Page 78 of A Castaway in Cornwall
—WESTBRITON, NOVEMBER1810
Chapter 15
Together, they walked back to Fern Haven. There, they stood warming themselves by the kitchen fire, quiet at this time of day, when Wenna rested between meals. After a few moments of silence, Alexander asked, “Will you give me the flask and a few minutes of privacy to read the letter—assuming it’s still there? I have been waiting a long time to discover what it contains.”
Laura considered. “No.”
“No?” His brow furrowed.
“You have lied, and I have corroborated your lies to protect you. We are in this together. For better or worse.”
“Be careful,ma chère.I said those words once and lived to regret them.”
She met his gaze. “Even so. I will read it with you.”
“Very well. I will trust you.”
“Will you?”
“It seems I must.”
She retrieved the flask from where she had hidden it and, when she returned, said, “I still don’t see how one letter might exonerate your brother.”
“I’ll explain. Officials learned that information was traveling from Brittany to the British. They had traced the source to a port near our home and began searching for an informant. François fell under suspicion, and I believe he pointed a finger at Alan to save his own neck.”
She handed him the flask. He removed the cap and set it aside while she lit a candle from the kitchen fire and trained its light on the mouth.
“I don’t see anything,” she said.
He reached up and directed her hand. “Bring the light a little closer.”
She did so and glimpsed paper curled around the interior. “There is something.”
With his finger, he drew out a rolled letter. Straightening it, he began reading and soon grimaced. “So the rumors about François were true. This is a letter to him from the British officer Philippe d’Auvergne.”
The name didn’t sound British to Laura, though it did seem vaguely familiar. “I believe I have seen his name in the newspapers.”
Alexander nodded. “D’Auvergne is stationed on Jersey. He sends men into France to gather information to help the British. Our government knows of him, has even contemplated another invasion of Jersey to stop him, but it has not yet transpired.”
He raised the letter. “This proves François is working for the British. Or was. It does not directly exonerate Alan, but hopefully with this evidence that the local informant they were seeking was LaRoche, they might release Alan.”
He looked toward the door. “I have to take this to France. Thelonger I remain here, the more I endanger you and your family. If François comes to Fern Haven it will not be a pleasant reunion, and I don’t want you or your loved ones in harm’s way.”
“Do you really think we are at risk?”
“If you are sheltering me, you might be. I need to find a ship to take me to Brittany, or at least the Channel Islands. Do you know anyone who might be persuaded?”
“Most of the vessels here are simple fishing boats or, in all honesty, smugglers’ ships. Surely you don’t want to—”
“That would be perfect, actually. They go regularly to the Channel Islands to trade, do they not?”
“I believe so.” She added dryly, “Unfortunately, I am not personally acquainted with many smugglers.”
He cocked one eyebrow. “Are you sure? What about Treeve Kent?”
Laura paused, recalling seeing Treeve with Tom Parsons the night of the wreck and during the late-night landing of smuggled goods. Yes, Treeve had connections all right, but would he be willing to help a French prisoner of war?
Alexander’s frown pulled Laura from her thoughts as he once again peered inside the flask. “Hold on. What’s this?”
