Page 23 of The Wordsworth Key (Regency Secrets #3)

Chapter Thirteen

Esthwaite Water

L ong and lean, Esthwaite Water lay in a shallow valley.

Pastures crept down to the shore, dotted with a few sparse clumps of trees.

The most notable feature were three spits of land bulging out into the lake– one of which was Elter Holme.

Due to the boggy ground, there were no buildings right on the water so the surface was very dark, the water like a chasm into the depths of the earth.

The only lights came from Hawkshead, twinkling at the northern end, set back from the lake.

As they trotted down the lane, Jacob could see lanterns dancing on the track leading out of the village.

William and Hartley must have got through with their message and help was heading their way.

‘We had better check the boys identified the clothes correctly,’ said Dora.

‘I’ll rouse the householders,’ said Arthur, pointing to the hamlet of Near Sawrey. The inhabitants in this harvest season would have already gone to bed, intending to rise with the sun.

For once his brother was being helpful, throwing about his viscountly weight in their service. ‘I’d be much obliged,’ said Jacob. ‘We’ll check the holme.’

Securing their horses to a fence post, he and Dora followed the well-worn track to the lake. He held out a lantern in order that they didn’t fall into one of the many rivulets that cut across the pasture.

‘Holme? Is that a word?’ asked Dora, jumping over a stream in one stride.

‘It’s what we locals call these islets– they can be either little islands or almost islands like this one.

’ He could tell she was squirrelling the word away for later use.

Dora loved dialects, no doubt so she could pull off acting the part of a local in future.

She had a formidable array of such stores which they called on when investigating.

The pile of clothes was neatly stacked on a flat rock near the water.

Care had been taken, boots set to one side, the white garments on top to avoid being sullied.

The swimmer had gone into the water in a measured manner which meant this was not a frantic impulse, a man fleeing his demons.

Dora examined the jacket, finding a calling card in the pocket.

‘ Erasmus Barton , though I suppose it could have been given to another man who tucked it in his coat.’ She held it out to Jacob so the lantern light fell fully on it.

She got to her feet and examined the boots.

‘Maker’s mark, Hobey’s. He said he had a pair– his best boots.

I’d say that was proof no mistake has been made. ’

‘I agree. It’s his clothing as the boys suspected.’

She stuck her hands in her coat pockets, gazing out over the inky water.

Only the thinnest slither of the waning moon was visible over the crags.

Clouds hid the stars. ‘What happened, do you think? Early morning swim that went wrong? Cramp? Heart attack? No one on hand to rescue him? He was so young– it’s not fair. ’

Jacob put down the lantern and pulled her into his arms. There was so much more of her when she was wearing her army great coat.

It resisted his hug but she was under there somewhere, sorrowing for a man she had just met.

‘Dora, there’s something I’ve been thinking– about the missing poem.

One of the most important passages in it describes Wordsworth coming across a pile of clothes when he was a lad. We are standing by the same lake.’

‘What?’ She looked up at him in confusion.

‘The manuscript. In it, Wordsworth writes how he was a schoolboy in Hawkshead grammar school and lodged in a cottage over there.’ He pointed towards Town End, a few cottages outside Hawkshead at the northern end.

‘This lake was his playground. I don’t have your recall, but when I heard Wordsworth read them the lines stuck with me.

He described seeing the clothes in the twilight lying on the opposite shore, left as if someone was bathing.

Then the next day people come with grappling irons and long poles. ’

‘Oh, God.’

‘And after a while the dead man rises bolt upright, face ghastly.’

‘How terrifying.’

‘The odd thing is that he says he wasn’t scared because the stories he’d read had prepared him for such sights.’

‘I don’t believe him. It clearly stuck in his mind– something that seared itself into his memory.’

‘My point is that if you felt you had done Wordsworth– and the world– a huge harm by losing his greatest work, would you not punish yourself in a way that honours the poem?’

‘You think it suicide? I can’t believe that. Barton wasn’t the type– he was too ordinary.’

‘Ordinary people kill themselves, Dora, not the extraordinary. The odd ones go on happily in their wild fantastical way.’ Jacob had always considered suicide could be a rational choice in extremis .

‘Granted, but he was too balanced. You don’t go from playing with the Coleridge boys one day to drowning yourself the next.’

‘Don’t you?’

