‘Vennor,’ croaked the man. ‘Son of . . . lay preacher’s widow . . . in Perran.’
‘That explains how I came to find you,’ replied the farmer, as he prepared to lift him into the cart. ‘You have God on your side.’
* * *
Drake opened his eyes and looked around the familiar bedroom of his childhood. It felt odd to be there as a man. It was as if he had stepped back in time, an interloper that should not be there. His mother came in carrying a tray. She glanced up and almost dropped it when she saw Drake give her a fragile smile.
‘Hello.’ Drake was surprised how hoarse his voice sounded, but tried not to show it.
‘You have been awake several times,’ said his mother, putting down the tray, all the while her gaze unable to leave his, ‘but I have never seen you smile or—’
‘Or what?’
She sat down next to him, in a chair he suspected she had spent a lot of time in lately. ‘Or look like you are with us.’
‘Us?’
‘The man who found you, Albert, has been dropping in regularly to see you, and then there is Doctor Thomas, who has kindly waived his fee and visited you often.’
‘Have I been ill?’
‘Yes. You were found three weeks ago. We all thought you were going to die.’ His mother took his hand. He looked down and was surprised to see a faded yellow bruise covering the back of his hand. ‘What happened to you, Drake? Were you hit by a carriage?’
Drake tried to remember. His mind felt foggy and disorganised. He attempted to make sense of the puzzle in hishead, but found the process overwhelming. It must have showed on his face because his mother came to his rescue.
‘Don’t tire yourself, Drake. There is plenty of time for you to remember. Here, have some soup.’ She lifted a spoon to his lips.
‘I can feed myself.’ He reached for the spoon, but discovered he was far weaker than he had anticipated. The spoon tilted in his clumsy grasp, spilling the soup onto his blanket. ‘I’m sorry.’
His mother quickly mopped it up. ‘Don’t worry about that. At least you wanted to try this time. I try to get you to eat and drink each time you wake, but this is the first time you have asked to do it yourself.’
‘I don’t remember being awake.’
‘You were awake enough to take some water and thin broth, nothing more. I am afraid you are nothing but skin and bone now.’ She smiled. ‘I will need to feed you up and get some meat on those arms again.’
His mother fed him the rest of the soup. It tasted good and Drake was pleased that he had managed to eat it all. He had made his mother happy and from looking at the dark circles beneath her eyes and her unkempt hair, she was in much need of it.
‘I need to get better to start earning money again,’ said Drake.
‘Don’t start worrying about that. Sir Robert will have to wait until you are better.’
‘I won’t be returning to Carrack House again.’
‘Why?’
‘My designs are no longer needed.’ The insurmountable puzzle in his head began to fall into place. One memory at a time, quicker and quicker, with surprising ease. Evie! I was waiting for Evie! What must she think of me?
‘I need to go somewhere,’ said Drake, pushing away the covers on his bed. The effort exhausted him.
‘You need to rest,’ said his mother sternly. ‘You are not going anywhere. When you are well, then we can talk about earning money again.’
Drake sat back against the pillow. She was right, he felt as weak as a kitten and would be no use to anyone, but he needed to get word to Evie.
‘I would like to send a letter to Carrack House.’ His mother threw him a questioning look. ‘Miss Evelyn may wish to have one of my designs.’ It was a lie, but he would have to address the letter to Evie and as he was in no fit state to send it, he would have to rely on his mother.
His mother picked up the tray. ‘There is no rush. You can write when they return.’
‘Return? What do you mean?’
