Page 39 of A Castaway in Cornwall
“Have you found anything else?”
“Many things. I have something of a collection.”
Interest brightened his eyes. “Really?”
Laura nodded, self-conscious under his gaze. “I hope you don’t think it wrong of me. If I found cargo meant for resale, I would not keep it. But personal items I hold on to for a year and a day per the old decree, in case the owner should come to reclaim them. After that I sometimes sell them to the antiqueand curiosity dealer in Padstow. I am loath to sell anything that might be important to someone’s next of kin, but I also want to contribute to my upkeep here.” She did not mention she was also saving money for a hoped-for journey.
“Do the Brays expect you to contribute?”
“My uncle does not. Mrs. Bray ... Well, she makes it clear such offerings are welcome and her due. Another mouth to feed and all that.”
In the hearth, a log fell and sparks rose from the grate.
“May I ask how you came to live with them?”
“Certainly. It’s no secret. My parents left me at a girls’ school outside of Oxford when I was twelve, then sailed away to Jersey, never to return.”
His eyes widened. “That must have been... difficult.”
She fingered the trim of her sleeve before answering. “I begged to go with them, but they refused. I felt abandoned when they left me behind.”
“Why did they go to Jersey?”
“My mother’s sister lived there. It was difficult for Mamma when Aunt Susan married and moved far away. They had always been extraordinarily close, or so it seemed to me, never having a sister of my own. I did have a baby brother, but he died young.”
“I am sorry.”
“Thank you. When Mamma received a letter informing her that her sister was ill, she panicked and was determined to go and help her at any cost.”
Alexander leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I can understand that. The desire to help, to save a dear sibling.”
She paused, studying his expression. “Can you?”
“Yes, but we were speaking of you.”
She continued, “My mother insisted Father close up his practice and travel with her. He was a physician, you see.”
“Ah.” He smiled at the significance. “No doubt the reason you are an excellent nurse. What took your aunt and her husband to Jersey?”
“Uncle Hilgrove had been stationed there. In charge of one of the British garrisons, I believe, though I was rather young and may not remember the details correctly. Sadly, whatever disease my aunt suffered from claimed my parents as well. Instead of curing her, they apparently both died trying to save her life. Our old housekeeper came to the school to deliver the news in person.”
Laura would never forget the day the matron escorted Mrs. Rouncewell into her room at the girls’ seminary, a letter from a stranger—some clerk in Jersey—in her hand.
She went on, “After that, the matron reviewed my enrollment records and found that my parents had listed Father’s younger sister—Mrs. Anne Bray—as my next of kin after them. The matron wrote to the Brays, and they came to fetch me. Aunt Anne and her husband were preparing to move to Truro, where he had been offered a curacy. They took me with them. I had met Aunt Anne before and liked her, and I quickly became fond of Uncle Matthew as well. They were rather poor but happy, and very kind to me.
“Knowing education was important to my parents, they enrolled me in a girls’ school near them in Truro so they could visit me and I could go to them at holidays.”
Laura looked off into her memories and found Aunt Anne’s lovely, gentle face. “I have never seen two people happier than when my aunt announced she was with child. Sadly, their happiness was short-lived. She died in childbirth.” Laura sighed. “After that, I stayed home with my uncle. Truly, he was so low in spirits that I was afraid to leave him. But he eventually rallied. He met Lamorna Mably, a widow herself, and through herconnections in this parish, he was offered the living here. We have resided in her home these last eight years.”
“Your home now too, surely.”
Laura shook her head. “Fern Haven has always seemed like her and Eseld’s home, not mine, being no blood relation to anyone under its roof.” She raised a palm. “I am not complaining. Mrs. Bray is tetchy but not cruel, and Uncle Matthew is good and loving to me, out of respect for his first wife’s memory, I suppose.”
“Or perhaps simply because you are lovable.”
Her eyes flashed to his.
He looked away first and cleared his throat. “Were you left nothing when your parents died?”
