A Star in Cornwall Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance between characters and persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A Star in Cornwall

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Laura Briggs

  All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe used or reproduced without the author’s permission.

  Cover Image: “Cliff's Edge Playhouse.” Original art, “Night street with snowy house and lantern” by Olgdesigner. Used with permission. http://www.dreamstime.com/

  Dear Reader,

  To be or not to be. That's the question that faces Julianne with her latest challenge: substituting last minute for Millicent, director extraordinaire of the local Cliff's Edge Players, for a risky modern version of Romeo and Juliet. Reluctantly assuming this role at the pleading behest of Rosie and Lady A, Julianne finds conflicts await which are greater than mere set mishaps and creaky modern Shakespeare — those of trust, secrets, and friendship, which arise when she can't decide if a certain charming new friend is a con artist or a lost soul in search of a new start.

  Community theaters and Shakespeare plays are both favorite subjects of mine, and I was excited to return to the same theater and fun-loving cast who were part of Kitty's unfolding love story. In a way, Kitty still lingers, albeit only in Julianne's thoughts as she misses her friend and assistant while trying to form a bond with Kitty's temporary replacement, an engaging young American intern who shares both Kitty's given name and a hidden talent for the stage.

  As always, Julianne's friends surround her for this latest challenge — including Matt, who nearly always manages to be Julianne's hero just when things become a little too challenging, even for a plucky and determined event planner. Will Matt find a way to save the day for Julianne this time, as she learns the truth behind a village stranger's past — and realizes that one of her newest friends is in danger of being hurt by it?

  A Star in Cornwall

  by

  Laura Briggs

  "Is that your final answer?" Lorrie asked me. One eyebrow raised.

  "Don't put pressure on me," I said. Even after two years of quiz nights, I had yet to help my team to a decent victory — mostly just to losses and near-misses. I took a sip from my glass, stalling for time, even though this was the last question for the evening.

  "Never mind. I've got this," said Katie. "My expertise is comic book superheroes." She gave me a wink as she jotted an answer on her pad.

  My new assistant and American intern, Katie Marsh, initially had to be dragged to quiz nights as a way to 'meet the village,' but had become more enthusiastic than me before long. Especially since the wireless and mobile signal in the village had been spotty for the past couple of months due to some sort of satellite issue, meaning modern technology dependants had to seek out other forms of entertainment.

  Since she was better than me, my current team of 'crazy cat lady' Rosie, schoolteacher Lorrie, and local curate Martin had welcomed her with open arms. Lucky for me ... or maybe unluckily, since I was pretty sure they were disappointed in my performance. No wonder Gemma and Andy had switched teams last year, pretending that they wanted to double date with one of Andy's friends and his girlfriend.

  I, Julianne Rose, mediocre trivia player, could have given them a gem in the form of my latest assistant, had they only waited — but I had no idea that I would choose a new assistant, albeit temporarily, in the form of an American exchange student seeking experience in the overseas hospitality industry. Ending up as a lackey to another American, a 'fish out of water' who helped plan and host major events at a little village's local manor house — from weddings to wine tastings — wasn't her original goal of The Regent Hotel. But Katie was the kind of pragmatic girl who would take any stepping stone to her future, especially if it led to a year spent abroad.

  "I think maybe I'm dragging down the team," I told Lorrie after the game. "Maybe you guys should replace me, too." I pretended to pout as I aimed a dart at the pub's board. "You could find a smarter player who actually watches television — who's seen all three seasons of Poldark —"

  "Enough," said Lorrie, rolling her eyes. "Who's trying to remove you from the team? Not me. I don't care about winning. That's only Rosie."

  "Who's smearing my reputation?" retorted Rosie. "I don't need a ruddy prize. And if I did, your cracking assistant would provide one with her mad skills, I'm quite sure."

  "I don't know about 'mad' skills," said Kate. She threw her dart now, and missed the bull's- eye by a wide margin — darts were one thing she had yet to master about hanging out at the pub.