Shouts from the slope above where they were standing announced the arrival of the search party, Arthur striding at the head.

‘Is it your man’s clothes?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ confirmed Jacob.

‘Right, the first thing we must do is search the shoreline. He could have pulled himself ashore, or already been washed up. There’s a faint chance that he might be alive still– injured in some way.

’ The cowed inhabitants of Near Sawrey clustered around him.

‘You men, you go south. I’ll get the team from Hawkshead to search their end of the lake as they’ll know it best.’ He turned to a wrinkled farmer.

‘Are there any currents in the lake? Are there places where things are most likely to wash ashore?’

‘There was a schoolmaister who went under. I can think on’t as weel as if it had nobbut been yesterday,’ began the farmer in his thick dialect.

‘If you remember the spot, search there first.’

‘He must mean the man Wordsworth wrote about– a teacher in the grammar school,’ murmured Jacob to Dora.

‘Your brother is very commanding, isn’t he?’ said Dora wryly as Arthur dispatched the locals on their search.

‘Trained since birth. We should go and meet the Hawkshead party. I think we’ll need the boats and grappling hooks at first light.

There’s little to be gained trying to search the lake at night and a body can wait.

’ Jacob turned to his brother. ‘We’ll tell William and his group what to do. I’ll see about getting boats readied.’

‘Very well,’ said Arthur. ‘We should move our centre of operations to Hawkshead in any case. Once I’ve got this search underway, I’ll join you there. You’d better take those.’ Arthur nodded to the clothes. ‘Check for a note.’

‘We already did,’ said Dora, scooping up the bundle.

‘But thank you for the suggestion,’ said Jacob, not wanting to sound ungenerous when his brother was being an asset in the search. A viscount could get others hopping where a lowly doctor could not.

After relaying the orders to William and his entourage that the Hawkshead men search the northern stretch of the lakeshore, they rode to the Red Lion. Hartley was huddled in the taproom, nursing a hot tonic under the clucking watch of the plump innkeeper.

‘You reckon he’s dead and gone then– or as near dead as makes no matter?’ she asked. ‘Drown-ded folk don’t come back in my experience.’

‘It looks that way,’ said Jacob. ‘A glass of wine for the lady and an ale for me. How’s the lad?’

‘Fairly maizled wi’ t’cold.’

Probably not the cold but shock. That had a way of making you lose all warmth. ‘Do you have a blanket?’

‘Aye.’ She disappeared into the back and returned with a woollen wrap. ‘If he were a lass, I’d tell him to blubber it out but his determined on being strong, poor lad.’

Jacob draped the blanket over Hartley’s shoulders and returned to Dora.

‘I’m sorry now we brought him, but I thought William might get lost in the dark without a local guide. Hartley needs to be back home.’

‘Isn’t his proper home in Keswick? I can’t see him wanting to go back to his camp on Rydal Water.’

‘With his brother then.’

Dora eyed Jacob suspiciously. ‘You’re asking me to take him back to your cottage, aren’t you?’

‘Not to protect delicate lady sensibilities, but because the boy needs it. The locals know me. I need to see about the boats.’

‘I imagine that will involve coins exchanging hands.’ She sighed. ‘Very well. When I finish my drink, I’ll ride back with him. Shall I take the clothes?’

‘No, leave them here. The authorities– such as they are around here– might want to see them.’

‘Don’t let people get the idea it was suicide. You know they might not give him a decent burial when he’s found if they think like that.’

Jacob nodded. ‘An accident. We can all agree on that.’

Dora shook her head, curls brushing her collar. ‘I don’t, though. I’ve been thinking more about it. Is a young man likely to get into trouble in calm water like this? He looked hale and hearty, not the kind to be carried off with a heart attack. I suppose it is possible, but it feels wrong.’

‘Then what?’

She shrugged. ‘Foul play? I suppose that’s the only other alternative.’

‘Occam’s razor, Dora. Isn’t drowning the simplest explanation?’

‘Simple– obvious– maybe too obvious? What about the thief?’

She was right. One crime had already been committed against Barton. An investigator mustn’t turn a blind eye to other possibilities when they had not even questioned Barton’s friends as to his state of mind. Jacob squeezed her fingers in lieu of a kiss.

‘Very well, we’ll keep looking. Ride safely. I’ll send a message if we find…’ He glanced at Hartley. ‘Anything.’

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