you think he is married or single?”
“No way to know.”
“Yes, a pity men don’t wear rings. It would help a girl to know whom to flirt with and whom to ignore.”
Laura chuckled at that.
“Mamm is right about one thing,” Eseld went on. “He looks like a pirate with that dark beard and wild hair. Do you think he might be one, or at least a smuggler?”
“No, I do not. The wreck was a merchant ship from Yarmouth.”
“Perhaps he sneaked on board, killed all the crew, and then ran the ship onto the rocks to cover his crimes.”
“Heaven forbid.” Laura laughed. “What an awful imagination you have.”
“All right. If you don’t like that . . . perhaps he is no ordinary sailor or merchant . . . but a man in pursuit of the woman he loves.” Her lively eyes brightened with her tale. “He’d met her briefly once. She told him she was a sea captain’s daughter, but she disappeared before he could ask the name of her father’s ship or their home. And now he sails from port to port, just hoping to find her again.”
Laura groaned. “Oh, bother. That is worse than the last.”
“Is it?” Eseld sighed. “Sounds romantic to me.”
“Sounds like a great waste of time to me.”
Uncle Matthew came in. “Girls, how is our visitor? Good to see you showing an interest, Eseld.”
“He has improved, thankfully,” Laura replied. “The fever has broken.”
“Good, good. I have been praying for him and will continue to do so.”
Newlyn knocked on the open door. “A Mr. Hicks to see you, sir.”
“Ah. That’s the acting ship’s agent. Show him in, please.”
Laura knew that in the case of shipwrecks, a local agent for the duchy would attempt to salvage all possible cargo and the vessel itself and then be reimbursed accordingly. Salvaged cargoes of imperishable goods like copper ore, iron, or timber would either be shipped on to their intended destination or auctioned off for what could be raised to cut the owner’s or underwriter’s losses.
A small, well-dressed, balding man appeared, leather portfolio under his arm. This was the man who had stopped to talk to her uncle the night of the wreck.
“Laura, Eseld,” Uncle Matthew began, “this is Mr. Hicks, the wreck agent.”
The small man bowed. “Good day, ladies. I am curious to see how yer visitor is getting on. I’d like to report his name to the owners, if I can.”
“He is some improved, thankfully,” Laura said. “But still not sensible, as you see.”
Mr. Hicks glanced at the bed. “A pity. Well, in the meantime, I have written to the owners for an official list of the crew and cargo, so a reckoning may be taken of what we manage to salvage, and the next of kin might be notified. Hopefully, our friend here will awaken and be able to give us all the information we need, though he’ll no doubt be grieved to hear his mates have all perished.”
“True.” Her uncle nodded sadly. “A rude awakening awaits him indeed.”
Laura sat at their patient’s bedside that evening, trying to read about that famous castaway, Robinson Crusoe, but kept nodding off. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so tired.
Nearby, the man rested peacefully, and Laura began to long for her own bed.
She picked up a book of hymns and tried reading aloud to keep herself awake.
“God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm. . . .”
Growing weary of reading, Laura rose and paced around the room, then fingered the man’s pocket watch again. An idea striking her, she pried open the back, held it near the lamp, and by its light saw the winding stem. Also etched there was the name of the watchmaker: L’Epine. Not so surprising. French fashions were in demand, after all, war or no war.
Newlyn appeared. “Miss? The Kent brothers have called. They’re in the parlour with Mrs. Bray and Eseld but ask if they might come up and see the patient.” The maid grinned and lowered her voice. “It’s really you they want to see, but they be smoothin’ Mrs. Bray’s feathers.”
“Ah. Well, certainly,” Laura said, glad for the company. She surveyed her reflection in the mirror, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Treeve entered first. “Good evening, Miss Callaway,” he said with a gallant bow.
Laura curtsied in reply.
He glanced at the sleeping man. “I would ask you to introduce your new friend, but he seems . . . otherwise engaged.”
Perry