Page 19 of The Cornish Mermaid

Kit’s lighter, more refined tones. “She won’t go poking around. We’re taking the morning coach, so she won’t have time.”

A third voice. A woman’s this time. It had to be Jenifry. “I don’t think she be the type to snitch.”

“Me neither. See yer all in the mornin’.” Loveday’s voice.

As she’d suspected, they were all in on this.

Jago’s growl. “You can’t tell jest by lookin’. An’ she be a woman, an’ ’tis well known that they doan know how to hold their tongues like a man do.”

Jenifry’s voice again. “You sayin’ I can’t keep quiet, Jago me ’ansum? If you want more’n a pot o’ hot flannel this night you’d best be mindin’ what you ses to me.”

Jago’s voice, with an unaccustomed chuckle. “You knows I doan mean you, woman.”

The front door banged as they came inside, and their voices died to nothing more than a general mumble. They didn’t sound as though they thought they’d been seen. But Morvoren lay awake for a long time, ears still straining, picturing what would happen if Kit told his uncle he’d seen her face at the window, spying on their smuggling activities.

Eventually, they all came clumping up the stairs. Morvoren held her breath until Kit went into the box room and closed the door. Jago and Jenifry stomped into the bedroom at the far end of the landing with a giggle and a squeal from her as though she’d been goosed.

Only then did Morvoren feel safe enough to go back to sleep. An uneasy sleep, troubled by dreams of being on the bottom of the sea, of her legs tangled tight in a net, and being carried up from the cove slung over a pack pony with a pair of brandy barrels attached to her feet, and a loud voice telling Kit to go put her back in the sea.

Chapter Eight

Morvoren

A tentative tap on the bedroom door disturbed Morvoren’s sleep. She rolled over in bed to discover early morning sunshine peeking in around the edges of the heavy curtains. Last night’s experience came rolling back in a tidal wave, and she jerked wide awake in an instant. The tap on the door sounded again, more demandingly, so she sat up and pulled the covers up to her chest, despite the Victorian-modesty of her nightgown. “Come in.”

Loveday bustled into the room carrying another glass of milk. Her eyes went to the full one by the side of the bed, now boasting an unattractively thick skin on its surface, and a frown furrowed her brow for a brief moment. “I did bring you some more warm milk, Miss Lucas.”

A hint of disapproval marred her voice as she set down the new glass and retrieved the old. “Mr. Kit did ax me to tell you that breakfast’ll be in ten minutes. He ses as he do want to get to the coach stop in good time.”

As it turned out, neither Kit nor Jago were in the kitchen. Jenifry, a not-very-clean apron tied about her ample middle, looked none the worse for her nocturnal activities as she bid Morvoren a cheery good morning. Bustling from stove to table, she served up a plate of sizzling bacon, two fried eggs and some hot potato cakes, along with a far-too-dainty cup of strong black coffee. Wiping her hands on her apron, she sat down with her own hefty mug. From above, echoing through the old house like a drum, came the sound of movement, as Loveday took care of the packing.

Morvoren ate in silence for a while, all too aware that Jenifry was as much a smuggler as Kit and his uncle and that she should give nothing away.

Eventually, Jenifry set her coffee mug down on the table and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Sleep well, did you, Miss Lucas?”

A loaded question if ever there was one.

Morvoren schooled her face into passive neutrality and looked up, meeting sharply intelligent grey eyes. “Yes, thank you. I’ve never slept on a feather bed before, and it was very comfortable.” She paused before deciding to elaborate. “I slept like a log.” There. She’d effectively denied having seen or heard anything.

Challenge that one if you can.

Jenifry’s moon face broke into a broad smile. “That’s good to hear. I did worry to meself as you might not have slept so well, bein’ in a strange bed, an’ all.” She wiped her hands on her apron front. “Now, finish up your food because it’ll be a while afore the coach stops for vittles and you’ve a long journey ahead o’ you. I’m off to see if they’ve got the horse between the shafts yet.”

Mindful of Jenifry’s warning about the time until the next meal, Morvoren polished off the last of her breakfast and poured a second cup of coffee from the jug on the stove. Just in time to hear the thump on the stairs of Loveday dragging down the trunk she’d been packing. She appeared through the door at the bottom, her rosy cheeks a shade rosier and her breath coming fast. The object she was dragging was a much smaller trunk than the ones in the box room, but nevertheless, it appeared to be a weighty object. How much did one woman need in 1811?

Morvoren set down her empty coffee cup and hurried over. “Here. Let me help.”

Loveday batted an admonishing hand. “No, no, no, Miss Lucas. I c’n manage right well, and it ain’t for a lady to help the maid. I’ll jest set it here and Mr. Kit or Father can carry it out to the cart in a moment.” She plumped herself down on top of it, still puffing, and fanning her hot face with her hand. “And in a minute, when I’ve me breath back, I’ll fetch your bonnet and gloves for the journey. An’ a shawl lest it turn cold up country.” She frowned. “You never can tell wi’ foreign parts.”

Voices carried from outside and the front door swung open. Kit came in, this morning dressed much more smartly. Even his unruly hair had been slicked into some sort of order.

He made Morvoren a brief bow and held out his hand. “The cart awaits you.”

Morvoren hesitated.

He didn’t drop his hand, though, and to leave him standing there holding it out seemed rude. She touched her fingers lightly to his, resolutely ignoring the frisson of electricity as it ran between them, and let him lead her out into the farmyard.

*