Page 33 of The Wordsworth Key (Regency Secrets #3)
Chapter Nineteen
St Oswald’s Church, Grasmere
A sunny day of rain-washed blue skies greeted the annual Rush Bearing.
The girls had dressed in white to collect the rushes from the hills and now they bore them back in handwoven garlands and bundles for spreading on the floor of the nave.
The older parishioners lined the path to the square-towered church, applauding as the fresh greenery was brought in.
Dora could see that the leader of the procession, the one styled Queen of the Rush Bearing, was enjoying the flattery of being chosen as the comeliest lass of the valley.
She had a woven crown of rushes on her golden head and carried a bullrush sceptre.
Dora hoped the lascivious glint in the eyes of some of the watching gentlemen did not mean her reign ended in ignominy.
They’d have to keep watch on Langhorne because he seemed very partial to the ladies and a local lass might misunderstand the interest of a well-spoken stranger.
As the girls passed into the darkness of the church, the congregation followed.
Dora trailed behind, watching wryly as Lady Alice snagged Jacob’s arm.
Her doctor was looking very fine today in his Sunday best, wild locks tamed with comb and water, top hat tucked under his arm.
He could appear so civilised and yet Dora liked it most when she could persuade him to throw propriety to the winds and show the man beneath.
She fanned herself with a posy of rushes a girl had pressed upon her.
These were not Sunday thoughts. Remembering the discussion of the day before, his profession of love and her distrust of accepting it, she felt a cascade of the same emotions that had so disturbed her.
She’d claimed she wouldn’t be jealous, that she would let him go without a fight, but she was only human, and she’d been lying to him and herself.
Was her reaction guided by an ingrained fear that she would fall short, and she was instinctively trying to avoid hurt by anticipating that he would throw her over?
She wasn’t normally so feeble, having withstood rejection before.
As for her rival, she did feel envious of Lady Alice, or at least those aspects of the lady’s world that made her the obvious pick for Jacob.
She too would enjoy a life of travel and adventure, but it wasn’t open to someone like Dora who had no fortune, not unless the travel could be turned into a money-making venture that would cover the costs of the journey.
Need she consider that a closed door? Where was her inventiveness?
Perhaps their investigations might lead them abroad one day?
The more she mused on that, the more exciting a prospect it seemed– that was if Jacob stuck with the business and didn’t decide it was a passing fad as his brother predicted.
She wondered whether Jacob had been someone of short-lived enthusiasms before he met her.
Should a brother who had known him since birth be heeded?
No: her view of Arthur was that he didn’t see what was in front of him but what he wished to believe.
What was the evidence for Jacob’s flightiness?
Jacob had spent seven or eight years in the military then left; he’d studied as a medic, then left that profession too.
That was neither short nor long. Did she have any proof his current interest would not survive any longer?
She entered the cool of the church and placed her posy at the altar along with the other offerings of the local maidens.
The rushes scattered on the floor brought a fresh green smell into the church, crackling and rustling under boots and shoes.
With a respectful nod to the cross, she retreated to a pew next to Luke Knotte, her thoughts still occupied with her uncertainty.
Looked at another way, eight years in the army was a decent period of service, particularly as it involved at least two tours in different countries.
She understood why he’d stepped back from medicine– it had been like asking a drunkard to continue to serve as an innkeeper.
He knew himself well enough to put the temptation of opium out of easy reach.
Jacob himself saw a consistency in his current choice with his problem-solving mind moving from people’s illnesses to diagnosing the criminal diseases of society.
‘I’m getting myself all twisted up like one of those garlands,’ she muttered.
‘What was that, Miss Fitz-Pennington?’ enquired the attentive Knotte.
‘I was saying how nicely twisted are the garlands the girls made,’ she improvised.
‘Indeed. A charming rural custom. Ah, look, the poor Wordsworths have decided to join us this morning.’
The family were out in force. William supported his frail-looking wife on his arm as Dorothy marshalled the children in line. Another lady carried the youngest.
Knotte stood up as they passed and bowed his head, hand on his breast, as if they were a cortège for a coffin. Dora looked at her nails, a little embarrassed for him as the gesture seemed ill-judged in a celebration like the Rush Bearing.
