Page 80 of A Castaway in Cornwall
After the officers departed and the Brays returned to theparlour, Laura waited a few minutes, then, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, casually entered the room.
“Laura,” her uncle exclaimed. “Where have you been? Is Alexander with you?”
“No, he isn’t here. I was in the kitchen with Eseld. What did those men want?”
“They were the militia, Laura,” Mrs. Bray explained. “They want to question our guest. Apparently, they have reason to believe he is an escaped French prisoner of war.”
Laura’s stomach clenched, but she feigned surprise. “Really?”
Her uncle nodded. “I told them he was from Jersey, but I am not sure they went away satisfied.”
“They were not,” Mrs. Bray snapped. “They will be back. Mark my words.”
Uncle Matthew said gently, “I am sure Mr. Lucas will return soon, answer their questions, and settle the matter.” He rose and said, “Well, I had better change. I am headed to Porthilly for a churching. I promised to drop Eseld at the ferry. She and Miss Roskilly are going into Padstow.”
“May I ride along?” Laura asked.
“Of course. But you’ll have to be ready to leave in ten minutes.”
Laura excused herself, going to her room for her reticule and warmest pelisse. From her window, she saw Uncle Matthew and Eseld chatting companionably as they headed to the stables together. Laura hurried downstairs, eager to get the stolen bank note to the custom house. The front door was closer, so she went out that way, slipping the silver flask into her reticule as she hurried down the walk.
She drew up short with a gasp.
François LaRoche stood there, his blue eyes riveted on her reticule. Had he seen what she’d slipped inside? Recognized the flask?
She pulled the drawstrings tight and her wits with them.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he purred in his unctuous voice.
“Monsieur LaRoche, you startled me.”
“Did I? I said I would pay a call. And what, Miss Callaway, did I see you hide in your bag?”
“Hide? I am merely gathering everything I need for an afternoon’s shopping.”
“I saw a flash of silver.”
“I should hope so. The ferry is not free.” Oh. She’d not meant to tell him they planned to take the ferry.
“May I see?”
“Into my reticule?” Laura lifted her nose in exaggerated offense. “A woman’s reticule is a private, mysterious place,monsieur. An Englishman would not make such a request.”
“But I am not an Englishman.” Smirking, he walked toward her, his hook of a scar mocking her like a leer.
“Pray excuse me. I don’t wish to keep my uncle waiting.” She moved to walk around him, but he grabbed her arm.
Thank heaven, there came Uncle Matthew and Eseld in the carriage. Hearing the jingling tack, LaRoche loosened his grip. Laura jerked free and walked briskly toward them.
“Come on, slow molasses,” Eseld called. “We had better hurry or we shall miss the ferry!”
Uncle Matthew, reins and whip in hand, turned a hard stare on the man. François stopped where he was.
“Farewell,monsieur,” Laura dismissed him, hoping he would not follow.
“Àtrès bientôt,”he replied.See you very soon.
Laura prayed not.
