“I think it is something to do with fitting out ships. He was once a mate on one of my father's vessels and—”
She stopped abruptly, frightened now at her own indiscretion. She had been wrong in wanting to send for Stephen, even in referring to him. Whatever befell her, she was determined that her people at home should not suffer further on her account.
Father Cruse had caught the look, and his heart gave a bound, though no gesture betrayed him. “You have not told me your name,” he said simply—as if it were a matter of routine in cases like hers.
She glanced at him quickly. “Does it make any difference?”
“It might. I do not believe you are a criminal, but if I am to help you as I want to do, I must know the truth.”
She thought for a moment. Here was something she could not escape. The assumed name had so far shielded her. She would brave it out as she had done before.
“They call me Mrs. Stanton.”
“Is that your true name?”
The Carnavons were imperious, unforgiving, and sometimes brutal. Many of them had been roues, gamblers, and spendthrifts, but none of them had ever been a liar.
“No!” she answered firmly.