The clergyman entered from the vestry accompanied by two other ordained gentlemen, rather excessive for a small parish church.
‘Who are they?’ she whispered once Knotte had taken his seat.
‘The vicar is Reverend Jackson, the fellow at the front. The other two are visitors– friends of the Wordsworths. I believe they are going to preach and read the prayers which will be a blessed relief for us all.’
‘How so?’
‘Because we all agree that Mr Jackson is a worthy man and yet last in the line for the gift of public speaking.’
Then hopefully he was more gifted at writing a note to a worried mother.
The service began with the familiar bidding prayer of the Matins, followed by a hymn chosen to celebrate the Rush Bearing, and then one of the clergymen, who introduced himself as Reverend Bloomfield, stood to give a long sermon on filial piety.
This was not a subject calculated to speak to her heart because she felt far from pious when her thoughts went to her own parent.
Disengaging from what he was saying, Dora had time to study those in the congregation.
Knotte was listening with his usual squirrel-like quivering attention.
Langhorne was yawning and eyeing the Queen of the Rushes even though his ladylove, Lady Alice, was but a few pews away at the front.
Moss was staring fixedly at the window over the altar, deep in his own thoughts.
Cooper and Crawford were showing every sign of awareness that their uniforms were meeting with general admiration from the girls.
Sadly for Crawford, a fresh crop of youthful spots somewhat undermined his manly charms. He should take solace that he would grow out of those. But where was Wright?
Dora swivelled slowly in her seat to look behind her while trying not to attract attention to her movements.
The man from Colebrookdale was nowhere to be seen.
The sermon ended and the next hymn was announced. Under the cover of the rustling of pages, Dora whispered: ‘Where is Mr Wright?’
Knotte started and looked about him in surprise. ‘Is he not here?’
‘No. I haven’t seen him. Have you?’
‘Now you mention it, no. He isn’t much of a churchgoer, but I thought he wanted to see the procession. Perhaps he watched that and left?’
‘But did you see him earlier?’
‘No, I did not. We must ask the others after the service. He might be indisposed. Some of us were drinking heavily last night. We must check on him.’ He scratched at the back of his hand where he had an outbreak of red itchy skin.
The man was clearly a bag of nerves. He made Dora feel uneasy merely sitting beside him.
When the service ended, the congregation flooded back into the sunlight. The girls were laughing, gathering around a fiddler who was to lead them to the celebration at the inn.
‘Do you want to go with them?’ asked Knotte, gesturing to the line at the gate. ‘This is the girls’ day and I’m sure you’d be very welcome among their number.’
Normally, she would love to do so as they had seemed a welcoming crowd, but she had other fish to fry today.
‘I’d prefer to stay with you, Mr Knotte, if you have time for me.
’ She hoped Jacob would thank her for taking on this task of absorbing the man’s attention.
‘I would appreciate you telling me more about the locality. No one knows it as well as you.’
‘Not even Mr Wordsworth?’ He looked delighted by the idea that he was the expert.
‘Not even him. Tell me, what should I be looking at in this valley? Where are the places of the most touching local stories, the spots that inspire the poets?’
‘We must start with Michael’s sheepfold then,’ he said, nodding to the north. ‘It’s not far out of the village, a path off the road that leads to Keswick. It inspired one of Mr Wordsworth’s best poems. Shall we visit it? We can call in on Wright on the way back.’ He offered her his arm.
‘How long will it take?’
‘Are you a good walker?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Then no more than an hour and a half. We can be in time to dine with the others. Cooper has booked a room at the inn for us.’
‘I’ll just tell Dr Sandys and the viscount where I’m going.’
‘I’d be delighted to show them too.’
‘But of course. I’ll pass on the invitation.’
She hurried over to Jacob who was waiting for the Wordsworths to step away from their conversation with the clergymen.
‘I’ve got Knotte to take me on a local walk. It should take an hour or so and then we will be dining. Can you get to the cottage and back in time to join us at the inn?’
He nodded. ‘Nero can manage that. I might be a little late, but I doubt anyone would notice. I can claim my brother detained me. He is dining with Lord Furness and Lady Alice.’
‘They’ve not invited you?’