Page 27 of The Cornish Inheritance

Their road, still nothing more than a track with potholes filled by large beach pebbles, began to go downhill as it followed the coastline toward the distant town of Penzance at the far end of the bay.

“Now Blossom’s not so lively, can I drive for a bit?” Yves asked.

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Have you driven before?”

“Oh, lots of times.”

Was that too airy an answer? “Are you telling me a fib?”

Yves had the grace to blush. “Well, I’ve sat on the driver’s seat of the barouche a few times beside Old Pascoe. And watched him.” He grinned. “And I’ve been watching you.”

This made Caroline chuckle. “Nice try. Normally, I wouldn’t let you. But as there’s no one else about for you to crash Blossom into or run over, and it’s not hard…” She held out the reins to him. “Here. You hold these and I’ll keep hold of the whip. Just keep her going and try not to drive into any of the worst potholes. That’ll be the hardest thing to do.”

Yves seized the reins with gusto, clicking his tongue at Blossom non-stop. However, she seemed to sense the change of driver, and ignored his efforts to get her to speed up.

When they reached a little river tumbling across the road and making the going even more bumpy, Caroline took back the reins. The road was beginning to get more crowded and Yves was prone to being distracted by all the new sights. There was a lot to see for a little boy: a few market carts, people on foot or leading packhorses, a wagonload of hay being brought in from the fields to store for winter, some small boys kicking a makeshift football about. She smiled at him. “That was well done. You’ll make an excellent whip.”

Yves’s thin cheeks colored at her praise, and he settled back to enjoy the entry to Penzance itself, the picture of nonchalant relaxation.

Caroline, on the other hand, was decidedly on edge. This was a strange town, and however small, it represented a challenge to a woman with a child and a pony cart to take care of. The road they were on now led uphill, merging into what had to be the main street, many of the buildings being small, mostly seedy, shops of some kind. Now she just had to find somewhere to deposit Blossom and the cart before she and Yves began her detective work.

Her luck was in. On a corner, where a small side street turned off right-handed, stood a substantial inn—the Star. She drew Blossom to a halt in the road. Most inns possessed stables where you could leave your horse, so surely this one could be no exception. She was right. After a few moments, a scruffy boy not much older than Yves came slouching out, pushing back an old-fashioned tricorn hat that was too big for him and eyeing them up and down.

Caroline dismounted from the trap. “Jump down, Yves.” She fixed the disreputable boy with a hard stare. “Good afternoon. Stabling for an hour or so? With some hay for our pony?”

The boy wiped his sleeve across his nose and took hold of Blossom’s reins by the bit. “You pays inside.”

Caroline followed the boy’s advice, Yves trailing after her, but with his chin on his shoulder gawping back at the boy. No doubt he saw very few other children and it must have been a surprise for him to see one so close to himself in age employed at an inn.

The livery charge having been paid, Caroline took him by the hand, as he was much inclined to dawdle and stare at everything wide eyed, and returned to the street.

What she needed was an apothecary. But where to find one. Penzance did not look large, and its selection of shops matched it in size. A milliner’s, a haberdasher’s, a well-stocked fishmonger’s as you’d expect of a fishing village, a small iron monger’s, a butcher’s, a shoemaker’s, a tobacconist, and a plethora of inns and taverns, or so it seemed. But no sign of an apothecary.

A number of people were promenading in the street, each with a purposeful air, but from their clothing, most of them must be of the working class, and Caroline was not sure they’d be the ones to ask. She was saved the effort by Yves, who suddenly yanked his hand out of hers with a high-pitched squeal, and bolted across the road, narrowly missing being run over by a heavy dray.

Where on earth was he going?

Caroline waited for the dray to pass then crossed the road with more decorum only to find her young charge in the embrace of a stern-faced older lady. This lady, dressed in somber dark brown and with a plain shawl drawn about her shoulders, released Yves and straightened up, a wary look in her brown eyes. Her mousy hair was streaked with gray.

Caroline studied her for a moment. Average height and on the scrawny side, with a fiercely straight back and a look of taking no nonsense about her, she nevertheless possessed the sparkle of real tears in her eyes. And as she straightened, she took Yves’s hand in hers. A touch possessive.

Yves was bouncing on his feet with excitement. “Caroline! This is Miss Hawkins. My old governess. Isn’t it wonderful that we chanced to see one another?” He hopped up and down, beaming up at the woman. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Hawkie. Aunt Ruth told me you’d gone to London on the stagecoach to take up a new position.” His mouth down turned. “Why didn’t you come to say goodbye to me?”

Miss Hawkins held out her free hand to Caroline. “I take it you must be the new governess?”

Was there a hint of distrust in her tone? Caroline took the offered hand and nodded. “Caroline Fairfield, from Wiltshire.” She herself felt a strong wariness for this woman, although quite why, she couldn’t be certain. Almost as though trouble hovered around her in an invisible miasma.

However, Miss Hawkins’s hand in Caroline’s was strong and the grip firm. “Imogen Hawkins.”

An awkward silence ensued.

Oh well, she might as well ask Miss Hawkins as anyone else. At least if the woman had been dismissed by Mrs. Treloar, she wasn’t likely to report back anything about Caroline’s enquiries. Caroline cleared her throat. “I’m looking for an apothecary’s. Surely there must be one in a town this size?”

Miss Hawkins’s eyes narrowed and she glanced quickly down at Yves who was still staring up at her in childish awe. It was clear how much he cared for her, and from the softening of Miss Hawkins’s severe face, it seemed she cared for him as well. And she appeared to have been dismissed for wanting to keep him safer than she felt he was being kept. Which in itself was odd.

“Crago’s is just around the corner from the Star. Down New Street.” Her eyebrows rose. “Might I enquire what it is you need? I might have something I can give you.”

This was so clearly a probe, Caroline had to smile. “Nothing for me, nor Yves. I merely wanted to enquire about something I… came across the other day. I wanted to know what was in it.”

Miss Hawkins, still holding Yves by the hand, gestured with her other hand to Caroline in the direction of the Star. “I’ll show you where it is.” She began to walk, her steps unhurried, as though she wanted to elicit more information from Caroline en route.

Caroline might as well try. “I was wondering,” she began, walking side by side with Miss Hawkins and keeping her voice down low lest any passersby should hear, or Yves. However, he was staring in at the shop windows as they passed. “I was wondering if, in your life as a governess, you might have heard of something called Dalby’s Carminative?”

Miss Hawkins stopped dead. “Dalby’s Carminative?”

Yves was craning his neck to look at a pair of dogs fighting over some scraps.

Caroline nodded quickly. “Yes.”

“And where did you ‘come across’ this the other day?”

Why did Caroline get the impression this astute woman already knew the answer to her question. “In the nursery nurse’s bedroom. Bridget’s room. Locked in her corner cabinet above her washstand.”

Miss Hawkins gave an emphatic nod. “It’s as I feared. They’re trying it again.”

Caroline swallowed. “Trying what?”

Miss Hawkins met her gaze. “Not here. Come back to where I’m staying and I’ll tell you there.”