  "You're younger. You have a better memory, that's all," I said, loftily.

  Katie stuck her tongue out at me. A confident, attractive young woman barely twenty, her hair had brighter ginger streaks than Gemma's, and her eyes had flecks of hazel in their greenish depths. Boys in the village would be wild about her ... if it wasn't precisely the season when local boys were busy with other subjects than romance.

  "Just for that, I won't buy you your next half pint, boss," she said.

  Boss. I felt a twinge of wistfulness — it brought back memories of Kitty Alderson, my old assistant. She had found a new life overseas with Nathan, who had been in love with her almost since first meeting. Something I could appreciate after my own experience with handsome-but-humble Poldark look-alike Matthew Rose ... but Kitty's true love had cost me and Cliffs House a very promising event planner.

  Katie was no 'American version' of Kitty. Except for sharing a name — Katherine — they had nothing in common. Whereas Kitty was bristly, fiery, thorny, and surprising, Katie was laid-back, outgoing, casual, and practical. She laughed more easily, but she also kept her secrets hidden better than even Kitty's slyest skills managed from the start.

  I missed being able to read whether something actually bothered my assistant, or whether they had an issue regarding a person or an event. Katie's 'tells' were still a mystery to me. If there were any, that is. I was beginning to think maybe nothing ever rattled her calm and steady character emotionally.

  "Just a small shot of St Austell ale," I told Katie. "I promised Matt I would come home awake and early tonight." Matt was returning from a series of lectures at a university in Scotland, and I promised to meet him at the station and walk home with him tonight. It was our chance to catch up after two weeks apart, and I wouldn't miss it for anything.

  "Small one. I promise," said Katie, who ordered herself a soft drink — English ales were also still daunting for her, I had noticed. "I think the last shot of bitters was a little too much for me."

  "Care to take another shot at the dart board?" I asked. I knew that it would only take a few more games for Katie to hone her skills and beat me. But the end of my reign as skilled dart player was bound to come someday.

  Two games later, Katie had finally managed to beat me. "Victory at last," she said. "At least this time I didn't hit the bartender." She blenched, a sheepish smile for the memory of one of her first wild misses.

  "Could you help it that you never played darts before?"

  I left Katie to challenge the rest of our team as I collected my coat near the door. "Oops. I'm sorry," I said to the person next to me, a young man rising from the little table near the front door, as we nearly collided.

  "No problem." The accent was distinctly American, belonging to a young man in a worn military jacket and jeans with holes in them, and a pair of hiking boots that looked much newer. I had noticed him at the bar earlier, where he had all the hallmarks of a tired traveler digging into one of Pete's special 'hang sandwiches' with relish.

  He had a backpack slung over one shoulder and a small pint in his other hand. Only half the liquid in his glass had
sloshed onto his jacket and the floor. "Gee. Great," he said. "Oh well. I didn't need the whole thing anyway. I didn't get anything on you, did I?"

  "No, but let me —" I began. But by then, the young man had disappeared deeper into the pub, leaving me alone at the door.

  Before I reached the train station, I discovered that my wallet was missing. But maybe that was merely a coincidence.

  ***

  "Did you find your pocketbook?" Lady Amanda asked me.

  "No," I said. "Matt and I retraced my steps on the pavement, but it wasn't there. I must have lost it in the pub, so I'll call Pete in a bit and see if someone turned it in." I couldn't imagine that it had actually fallen out of my bag, however.

  "A pity," said Lady Amanda. "I thought I lost mine only yesterday ... only Edwin had taken it and hidden it again. The second time this week. He's become quite the little magpie lately."

  Edwin had taken to 'hiding' lots of things — wallets, keys, mobile phones, watches — anything that the grownups in his world might need or use. Punishments and bribes were not terribly effective means of extracting information from him, so Lady Amanda and Lord William were forced to search for things instead.

  "Morning, ladies," said Katie, who laid her mobile and scarf on her desk. "Oh, Julianne, here's your wallet," she said. "Someone found it on the pub floor last night and gave it to Pete. I tried to catch you, but you'd already left to find Matt."

