you hurry, you can probably find him at the Fourways Inn with his new friends.”
Mrs. Bray came stalking out of her husband’s study. “Laura . . .” Seeing Kayna, she hesitated and greeted her politely. “Good evening, Miss Roskilly. Welcome. May I have a private word with Miss Callaway?”
“Of course.” The young woman joined Eseld and Perry in the parlour, while Mrs. Bray led Laura into the study and shut the door. Uncle Matthew sat there, looking ill at ease.
Mrs. Bray hissed, “The militia were here again. I told you they’d be back. They had the other survivor with them. The Frenchman. He told us that your ‘Mr. Lucas’ is in fact a French naval captain. An enemy officer! Did you know it?”
Laura shifted awkwardly, feeling guilty for keeping her suspicions to herself. “I have wondered where he came from but knew nothing for certain. . . .”
Kindhearted Uncle Matthew said, “We still don’t know that he meant any harm.”
Mrs. Bray ignored him, keeping her gaze on Laura, eyes snapping with anger. “You brought that man into my house. I never wanted him here. If he endangers us all, it will be on your head.”
Uncle Matthew tried to intervene. “My dear, please . . .”
But Mrs. Bray held her ground, pinning Laura with a hard stare. “Do you hear me?”
Feeling ill, Laura nodded and turned to go. “Yes, I understand.”
Laura walked over to Brea Cottage to ask a favor. With Miss Chegwin’s approval, Jago accompanied Laura on her errand to St. Minver, driving her in the donkey cart.
When they reached the Fourways Inn a short while later, Jago tied the reins and walked around the cart. As he helped her down, Laura saw Treeve Kent coming out with a few men she did not recognize.
“Miss Callaway,” Treeve called. “What are you doing here?”
Noticing Jago, the other men hung back, but Treeve walked toward them, a smile on his handsome face.
When he neared, she began, “I understand you own a ship.”
He tucked his chin in surprise. “Who told you that?”
“Miss Roskilly mentioned it.”
His golden eyebrows rose high. “Did she indeed?”
Laura nodded. “Is it true?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Do you captain the ship as well?”
“No, I leave the navigation to those more expert than myself.”
“May I ask what you use her for? Or am I better off not knowing?”
“Oh, family business and the like.”
She let the dubious reply pass. “I wonder if you might do something for me?”
“Anything for you, Miss Callaway. You know that.”
“You may reconsider once you hear what I want.”
He stepped closer. “Sounds intriguing.”
“I wonder if you . . . or someone you know, might be willing to take a passenger on his next voyage to trade in the Channel Islands.”
Several emotions passed over Treeve’s face. Surprise. Suspicion. Admiration?
“Always knew you were clever. Clever and pretty. What a captivating combination.”
“Miss Roskilly surpasses me on both counts, actually. She is more clever than I realized. I have a new appreciation for her, after tonight.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll explain later. Can you help me?”
“Help your Frenchman, I believe you mean?”
“Well, yes.”
“I would be only too happy to see him sail away, Miss Callaway, if I did not know it would make you sad.”
“Seeing him recaptured or shot would make me far sadder. It’s only fair to tell you the militia are searching for him. So my request is not without its risks.”
“As are most worthwhile endeavors—even the less noble ones.”
He considered, then drew himself up. “Yes, I know someone. Reliable, respectable. Some might even say devilishly handsome.” He winked at her. “But can I trust you to keep all of this to yourself?”
“Absolutely. I have lived here long enough to understand things like free trading are sometimes necessary in the face of hard lives and poverty. But for you to be involved—a Kent of Roserrow?”
“Poverty is no respecter of persons, Miss Callaway. And when one of the leading families of the parish struggles to pay their bills, they cannot fall on the mercy of the parish poor fund as others might. We must protect the family name and save face.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “And you must admit, it’s a face worth saving.”
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