Page 60 of The Cornish Mermaid

Sam set down his pen. “Not here, I’m afraid. He set off for Cornwall no sooner was he back from the ball at Denby. He should be on the mail coach heading west even now.”

What?

Morvoren’s world swayed about her and, in a flash, Sam was up and fetching her a seat. “Lower your head if you’re feeling faint,” he suggested. “I’ll fetch you a glass of water.”

She didn’t want the water, but she sipped it obediently when it came, her mind in a turmoil. And not because the man she fancied herself in love with had abandoned her. Oh no. The reason for her spinning head was the memory of that old fisherman’s story of the smugglers who’d died and the painting in the tiny museum in Penzance of one of the victims who’d died on the beach at Nanpean. The painting of Kit. If only she knew the date of the attack.

“What ails you?” Sam was asking, his words finally breaking through the whirl of fears churning inside Morvoren’s head. “I don’t think you should have risen from your bed until this afternoon. You must be overtired.”

She shook her head and put the glass of water on his desk. “I’m not tired at all. I have to go. Thank you, Sam, for your help.”

She rose unsteadily to her feet and, despite Sam’s worried frown, hurried out of the room. As soon as she was away from him, she ran, across the hall, up the stairs and into Ysella’s room. The heavy curtains were drawn tighter than hers had been, and the room was in darkness. Without hesitation, she hastened across the thick rugs and snatched the curtains apart, letting the late morning light come spilling in.

Then she turned to the bed and, grabbing Ysella by the shoulders, gave her a good shake.

Ysella woke up straightaway, turning bleary eyes on her attacker. “Whatever is it, Morvoren? Goodness, is it afternoon already?” She pushed herself upright in bed, looking very pretty with her fluffed up dark hair and sleep befuddled face.

“It’s Kit,” Morvoren said, desperation edging her voice. “He’s gone back to Cornwall.”

Ysella rubbed her eyes and frowned. “Does that matter? He’s more often there than he is here. I think in truth, he’s only stayed here over a week because of your presence.” A smile chased the frown away. “Are you certain he’s gone back to Cornwall?”

Morvoren nodded. “Sam told me. We have to go after him.”

“What?” Now she was really awake. “Why ever do we have to do that? He’ll be perfectly fine in Cornwall. He doesn’t need us down there. And it’s such a long way.” Her cheeks flushed pink. “And Lieutenant William Beaumont who was at the ball has promised to call on me, I mean on Mama, tomorrow. We can’t go haring off after Kit just like that for no reason.” She narrowed her eyes. “Even if you are more than half in love with him.”

“Yes, he does need us,” Morvoren snapped, ignoring the last part of her speech. The terror rose that if she told Ysella the truth, her friend would only think her mad and perhaps call her mother and have her confined in a madhouse from where she’d never be able to save Kit.

“How so?” She drew her knees up and put her arms around them. “You’d best tell me why you think that.”

At least she was prepared to listen. Morvoren drew a deep breath. Her heart thundered with fear. She could think of no reason why Ysella wouldn’t think her mad and run and tell her mother. However, in for a penny… “The reason I’m not like you is because I wasn’t born in this world. I’m from the future.”

Ysella stared, the frown returning and deepening. “The future? Do you mean from next week? How funny you are. I said you were an original and I was quite right. I generally am.”

Morvoren shook her head. “No, not from next week. From over two hundred years in the future. That’s why I’ve been to university and can ride astride and couldn’t dance. That’s the absolute truth.”

Ysella drew in her bottom lip, studying Morvoren’s face, perhaps for signs of madness. Once or twice she opened her mouth, perhaps to put a thought into words, but then closed it again. Eventually, she reached out a hand and laid it on Morvoren’s. “For some reason I don’t understand, I think I believe you. I have no idea why. I must be as mad as you. Tell me everything.”

Thank goodness she at least wasn’t laughing at this revelation. But that didn’t mean she was going to believe everything Morvoren had to tell her. She would just have to take the risk, because she couldn’t get down to Cornwall to save Kit without the help of someone else, and by far the best person to ask was his excitable sister.

So she told her. Starting with the dreadful holiday with Josh, whom she’d not spared a thought for in over a week, and describing the abortive fishing trip and her dip in the sea. Clasping her hands to prevent them shaking, she recounted her theory that there’d been a doorway into Ysella and Kit’s world beneath the waves and how Kit had saved her life.

“But the day before I fell into the sea,” she said, coming to the crux of her story, “I went to the museum in Penzance. There was a display about the revenue men’s raids on the local bands of smugglers—”

“You mean the free traders,” Ysella put in.

“All right, the free traders. One of the raids was on Nanpean Cove, in 1811. That’s this year. All the smugglers—the free traders—were captured. Three were killed, shot I suppose, down on the beach, and the rest were tried then hanged at Bodmin jail.” Morvoren paused, fixing Ysella’s rapt face with a hard stare. “There was a copy of a painting of one of the smu—free traders. It was Kit. A copy of the portrait that hangs in the great hall here. Kit was—is one of the free traders who’ll be killed on the beach. There’s a traitor in their midst who’s going to betray them to the revenue men and the soldiers. Who might already have done so.”

When Morvoren finished, Ysella sucked in her lips and stared, her hands tight on Morvoren’s still, her breasts heaving. Did she believe this? Morvoren had thought she did, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“Are you certain Kit will be killed?” Ysella asked at last.

Morvoren nodded. “His name was mentioned in the information. At the time, I didn’t know how important it was going to be for me to remember the details. I saw he was a free trader, but I didn’t realize the man who rescued me was the person who was going to be killed on the beach. Not until I saw his picture in your great hall. But I do now.”

Ysella’s hand went to her mouth as she swung her legs out of bed. “The Lawrence portrait in the great hall? You saw that in… in the future? In a museum in Cornwall?”

Morvoren nodded. “I recognized it as soon as I saw it. It just reinforced my conclusion that Kit would be in danger if he were to return to Cornwall.”

“Did you warn him?”