  "Thanks," I said. I opened it up, finding my I.D. and credit cards were still inside. The only thing missing were a few pounds. So it had been stolen, or at least rifled through ... but by a thief with a little bit of a conscience, it seemed. Even so, I would have to cancel my credit cards, just to be on the safe side.

  "Now, I've finished with the posters for the theater," said Lady Amanda, setting aside her teacup. "And I thought we'd take them by this morning, along with the new curtains."

  Millicent, the longstanding leader of the Society for Amateur Players, had a bout of bad luck at the beginning of summer, falling off a scaffold during rehearsals for the outdoor stage production of a Cornish passion play. Fortunately, nothing worse had come of it except for a broken leg, but that was enough to leave the local players in a lurch.

  Gerard usually stepped in as director when Millie was too busy or sick, but this time he was unavailable until rehearsals for the summer's indoor production would be halfway over. No one was prepared to step in yet, although Lady Amanda was doing her best to fill the gap with promotional materials and theater improvements — being a benefactor of the theater was her latest effort on behalf of the village.

  "Edwin has the makings of an excellent actor," she claimed. "At least I've never seen a child so young be quite so artful at thinking up stories. Did you know that he blamed a 'piskie' for the disappearance of all my chocolate-covered marshmallow puffs in my desk drawer?"

  I laughed. "I hadn't heard that one." Edwin's last excuse had accused a tour group of taking all of Michael's shortbreads from the kitchen table.

  Cliff's Edge Playhouse was not on the edge of the cliff per se, like the outdoor one on our grounds, where the passion play was staged; nor was it technically a theater in its origins. It was a house converted into one, with an elaborate theater sign painted by Millicent herself, and with mismatched seats and worn curtains surrounding the stage Gerard had built...but thanks to Lady Amanda, the worn curtains, at least, would receive an upgrade to new red velvet ones.

  Gerard was there working on the set for the new play when we arrived with the curtains and the summer production posters. Rosie was there, too, with Millie's clipboard in hand.

  "Reinforcements!" she declared, when she saw us. "Lady Amanda, they look smashing. Lay them on the old piano, if you would be so kind. Martin and Andy will help Gerard with them this evening. Now, come help me, since I'm at a loss to make head or tail of Millie's notes."

  Amanda laughed. "What could I possibly do?" she asked.

  "Find me a director, to begin with," said Rosie.

  "You'd make a lovely one, I'm sure," coaxed Lady Amanda.

  "Me? I haven't a clue how to begin. I've never told anyone what to do in my life — except for animals," said Rosie. "Direct a pageant of poodles in ballerina tutus or kitties dressed as clowns, and I would be the perfect candidate to coax them through hoops or a pas de deux. Not with people, though. With them, I simply have no authority. They simply smell timidity beneath my coaxing. Now you, on the other hand —"

  "Me?" Lady Amanda echoed. "With Edwin's play dates and all the work I have, I can't possibly handle the rehearsal's evening schedule — that's barring any crisis at the estate, of course."

  "I haven't a clue where I would begin, though," said Rosie. "Not with this play, at least."

  "It's just Romeo and Juliet, isn't it?" I said. They both glanced at me. I was looking at the posters Lady A had finished. Ones that were a very modern design, depicting sculpted, squared silhouette figures in an embrace like Klimt's The Kiss, against a background of red and yellow blockish panels. White font printed the play's name and its four summer performance dates.

  "A modern version, yes," said Lady Amanda, slowly. "A modern American version, to be precise."

  The allusion was too big for me to miss. "Oh, no," I began, holding up my hands as if to ward it off. "I'm not a Shakespeare fan. And I'm definitely not a director. I've never even been in a school play!"

  "There's nothing to directing," soothed Rosie. "You just figure out entrance and exit cues, tell people to try harder or to try less hard in some cases — it's practically like being an event planner. Which, I might add, you are brilliant at."

