Page 26 of The Wordsworth Key (Regency Secrets #3)

‘Your pointed questions are clue enough, but Miss Fitz-Pennington was striding around in breeches last night, according to the scandalised citizens of Hawkshead. That gave me pause. She’s obviously not what she seems– good act, by the way.

’ He toasted Dora. ‘You had me fooled. And now she’s perched at my desk like a magpie, alert to any gems of information I might unwittingly scatter.

If she’s a society miss, then I’m the President of America. ’

Dora exchanged a glance with Jacob. There was no use pretending with such an intelligent interlocutor. ‘You’ve guessed correctly, Mr Langhorne. We are sorry for the loss of your friend?—’

‘If he is lost.’

‘If he is lost, but ours aren’t idle questions.’

Jacob produced a card from his breast pocket. ‘Fitz-Pennington and Sandys, private enquiry agents.’

Langhorne frowned at the card. ‘Whatever are private enquiries?’

‘Exactly what you might think. Mr Barton asked us to find something that had been stolen from him, but events have got far more serious since last night so we mustn’t waste time tiptoeing around the subject,’ said Dora. ‘Did you take anything from Mr Barton’s cottage over the last three weeks?’

Langhorne’s chin shot up. ‘No!’ He then looked pained. ‘What kind of thing?’

‘A bundle of paper, not written by him.’

‘Oh. I thought you were going to say wine as we might’ve loaded up the boat with a bottle or two without asking.

He never minded. No, nothing like that. In fact, I can’t remember going into the cottage recently, not past the door.

We went out in his boat several times, but we tended to retire to the Salutation to dine.

None of us has a cook. Do you mean letters, or some poetry, something of that kind? ’

It was interesting that he didn’t seem to know– or pretended not to be aware– that Barton had been entrusted with Wordsworth’s great work. That agreed with what Barton had said about keeping it quiet that he had the manuscript. ‘The latter.’

‘Feel free to look in my desk,’ said Langhorne wearily, ‘but no, the muse has not visited me lately and there is little there to search. I’m thinking that I should get back to the city. Perhaps I am more a town than a Lake poet?’

He might not have been expecting it, but Dora took up the invitation to search. Jacob moved in to distract him with further questions.

‘Tell me about Barton at college.’

‘He was a Fellow-Commoner, I the Pensioner and Knotte the Sizar– and yet we all became friends– the mismatched trio at Trinity, united by our admiration for the Lyrical Ballads .’

‘What does all that mean?’ asked Dora. Jacob would know but for her the terms were as mysterious as the language of the Kabbala.

‘Your very rich young men buy their way in as Fellow-Commoners,’ said Langhorne.

‘To be honest, Barton always said he was most interested in the fancy gown it gave him and that was the extent of his lording it over us. I paid the ordinary fees. Knotte as you probably know is the local genius, highly regarded in these parts. His father was a farmer but after some difficulties in the nineties lost his farm and had to go to work for other landowners. A local bigwig saw promise in the son and paid for him to have coaching to take the entrance examinations. He won a scholarship, but still had to pay his way with Sizar duties, waiting on tables and the like.’

‘Did either of you resent Barton for his riches?’ asked Dora, leafing through what looked like drafts of love letters to a nameless lady. They were a little more explicit than what was normally accepted in such billets doux. ‘In your shoes, I wouldn’t like to wait on my fellow student.’

Langhorne gave her a patronising smile. ‘As Dr Sandys can tell you, my dear, it’s the system in colleges. He no doubt was a Fellow-Commoner too.’

Jacob shrugged, evidently deeming the question unremarkable. ‘It was expected of someone from my family.’

‘We men are all used to it. Fags at school, Sizars at college– it is supposed to build character.’

‘And does it?’ asked Dora. ‘To me it sounds like a tree growing bitter fruit.’

Langhorne laughed dryly. ‘You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed it is just a reflection of society outside of these institutions? Some of us may want to blow the system up sky-high and start again, but for now it’s what we’re stuck with.’

‘And who are your people, Langhorne?’ asked Jacob.

‘Ironically we used to own a gunpowder manufactory, but my father now works for Lord Furness.’ Langhorne swirled the glass. ‘Odd how my dear papa must be the only man who doesn’t know how to make money out of armaments during a war.’

There was a lot of resentment there even though he wouldn’t admit it, thought Dora.

‘I’m acquainted with his lordship. I met both him and his daughter at my father’s funeral this week,’ said Jacob.

Langhorne perked up. ‘Which one?’

‘Lady Alice.’

‘Isn’t she a peach?’ The first genuine smile lightened his features. ‘Far above my touch, of course, but a man can dream.’

Dora was sure she wanted no insight into what dreams he might have for the Lady Alice judging by his love letters. She closed the desk drawer. ‘As you said, there’s nothing here.’ She rose. ‘Thank you for the sherry– and for allowing me to look.’

‘Do you know where we can find Mr Knotte?’ asked Jacob. ‘We have an address at the inn for him, but the landlord says that is only for his letters.’

‘Ah yes. I’m afraid Slipknot ran out of money for a room at the inn what with the summer visitors driving up the prices.

He tends to bumble around the area, cadging a night’s lodging off old friends.

In fact, he was here last night. I suspect from the hints he dropped as to whether I thought it all right, that he might think to use Barton’s cottage for a few days.

I told him that no one else is using it, and Barton wouldn’t mind.

He is– was– always generous like that.

’ Langhorne dropped his head between his raised knees. ‘Dammit, Barton, where are you?’