranked as one of the most surprising.
Her spirits buoyed by the letter, Laura walked into the guest room with a lighter heart and a smile on her face. She was pleased to find their guest sitting up and wide awake, a breakfast tray on his lap.
“Good morning, Mr. Lucas,” Laura said. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better, thank you.” He studied her. “What has you looking so happy this morning?”
“I received a surprising letter—rather diverting, actually.”
“Oh?” he said. “May I ask what about?”
She began explaining the gist of the husband’s letter about his wayward wife, but seeing Mr. Lucas’s expression harden, she broke off. “Sorry. I should not speak lightly of another shipwreck victim when your loss is so new.”
He stared at the wall. “I can relate to the man’s emotions, but I am afraid I don’t find the circumstances at all amusing.”
Laura’s chest suddenly felt heavy. “Pray, forgive me.”
“Not your fault. I asked.”
Miss Chegwin came in and beamed at the pair of them.
“Sitting up and talking! Now, that is what I like to see. That is what I call progress.”
Laura was relieved at her arrival and the change in topic. “Mary Chegwin, this is Alexander Lucas.”
“Well now. I suppose this means I shall have to stop calling youmy ’ansome.How do’ee feel, Mr. Lucas?”
“I hardly know.”
“Well, the mind is sometimes the last to heal.”
“He asked about the other men,” Laura said. “I told him of their fate.”
Mary Chegwin’s face fell. “Did’ee? Ah.” She clucked. “Poor dear.”
The older woman studied her patient. “Know what’ll make’ee feel better? A good wash and shave. Maybe a haircut.” She lifted a tray upon which Laura saw scissors, a razor, and the like.
