Page 27 of The Wordsworth Key (Regency Secrets #3)

Chapter Fifteen

Road to Cockermouth

A fter leaving Langhorne’s lodgings, they went directly to the Salutation where Jacob had stabled Nero.

Hiring a sturdy mount for Dora, they set off for Cockermouth, with the intention of riding there and back in the same day.

The first part of the route involved going over much of the ground they had already walked, past Rydal Water and Grasmere, but the horses cut the time it took to a fraction, particularly as Jacob and she were both accomplished riders.

Dora felt her spirits lift the further they got from the familiar territory.

The day was fresh, only a few spots of rain, so it made for perfect travelling weather.

They were soon passing Grasmere in its idyllic green vale and heading north to Keswick with Skiddaw and Blencathra behind, the northern rampart of the Lakes.

‘Have you been to Cockermouth?’ asked Dora as they climbed the rise to Wythburn and the valley beyond Grasmere.

She had the feeling of escaping her troubles– the interview with Jacob’s brother must’ve upset her more than she thought.

Her horse, a stubborn beast who did not like to be on another creature’s tail, surged forward to take the lead.

‘Only a couple of times.’ With a gentle tap on Nero’s flank, Jacob pulled up alongside her. ‘May I say how at ease you look on horseback?’

‘You may.’ She grinned at him. She knew he was trying to cheer her up after she’d lost the argument about whether to ride side-saddle.

She had reasoned it was more practical to ride astride.

He’d argued that she could get away with it at night and in an emergency, but it might work against her in future if witnesses saw her in daylight riding like a man through areas where he hoped they would be accepted.

Dora was not a sore loser, though her behind might be after a long ride in this saddle. ‘You have no friends to call on in the town?’ she asked. ‘Have you been a recluse, wandering like the breeze through Cumberland?’

‘I admit that I am against mingling in polite society while I’m here. I prefer the company of intelligent people.’

‘Ah! A very palpable hit against the upper classes! Dr Sandys, I declare you are a Jacobin!’

‘You mustn’t joke about such things, not with Moss in the area.’ She pulled a face at him. ‘And, for your information, the Earl of Lonsdale is the most important peer in the region, an earl being senior to a viscount in the pecking order.’

‘That must chafe your brother.’

Jacob snorted. ‘Hardly. That title was resurrected a couple of years ago for the Lowthers.’

‘Therefore, Lord Lonsdale is a Johnny Newcome?’ Dora felt she was coming to grips with the power circles in the Lakes. ‘And the Lowthers are the family for whom Wordsworth’s father was steward?’

‘Correct. Their family seat is Lowther Castle, but you’ll find that over near Penrith, miles to the east?—’

‘Meaning the steward in Cockermouth would be the representative of the earl’s interests in the west, but such a man would not necessarily be of a rank where your family would go visiting?’

‘Exactly. Arthur would not consider another nobleman’s steward in the same circles as him and would only communicate with them on business matters or for official ceremonies.’

She should consider herself honoured then that the viscount had deigned to speak to her at all in the garden. ‘Who do you know in Cockermouth?’

‘The only people coming from the town with whom I’m familiar are the Wordsworths and a certain magistrate.’

‘But he was found dead in Billingsgate. I see.’ She reined in her eager mount who was trying to gain a head on Nero once more. ‘Whoa, boy, it’s not a race. That begs the question, who are we going to visit today?’

‘Smith reported that Sir Richard Leyburn was a popular figure in London, and the gentlemen I talked to at my father’s funeral were of the same opinion. I propose we call on Leyburn’s servants and find out what really went on in the household.’

‘We?’ She quirked a brow.

‘All right, you.’

‘Good, because a visit by the brother of Viscount Sandys would instantly dry up the flow of gossip. You might not know anyone in Cockermouth, but I would lay good money on everyone knowing who you are, some might even have spied you painting your landscapes on some artistic hillock.’

He laughed at the image. ‘True. Cumberland is sparsely populated, not counting the summer visitors, so that even I might warrant a story or two. I’ve noticed that news passes swiftly thanks to tinkers, pedlars and such threading their way through the valleys.

Who needs newspapers when they have doorstep chatter? ’

‘I can imagine the tales of the reclusive Sandys, war hero and artist. I bet that makes for a good anecdote carried along with the packs of cotton and needles, with the truth much embroidered. All that is why you must remain aloof today.’

