Page 1 of To Know Miss May

CHAPTER ONE

“I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading!”

Pride & Prejudice, Jane Austen

Cornwall, April 1815

Lowering a book when one had just delved deep into the small, black-printed words of an engaging drama was a magnanimous feat for any literate individual.

For Miss Lavinia May, however, such a task was nearly impossible—nay, unheard of. Yet thrice she’d peered beyond the words of The Life and Strange Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, and, dare she say, she would do so again.

There was nothing she could find wrong with the novel. In truth, this story was shaping up to be her sixth favorite tale ever. But her lack of attention to Daniel Defoe’s marooned sailor merely proved how desperately she loved the captivating view before her.

The view of St. Michael’s Mount.

Karrek Loos yn Koos.

In the Cornish tongue, it meant the grey rock in the woods, as the Mount had once been surrounded by woodland.

Now, however, to an ordinary eye—an outsider’s eye—the Mount was but a bit of land resting in the midst of the sea, connected to mainland Cornwall via a thin, cobblestoned causeway. But to those who inhabited the small tidal island, St Michael’s was a place of wonder and beauty, of pilgrimages and faith, of legends and history.

The large mound burgeoned up from the water like a mighty sea creature, strong and sturdy and powerful, formed to take on any foe foolish enough to fight. And yet, with large, billowing trees situated between the terraced houses lining the bottom of the Mount and the mighty castle perched at the top, the island emanated a degree of gentility and ethereal beauty.

Was there anywhere so enchanting on this earth? She proclaimed that there was not. Never mind that she’d seen nothing of the world beyond Bodmin. Was it her fault that she only ever wished to leave the Mount to look at the Mount? No, it was not. Because when one lived in Heaven, why would one ever venture away from it?

Unless, of course, she was speaking of reading. Then, and only then, did she partake in adventures, as reading was always the safest, fastest, most convenient, and most comfortable way to travel.

Lavinia looked back down to Robinson Crusoe, but the words did not linger in her mind long before her eyes found their way back to the water sparkling beyond the Mount’s causeway.

Heaven, indeed. How she loved it there.

That morning, just like every Tuesday morning—fine-weather permitting—she had filled her basket with treacle tarts and club sandwiches, a thick, woolen throw, two books, and a small jug filled with her now swiftly depleting reservoir of drinking chocolate. With her stash in hand, she’d ventured across the water on the boat at high tide, then made her way to her secret spot on the mainland. There, she’d plunked herself down and had a most wonderful time in peace and solitude.

And what a day she’d had, finishing for the fourth time the masterpiece that was Hamlet before settling down with Robinson Crusoe. Sadly, however, her time of reading was coming to an end. She had to be getting back. Father didn’t like her reading the day away. Even though he understood her love of a good novel, he far preferred her to socialize.

She laughed to herself. As if she’d ever choose that over reading.

She peered up at the sun hanging just to the right of the Mount. Father wouldn’t be heading back from the castle’s gardens for at least three quarters of an hour.

With an excited smile, she lay back on her throw she’d fashioned as a pillow and settled her back against the thick grass. Now that she’d seen enough of her Mount, she could get back to Mr. Crusoe’s harrowing adventure.

As she read more about his fishing attempts, the man snagging a dolphin instead of a fish, she imagined such a thing happening to herself, then she realized her eyebrows had raised again.

She chidingly put them back in their rightful positions. Her lips and brow were unruly playactors each time she read—raising, wriggling, frowning, smiling—without any say from herself.

Fortunately, no one could see her facial reactions from where she was in her hidden location. She was guarded by thick grass on either side of her and nearly impenetrable trees behind her—all with an unmarred view of the ocean before her. The location was only accessible by traversing through rather bothersome bushes…and then walking through just a touch of private land.

But that was neither here nor there. If she could scale the fifteen-foot stone wall that held Marazion higher than the tide, she wouldn’t have to go traipsing through people’s gardens now, would she?

Lavinia, or Livvy, as her friends knew her…

Rather, as her friends would know her, if she had anyone to call a friend.

Her brow crinkled, and she pulled in her lips, forgetting once again about Crusoe’s daily log. Where the devil had that intrusive thought come from? She would allow no place for such a thing in her mind. At least not while she was in her second favorite spot, reading her possibly sixth favorite novel, in her third favorite weather.

Apart from being a little short on food and drink now, she had everything she could ever want.

Except a friend or two.