Page 91 of A Castaway in Cornwall
She shook her head, giving him a tolerant smile. “Yes, Treeve. You are good-looking, as you well know.”
“Thank you, my sweet.” His grin faded. “If only I did not have to pull it from you.”
He inhaled. “These days it’s up to me to bolster the family fortunes. My father has his head in the sand, and my mother, if she has a clue, has turned a purposeful blind eye. Perry is too busy lancing boils and handing out laudanum to notice what I do. Most assume I am a lazy ne’er-do-well. But I do pretty well, I must say. I’ve taken to it like a duck to water, as the saying goes. Tea, brandy—terribly taxed. A little trip to Guernsey or Jersey, and...voilà. Saves my family money on what we consume ourselves, and the rest I distribute through profitable channels. Discreetly, of course.”
He squared his shoulders. “How soon can your Frenchman be ready?”
“Anytime. The sooner the better. Though beware the preventive men.”
“I am always aware of them. Hazards of the trade. We’ll leave late and won’t chance the quay. Have him meet me at St. Saviour’s Point at two in the morning. Should be half tide by then.”
“But the ferry doesn’t run in the middle of the night.”
“Come, Miss Callaway. I’m sure a clever, resourceful female like you will work out something. Also, outfit him with dark clothes, and don’t tell a soul where we’re going. Promise?”
“You have my word.”
“Shall we shake on it?” He offered his hand, and she put her fingers in his.
His eyes glimmered with surprising sadness. “Ah, how I have longed to hold Miss Callaway’s hand. And hopefully not for the last time.”
From Padstow Point to Lundy Light,
Is a watery grave by day or night.
—TRADITIONALCORNISHSAYING
Chapter 17
Before leaving the Fourways Inn, Laura gave Jago money to go in and buy two pasties—one for him and the other for Alex. On the way back, Laura asked him to drive to Black Rock. When they reached the ferryman’s house and knocked, Martyn came to the door. By that time of night, the boy’s eyes were heavy, clearly eager for his bed, but she handed him a gold coin and his eyes snapped awake.
“Sorry to ask, Martyn, but could I trouble you for a private, late-night crossing?”
“At that price? Indeed you may.” The youth often took the helm, especially in the evenings when his father had too much to drink.
“There is something else I’d like from you as well.”
They talked for a few minutes about arrangements, and then Laura left him.
Finally, she and Jago drove to neighboring Porthilly. There, she let herself into the St. Michael’s vestry, where a pile of donated clothing awaited to be distributed on Boxing Day. She picked a suitable garment, folded it tightly, and tucked it under her arm before rejoining Jago for the drive back by the lightof the moon and stars. Laura was glad for Jago’s company. It would have been a little frightening to walk alone after dark on less familiar roads.
Reaching the tall sand dune, she directed Jago to park near the sexton’s shed and surveyed St. Enodoc from there, making sure no one was near. Then she approached the church, climbing up the mound and onto the roof. She opened the hatch, nerves pulsing in her stomach, hoping she would find Alexander well.
“Are you there?” she called down in a strained whisper.
“Laura?”
Her heart hitched to hear him say her given name.
The half moon of his face appeared in the dim light from the transept windows. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Restless and anxious about you.”
“I am well. Here, catch.”
She tossed down the pasty, which he deftly caught.
“Eat that. And put this on.”