Jacob made an expression of mock-sorrow. ‘You don’t want me there? I thought I could linger in the background, watching how they react to your questions.’

Oh, yes, a dark brooding gentleman, handsome in his brown riding jacket and chamois leather breeches, would absolutely make the maids pay attention to her questions. ‘Definitely not. They will be flirting, or minding their manners, or whatever else they think appropriate to impress you.’

‘Woe is me. I am redundant. Then what am I to do, dear Dora?’

She loved that he now played with her in their exchanges. When they first met in Kendal, he had been too straitlaced to join in the game. ‘Go to the inn, dear Jacob, and ply anyone there who knew Leyburn with drinks. That might loosen tongues.’

‘A tough assignment. If I get a headache, I’m blaming you.’

She smirked. ‘You need to learn to act drunk, Jacob, not be so.’

They trotted into the town past a dilapidated castle, a relic of the many wars that had swept through this area.

She dismounted once they’d passed the gateway, and Jacob took the reins so he could lead her horse to the inn while she went in search of the servants’ entrance to the Leyburn family home on Castlegate.

Studying the house from the front– the largest one in the steep terraced street, a fine place with a portico over the front door– Dora concluded that she had better find the lane at the back because it wasn’t the butler she wanted to meet.

Butlers were trained to send nosy people packing, and so shortly after a scandalous death in the family he would be on high alert.

As she had suspected, a modest alleyway lay to the rear.

That was more her level. She walked along, occasionally jumping up to judge which house she was behind.

Locating the gate to what she believed was the right property, she took off her fine redingote, worn to impress Langhorne, folded it into her bag and replaced it with a shawl tied crossways around her middle.

She now appeared a respectable but ordinary woman with work-roughed hands, carrying her worldly goods with her.

Helpfully, the evidence of weeding had not entirely disappeared from under her nails.

She tried the handle. The gate opened upon a paved courtyard and luck was with her: the fine weather meant it was washday.

Loud with domestic clatter, two maids were pouring hot water into the washtub as the laundress sat, knees apart, scrubbing board between her legs, pummelling a shift with lye soap.

Dora judged that, from the washerwoman’s reddened arms, she was likely a professional, hired to go from house to house to do the specialist task of cleaning the clothes without damaging the fragile fabrics or letting the dye run and spoil the wash.

Today must be the turn of the Leyburn household and they were tackling the linen.

The laundress had her child in tow. The little girl was dipping a clay pipe into the soapy water and blowing bubbles, chuckling as they rose up into the air, much to the exasperation of the family dog, who yapped as the prizes floated like Montgolfier balloons out of its reach no matter how high it jumped.

Judging the garment clean enough, the laundress tossed the shift to the older maid on her right, who rinsed it in a second tub of clean water, a casual efficiency between them.

They were chattering away happily, unaware they were being watched until one of the bubbles drifted to Dora and burst on her hat brim.

The dog almost bumped into her, turning its embarrassment to a barrage of barking.

‘Ma!’ said the child. ‘There be someone a’t’gate.’

The three women looked over. ‘What brings ye here, mistress?’ asked the older of the maids, so likely the senior. She pulled the dog back by its collar. ‘Quiet now, Pug.’

‘Good day to you,’ said Dora. ‘I was wondering if there be any work for willing hands? I’m on my way to join my husband at Portsmouth and I’d rather work than beg.’

‘Wi’ the army, is he?’ asked the laundress, flipping a shirt onto the board. ‘Or navy?’

‘34 th Regiment of Foot under Captain Cooper, mistress.’

‘And ye?’

‘I come from Liverpool. My Jacob is from these parts but now he’s bound for Spain.’ Best not to invent too much.

‘And yer hopin’ to go wi’ him? Weel, lass, that’s brave.’

‘Better than being left behind to starve. They draw lots among the wives. Some of us are allowed to go as laundresses.’ She looked significantly at the tub.

The three women exchanged a glance and then the laundress jerked her chin at the place beside her. ‘Move along, Annie.’ The little girl got up off her stool. ‘Sit ye down, and let’s make use on ye while ye are here. There’ll be sixpence in it if ye prove a hard worker.’

‘Much obliged for your kindness.’ Dora was no stranger to a wash tub. She picked up a bar of soap, selected a petticoat from the pile waiting to be washed and set about scrubbing dirt from the hem.

‘Tell us about your Jacob,’ asked the younger maid, pegging out the rinsed garments. ‘Is he verra fine?’