Page 10 of The Wordsworth Key (Regency Secrets #3)

She followed him into the kitchen. The walls were so thick the light entering the deep-set window was watery.

It was like being half-submerged in the lake.

The table was scrubbed clean and a bunch of daisies sat in a jar in the centre, yellow eyes surrounded by white petals.

Had he done this, or did he forget to mention someone coming in to clean?

The rich often forgot to count servants as people.

Picking his writing case up from the floor, Barton opened it on the table.

It was a sweet little desk with miniature inkwell and a neat stack of paper.

Polished walnut, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Dora rather coveted it for herself. If she had been the thief, this was what she would have stolen.

As he leafed through to find a scrap, she noticed the leaves were covered in half-written poems with many crossings out.

He blushed when he noticed where her gaze was directed.

‘Amateur fumblings. I recognise greatness because I cannot attain it myself.’

His motive for being in the Lakes was becoming clear.

He wanted to breathe the same air that inspired others, hoping that it worked a miracle on himself.

‘You should not be discouraged that others are better than you; everyone must start somewhere. I know that I am no great tragedian like Sarah Siddons but that didn’t stop me acting. ’

He beamed at her. ‘You are very kind, Miss Fitz-Pennington. I am an admirer of those who dare go on stage– and what an age we are living through. Here.’ He held out a list of six names.

‘The three I’ve put a star against are literary-minded fellows like me– the ones most likely to be interested in a manuscript.

The others I fear would only pick it up to use it to start a fire.

’ He gulped at that thought. ‘But it was in my valise, dammit!’

‘Let’s not jump to the worst conclusions, Mr Barton. You are certain you have had no outsiders other than these in your cottage? No servants to clean, or cook?’

‘I look after myself here. That’s part of the appeal– living all summer without the fuss and bother of town. I like my own company and enjoy having uninterrupted time to write. Having a charwoman bustling in and telling me to pick up after myself would quite spoil the adventure.’

She could sympathise with that. ‘And are your friends still in the area?’

‘Fortunately, yes. Three of them came up especially for the ball and intend to stay a fortnight– they are at the hall. The others are here for the summer like me, though we all come and go, depending on our business. You can find them at these addresses.’ He gestured for her to return the list and he added their lodgings.

‘I simply can’t believe any of them would encroach on my privacy and steal from me. It’s just not done.’

She checked over the addresses. Fortunately, they were all in the region of Ambleside and Grasmere, walkable from her own residence.

‘If a chance thief did break in when you were away from the cottage, what would he have seen when he opened the valise? Is the manuscript titled? Does it look worth stealing? How many pages are we talking about?’

‘Several hundred. Thousands of lines of poetry.’

‘My goodness.’ That explained how he hadn’t found the time to read it– it would take the best part of a day.

‘Mr Wordsworth has a lot to say.’ Barton smiled wryly. ‘Unlike me. My problem when I write is that I find there’s nothing in my head. I’m not sure it was signed but it wouldn’t be hard to conclude it was Wordsworth’s. His style is distinctive.’

‘A thief who knows modern poetry?’

‘That does sound odd, doesn’t it?’

‘If the thief is local and knows the poet, perhaps he thinks to ransom it back to the family– or sell it to someone to publish?’ Dora caught herself before she ran further with that idea.

‘No, that’s too convoluted. Poetry rarely makes any money and why would someone publish something that is so clearly stolen?

If it is autobiographical, the thief can hardly claim it is his work.

’ She looked around the kitchen for other possessions.

There were several bottles of wine on the sideboard and a cheese under muslin.

Those would have been more attractive to the usual thief looking to fill his belly, but they had been ignored.

‘Nothing else has vanished? You mentioned a silk cravat. What about other valuables?’

Barton gestured to the bedroom. ‘You saw everything I have with me. My best boots might fetch something– they’re Hobey’s– and I have a silver shaving set that would fetch a bob or two, but nothing else was taken.’

All the evidence pointed to it being a targeted theft. What other motives were there?

‘You and Miss Wordsworth mentioned that it would hurt her brother sorely if he learned that the work was lost. Is there anyone you can think of who would like to inflict that pain on him? Does he have any enemies?’

‘Of course not. He is generally admired.’ Barton tried to look offended but there was something in his expression that suggested he had thought of someone.

‘Mr Barton, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.’

Barton sighed. ‘Well, it’s no secret in our circle so I suppose I can tell you.’

‘Tell me what?’

‘There has been a falling out among the poets. You should ask Miss Wordsworth for the details, but I would say that if anyone was likely to want to hit back at William Wordsworth it would be Samuel Taylor?—’

‘Coleridge,’ finished Dora.