Page 9

Dr. Kent had given his recommendation easily, as if remaining off of one’s foot was the simplest task in the world. To some people, perhaps it was. But to Morvoren, his orders were practically a sentence to the gallows.

Never mind the water in her lungs. Never mind the ache in her foot. She had not escaped Uncle to be caught a few towns over—or to be stuck for a week with fishermen.

“A week?” she asked. “Are ye certain?”

Dr. Kent tucked his paper and pencil into his bag with an apologetic look. “Unfortunately, yes. I fear that if you risk using your ankle before it mends, the damage will take even longer to heal—even possibly causing permanent impairment.”

Morvoren pressed her lips together. There was nothing she could say further. Dr. Kent had his opinions, and she had hers. She would not risk Uncle bringing her back to the life he’d chosen for her, to force her into complying with his latest unthinkable demand—all for the sake of expanding his company.

“Thank ye, Dr. Kent,” she said, hoping that was dismissal enough for him to leave. She needed to make ready to hobble her way back to St. Just, hurt ankle or not.

Now, where were her clothes?

Dr. Kent, however, did not leave. Instead, he fastened the clasps on his bag, then faced Morvoren again. “There’s one more item I’d like to discuss with you before I leave. Mrs. Honeysett has informed me that you are having difficulty remembering a few things.”

Morvoren glanced to the side where Mrs. Honeysett gave her an encouraging nod, then Morvoren pushed her eyebrows together and feigned concern. “Yes, that be right.”

“It can be quite disconcerting, to be sure,” Dr. Kent said, “and not entirely abnormal after one undergoes significant trauma. That being said, I should like to ask you another question or two, just in the event that you do remember something. Have you any objections?”

How Morvoren longed to say yes. “No, sir.”

He paused, his eyes delving a little too deeply into Morvoren’s. Was he suspecting her of dishonesty already, willing her to tell the truth?

Perhaps she ought to drop the façade, be honest with Mrs. Honeysett, and beg for a wagon ride to St. Just. But then, why would the woman do such a thing for a perfect stranger who’d already lied directly to her face? The woman would no doubt think she was doing what was best by finding Uncle for Morvoren.

“Do you remember your mother or father’s names?” asked the physician, tugging her attention back to him. “Or another guardian perhaps charged to watch over you?”

Morvoren squinted her eyes, feigning deep thought before shaking her head with the best worried expression she could manage. “No, I don’t.”

Please forgive me, Mama, she thought.

She glanced behind Mrs. Honeysett to where sodden underclothing hung near the hearth. She’d stashed her portmanteau filled with extra clothing and gowns between some rocks situated near a secluded section of the beach. Of course, she’d fully expected to return to shore and be dressed before anyone might discover the hiding place.

Now she’d have to walk through all of Tristwick in only her stays and petticoat to retrieve her belongings. Assuming a fisherman hadn’t already thieved them.

“And do you remember how you came to Tristwick?” followed Dr. Kent’s next question. “On foot or by stagecoach perhaps?”

Morvoren shook her head. Disconcerted. She was supposed to be showing that she was disconcerted.

“Any memory of a traveling companion or friends in the area?”

She closed her eyes instead and furrowed her brow. Where were her tears now? “No, sir.”

“Do you recall where you were headed, perhaps? Or anything of the sort?”

She blew out a slow breath. “No.”

Silence followed.

She opened her eyes a fraction. Dr. Kent rubbed a hand to his chin with a studious look. He exchanged glances with Mrs. Honeysett, their expressions unreadable.

They didn’t believe her, did they? Would Mrs. Honeysett toss her from her home that minute?

A very real and very discouraging worry rushed over Morvoren, and she pressed a hand to her head with a wince, no longer needing to pretend to be upset.

Finally, Dr. Kent spoke in a softened tone. “That is enough questions for now. You are clearly…distressed.”

The pause made her believe that he didn’t trust her an ounce. Still, as his boots moved across the wooden floor in departure, relief encompassed her. He wouldn’t press her, then.