Page 49

And yet, as she looked back at the cliffsides surrounding Tristwick, the quaint hamlet no longer in view, a fraction of her heart tore away from the whole and lingered along the cliffs. This place would always hold that sole piece of her heart, but she was ready to move on. She was ready to find a home of her own, a place in this world where she would finally know she belonged.

But then, if she was ready, why did her stomach toss like a ship lost at sea? She glanced to Poppy, who was seated across from her in the back of the Kendricks’s wagon, noting a hint of sadness in the girl’s eyes. Was she feeling the weight of Morvoren leaving, too?

No. No, there was no weight. There was only excitement and the rest of Morvoren’s future to look forward to.

“Are ye all right back there?” Mrs. Honeysett asked. Her voice raised to be heard above the wagon rustling across the dirt road and the horse’s tack jingling against her dapple-grey coat.

Morvoren nodded. “Thank ye again for takin’ me all this way.”

“Oh, it be no problem. We be ’appy to ’elp, ain’t we be, Trev?”

Mr. Honeysett nodded from where he sat next to his mother. With their placement in the wagon, Morvoren could only see the back of his dark green fisherman’s cap, but she could imagine the delight written across his face at the mention of Morvoren leaving.

She still wasn’t sure if he’d heard her conversation with Poppy the night before, but did it matter? Either way, with Morvoren gone, his life was surely about to become exponentially easier.

She tore her gaze away from him, determined to no longer dwell on how much he disliked her. The journey to Sennen would be more than an hour, and she would not be brought lower by thoughts of the fisherman.

After all, today was a glorious day. Every moment that passed brought her farther and farther away from her past. She would find her place in the world, and it would not be with a fisherman and his family—drifters or seiners.

Clutching the handles of her portmanteau, the sound of coins jingling within her coin purse reached her ears. She knew Mrs. Honeysett would never accept payment for the trouble of taking her to Sennen, but she would empty the purse into the Honeysetts’ possession before they left, no matter who she had to give the money to. The inconvenience was too great to allow them to go unpaid.

“Be your foot troublin’ ye, Morvoren?” Mrs. Honeysett asked, turning round in her seat again.

“No, ’tis better than ever.”

“I be glad to ’ear that.”

Morvoren was, too. Remaining off her foot after her excursion days before had finally allowed her ankle enough time to begin to heal, though the ache was still there to a degree with each step. At least she could walk on her own with only a limp to mar her stride. Surely she would be a better help to the Prouts now she could stand on her own two feet.

“Do ye think your memory will come back once ye see your friends?” Poppy asked, the upper half of her body swaying back and forth with the unsettling movement of the wagon.

“I hope so,” she responded.

She looked forward to a great deal about Sennen, but nothing more than the fact that she would no longer have to lie.

Poppy nodded in response and turned to watch the passing view. Morvoren did the same, silence falling over their traveling party as they progressed across the countryside.

Morvoren would dip her head low each time a carriage would pass by, fearing Uncle would spot her moments before she was guaranteed her freedom. But then, being in Sennen would guarantee nothing, only a few extra miles between her and Uncle Truscott.

Still, a place with the Prouts would do just fine until Zennor could help Morvoren find a more permanent residence—somewhere Uncle would never think to find her. Or at least, so she hoped.

As her worried thoughts intensified, the journey dragged on. Poppy eventually fell asleep, and Mrs. Honeysett and her son were quiet at the front of the wagon, which only allowed Morvoren’s descending spirits to pull her down farther.

She just couldn’t make sense of it. This was what she’d been wanting for so long, to reach Sennen, to be with someone who could help her, someone with whom she could be honest, someone she could trust. Perhaps she simply needed to be positive. To believe that she would lead a happy life and that one day, she would find a place of her own, and perhaps even have a non-fisherman husband who promised to never tear her apart like the fishing trade had done to her family.

“Nearly there,” Mrs. Honeysett said, interrupting her thoughts.

Morvoren looked ahead, spotting a wooden sign sticking up from the grass at the side of the road. In simple carving, the sign read,

SENNEN COVE,

ONE MILE

Instead of feeling excitement or relief as she ought to have, Morvoren’s nerves jumbled so violently, she thought she might relieve her stomach over the side of the wagon.

Would Zennor welcome her still? Would Mr. Prout? After all, he had not been the one to invite her to stay with them. Would he help find a place for Morvoren, or would he turn her away without a second glance?

Poppy stirred soon, rising from the blanket she’d rolled up to form a pillow and looking around her. Morvoren gave her a little smile, but the two remained silent as the cove loomed ever closer.