Page 31 of A Castaway in Cornwall
“Oh, I quite forgot.”
Alexander looked at her, brows high in surprise and perhaps concern. She looked away, pushing a piece of mackerel around her plate.
Noticing her discomfort, Eseld took up the conversation.
“I remember looking for Jersey on a map once. In the English Channel, is it not? Much closer to France than England.”
“True.” Mr. Lucas nodded. “Only twelve nautical miles.”
“What sort of food do they eat there? Not mackerel and turnips, I trust.” Eseld wrinkled her nose at her barely touched plate.
“We ate much seafood, as here. Fish and a great deal of crab, lobster, oysters, whelks, and the like, along with many fresh vegetables. Less mutton, perhaps. There were also traditional Jersey dishes like sweet cakes, bean crock, and pickled ormers.”
“Ormers?” Eseld asked suspiciously.
“A mollusk. Calledabalonehere, I believe. Most delicious.”
This time Laura barely resisted wrinkling her nose. She liked fish but was not fond of snails and other mollusks.
“You were traveling by merchantman, I understand,” Mrs. Bray said. “Are you a sailor or a merchant or...?” She let the question dangle and waited expectantly.
He hesitated, sipping from his glass and wiping his table napkin over his mouth before answering. “I am ... a sailor, yes.”
Laura remembered him mentioning being educated at Cambridge and on the continent, and he certainly sounded the part. Was he really a simple sailor?
At his reply, Mrs. Bray’s interest dimmed, and she asked her husband to pass the sauce for the fish.
Eseld spoke up again. “What will you do now, Mr. Lucas?”
“Try to get home,” he replied, this time without hesitation.
Mrs. Bray nodded and said coolly, “Good idea.”
“But first he must fully recover,” her uncle interjected, giving the man a kind smile. “There’s no hurry.”
As they finished the meal, Laura asked, “How about some fresh air, Mr. Lucas? Just out to the garden?”
He smiled in apparent relief. “Thank you, yes.”
“I will join you,” Eseld said, setting aside her table napkin.
But her mother laid a hand over hers. “Eseld, my dear, there is a chill wind today; perhaps you had better remain indoors and rest.”
Eseld’s lower lip stuck out in a pout, but she protested no further.
Uncle Matthew insisted Alexander borrow one of his coats.
“One of the older ones, please,” Mrs. Bray clarified.
A few minutes later, Laura and Alexander walked outside and slowly around the garden, she in her pelisse and wool shawl, and he in Uncle Matthew’s dark brown coat. The garden was fading now but still lovely with its golden mums, dried hydrangeas, Michaelmas daisies, and the leaves of barberry shrubs turning red and bronze.
“Shall we sit a moment?” She gestured to a garden bench sheltered by an arched, vine-clad arbor.
His gaze lingered on it. “We have one like this at home.”
They sat quietly for a few moments, then he said, “I would like to visit my friend’s grave soon, if you could show me the way.”
“Of course. Would tomorrow suit?”
