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“Yes, but ’ad I not returned, ye would’ve eaten the lot of ’em.” Mrs. Honeysett skirted about the kitchen, Morvoren only catching a glimpse of her now and again as the woman moved from the hutch to the table with plates and cutlery.

“I be sorry, Mrs. Honeysett,” Morvoren piped up. “I did try to stop him.”

Mrs. Honeysett popped her head in the doorway to smile at Morvoren. “’Tain’t your fault, dear. No one could e’er stop me son from eatin’ a pastry.”

She disappeared back into the kitchen, Mr. Honeysett scowling at Morvoren before turning his back on her once again. She watched with interest as he glanced at his mother then back to the plate of pastries.

Slowly, he reached out to swipe another tart. Morvoren opened her mouth, ready to defend poor Mrs. Honeysett’s food, but Poppy jumped in first.

“Mother! Trevik be thievin’ another!”

Mrs. Honeysett gasped as he snatched another cherry tart, sliding the entire pastry into his mouth once again. “Trevik, ye little pisky.” She took a spoon from the table, swatting at him lightly, but he jumped out of the way with a chuckle.

“I won’t eat another, I swear it,” he said with a mouth full of food, still laughing as he dodged another swat from his mother. “I be starvin’, see.”

“Ye’ll be starvin’ when I be finished with ye,” Mrs. Honeysett said, though she’d lowered her spoon and continued setting the table with a smile.

She’d not truly been upset, then? Poppy either? Morvoren studied the family, their smiles spreading warmth about the house like rays of autumn sunshine. She couldn’t deny the happiness the family exuded, nor the effect such joy had on her, drawing her closer like a beacon of light to a lost ship.

But she closed her heart to such a temptation. She could appreciate their love for one another, but the fishing trade had destroyed everything she’d ever loved. Surely it was only a matter of time before it wounded the Honeysetts, as well—if it hadn’t already.

Mr. Honeysett’s dark eyes met hers then, and she started. She hadn’t realized she’d been staring. His focus remained on her for a moment, then he shifted to stand behind the kitchen wall.

Wooden plates and bowls thudded mutely against the table as the places were set for the meal, and Morvoren ignored the unsettling feeling Mr. Honeysett’s gaze had left her with.

“Can I help ye in there?” she asked.

Mrs. Honeysett’s voice sounded from the other room. “No, no, dear. Ye just rest. Ain’t nothin’ ye can do with your foot. ’Sides, we be nearly done.”

Morvoren waited in silence for the Honeysetts to finish, then Mrs. Honeysett helped her into the kitchen to sit down opposite from Mr. Honeysett at the small table.

Morvoren settled down and eyed the herring soup in the bowl before her, onions, pepper, and pieces of fish floating about in a watery mixture. She’d never had a taste for fish, far preferring to watch them in the water than to see them looking up at her from a plate. But she would never wish to offend Mrs. Honeysett.

At least the herring’s eyes weren’t staring up at her like the pilchards in a stargazey pie.

She made for the spoon, only to pause when Mrs. Honeysett and Poppy both reached for her hands on either side of her. Morvoren hesitated just a moment before allowing them to take her hands in theirs.

Mrs. Honeysett spoke first. “Lord, make us able to eat what’s on the table.”

The family bowed their heads for a moment, then released hands and tucked into their meal.

Morvoren hesitated another moment before taking a spoonful of the watery concoction herself. To her surprise—and relief—the meal wasn’t as repulsive as she had imagined. In fact, it tasted rather nice. Of course, that could simply be due to the fact that she was quite starved. Either way, she would take it.

“We ’ad a fine catch today,” Mr. Honeysett said in between bites of his food, his jaw working as he chewed. Not that Morvoren noticed.

“We’ll be blessed if it continues,” Mrs. Honeysett agreed. “Though we do be drownin’ in the cellars.”

Mr. Honeysett lowered his spoon. “I’ve been meanin’ to fix that. I think it be time to ask the miners for ’elp. It be early still, but some o’ them won’t mind ’elpin’ now, I be sure of it. What do ye think?”

Morvoren paused. Uncle had always ignored the advice of others, even when they very clearly knew better than he did. Was Mr. Honeysett truly asking his mother her opinion?

“I think the sooner we ask ’em, the better.” Mrs. Honeysett chewed another spoonful. “Mrs. Merrick’ll be wantin’ to come. Though, we’ll not ’ave the ’elp of ’er daugh’er this year.”

Poppy gave an airy sigh. “Fortunate woman that she be.”

Morvoren glanced between them, and Mrs. Honeysett explained. “Gwynna Merrick worked as a bal maiden over at Wheal Favour ’fore she married the owner’s son. She be busy runnin’ a household ’stead o’ spallin’ or processin’ fish now.”

Morvoren’s brow raised, but she was hardly able to process what she’d heard before Poppy continued speaking.