  "If there's nothing to it, you should be fine," I retorted. "You don't need me."

  "Oh, but you have such a way with people," coaxed Lady Amanda. "You're a natural, as they say. Shakespeare is as easy as reading from a book, and this is hardly the formal wording of your primary school memory. And I know that Seattle must be much more like New York than this village."

  "Star-crossed lovers in New York's already been done," I argued. "And put to music. Why not just change it to London?"

  "Oh, please say 'yes,' Julianne," said Rosie, pleadingly.

  ***

  "I can't believe I agreed to this," I groaned. "I haven't the faintest idea where to start." I let the script fall closed — one that had Shakespeare's characters paired with modern settings and cues, like coffee shops, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, for examples.

  "It can't be that bad," Katie said. "I did Shakespeare in high school a couple of times. Basically, people just expect the usual hallmarks. Two people in love, a swordfight ... like The Princess Bride with 'thee' and 'thou.'"

  "You've been in theater?" Here was the first possible intersection with Kitty that I had encountered from my new assistant. It seemed too good to be true, two girls with theater experience ending up in my office.

  "Well ... not exactly," said Katie. "That is ... for one night. I was an understudy and the girl playing my part got the stomach flu."

  "Were you good?" I asked. "By 'good,' I mean did you survive without throwing up onstage?"

  "Are you trying to rope me into this thing?" asked Katie.

  "Do coconuts grow on palm trees?" I asked. Behind me, Michael chuckled as he pulled a fresh lemon sponge from the oven.

  "Mmm, that smells heavenly," said Katie, as the sharp sweetness rose from the cake tin.

  "Sure does," said another voice, this one from the open kitchen door.

  A stranger stood there, a backpack at his feet, and a note of hunger in his voice for Michael's lemon drizzle cake. I recognized the boy from the pub, the one whose drink I had accidentally spilled.

  In the daylight, I could see his hair was raven black, his eyes a greenish shade of blue. His features were chiseled and distinctive — maybe that's why Katie's posture suddenly straightened, and her fingers were busy brushing back the strands of her short hair.

  "Hello," said Lady Amanda. "Are you lost?" she asked, puzzl
ed and polite at the same time. "If you're here for a tour, I'm afraid there isn't one today."

  "No, actually, uh, I was crossing your garden. Trespassing, as it were," he answered, with a grin. "I was planning to cut across your field, maybe camp in the forest over there ... somebody told me there was an old abandoned barn in these parts where I could sack out and be in nobody's way. But when I smelled the cake, I gotta admit that I was pulled this direction instead."

  "I would offer you a slice, but it has a recipient already," said Michael. He sounded brusque, as usual, but I knew he didn't mean it that way. "If you're hungry, I can let you have some biscuits."

  "No, thanks. I'm not a big fan of them," said the boy. "Or of gravy, as far as that goes."

  "It's not the same thing here as back in the U.S.," I said. "Biscuit means 'cookie.'"

  "In that case, I accept," he answered. "Say — didn't I meet you in the pub last night?" he said to me, as he lifted a cookie from the plate Lady Amanda offered him, a fresh supply of Michael's chocolate-covered ones.

  "You did," I said. "Sorry about your drink."

  He shook his head. "Forget it," he answered. He took a bite from the cookie. "It was just a little ale, right?"

  "I'm afraid that camping isn't really allowed in the wood," said Lady Amanda. "It's a bit dangerous in there, and it's not open to the public. Truthfully, you'll be eaten alive by flies in that forest if you try to sleep in there anyway. And the barn was pulled down months ago, so there's no shelter to speak of."

  "Where are you going?" I asked him. "I assume your long-term destination isn't an abandoned Cornish barn, at any rate."

  He smiled. "Not exactly a long-term plan in my mind," he said. "I'm backpacking across Europe on my own. Drifting around for the summer. Anyway, I camp a lot, pick up some odd jobs. Just, you know, seeing the world. Didn't think I'd run into so many Americans in a place this small," he added, pointing from me to Katie.