Page 81 of A Castaway in Cornwall
Her uncle gave her a hand up, and the three of them departed.
As they topped the rise, Laura risked a glance over her shoulder, but LaRoche had already disappeared.
Reaching Black Rock a short while later, Eseld and Laura alighted at the quay to meet Miss Roskilly. They waited for nearly a quarter of an hour, but there was no sign of her. The ferryman signaled it was time to depart.
“Do you want to keep waiting?” Laura asked.
Eseld shook her head. “Something must have happened to prevent her coming. The tide is high now. Let’s go while we can.”
They paid their pence and climbed aboard, greeting the ferryman, whom they’d known for years.
Just as his son Martyn untied the rope and was about to cast off, a man jumped aboard. François LaRoche.
Laura’s stomach clenched and her pulse pounded. She felt trapped.
“Miss Callaway.Enchanté.”He turned his wolfish smile on her companion. “And Miss...?Excusez-moi, I forget your name. A friend of Miss Roskilly’s, I know.”
“Mably,” Laura answered in Eseld’s stead.
Something about the man put even the usually flirtatious young woman on her guard. Eseld murmured, “Monsieur,” but did not smile or engage him in conversation.
LaRoche sidled up beside Laura. “What business have you in Padstow?”
“None of yours, I assure you.” The lie smote her. “And you?”
Perhaps she should like him better now that she knew he was a spy for the British, but she did not. Nor did she trust him.
“I wonder if you have something of mine,” he said. “Something I would very much like returned.”
“Do you accuse me of theft,monsieur?”
“Not you. But perhaps your guest?”
Laura took Eseld’s arm, and the two moved closer to the ferryman, but to her dismay LaRoche moved closer too.
“How are you, Mr. Wilkes?” she asked in a neighborly manner, seeking his protection, even if he was unaware of it.
The man looked a little bleary-eyed and smelled of ale. Hopefully, he was fit to navigate the estuary, and to intervene if LaRoche tried to harm her.
As they neared Padstow, Laura sneaked a small item from her reticule into one of her kid gloves, just in case. Then she turned to LaRoche. “I am going to speak to one of the customs officers now, if you will excuse me.”
She hoped mentioning her plan to meet with a British official would dissuade François from following her.
When they docked in Padstow, Laura and Eseld walked around the quay, following the strand to the tall custom house and warehouse. The rubblestone-and-brick building had white frame windows and stood close to the water’s edge, overlooking the harbour.
“Must I go in with you,” Eseld moaned, “when there is a perfectly good milliner’s shop right up the street?”
Laura hesitated. “Oh, very well. But meet me back here. Don’t wander off. I may need you.”
“Need me for what?”
“Never mind—just don’t be long.”
No sooner had Eseld entered the milliner’s shop than François stepped in front of Laura, blocking her entrance to the custom house.
“Again,mademoiselle, I must ask if you have something that belongs to me.”
The door opened, and a man in a dark, unpretentious uniform stepped out, drawing up short at finding two persons in his way.
