Instead of thrashing, she forced herself to reach out with smooth scooping gestures and her fingers grasped a piece of cloth. The sail. It couldn’t support her, but it guided her to the surface and the mast, now lying flat on the surface. When she put her weight on that, it began to sink so she groped along it to the boat itself and grabbed the gunwale. Finding a temporary respite, she took desperate gasps of air, interrupted by coughs, and then she tried to slow her breathing. Blinking water out of her eyes, she looked around her?—
And saw a deathly pale Langhorne glaring at her from a few feet away.
‘You bitch!’ he hissed. ‘I’m going to fucking kill you!’
Why was the bastard not dead yet? The tourniquet and cold water must have worked a little to slow the bleeding. The hole made by the needle was relatively small. He might even survive if help arrived quickly. Jacob could probably save him as he’d dealt with amputations.
Langhorne didn’t deserve it.
‘I’m the bitch? You’re the one who murdered a good man, a father and husband, just because you were jealous that he favoured another boy.’ She edged a little further away from him. He didn’t look like he had the strength to pursue her but who knew what he was really capable of?
‘Leyburn deserved it. He was a magistrate. One of those keeping us down.’ He clawed his way closer.
‘You’re deceiving yourself. You didn’t kill him because of that, you killed him because you were eaten up with envy. And what did Barton and Wright ever do to you? Why did they deserve death?’
‘They wouldn’t take action– none of them would do what they promised! We should’ve risen up when Bellingham assassinated the Prime Minister and was martyred for the cause, but did they care? No fucking way! They believed the government when they said he was a madman acting alone. But he wasn’t: he was the clarion call telling us to take up arms! They’re sheep, content to be slaughtered– I despise them.’
He was getting too close. Dora edged to the other side, but it was harder here as it was the bottom of the boat, no gunwale to hold onto.
She had to keep distracting him, buy herself some time to think of an escape.
‘And Wordsworth’s poem? Why use that?’
‘To scare that weakling Knotte, of course, scare him into doing something. His “father’s” great work!’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I showed him– I took what mattered most to both men, the shepherd and the poet, and showed how they should be used. Even so, Knotte didn’t do anything but gripe and mope. You would’ve thought it would’ve roused him to do something, wouldn’t you, even if was just denounce me? I’d have respected that.’
‘But you killed him too– you shot your last hope for a follower. Well done: you’re leading a revolution with precisely one soldier and, from where I am, that soldier doesn’t look like he’s in very good shape.’
‘I’m well enough to take you down with me!’ With a snarl of anger, Langhorne lunged towards her.
That left her no choice. She pushed off from the side of the boat and began swimming away with the frog legs that Jacob had taught her. Fingertips grazed her ankle but she kicked him off.
Slow and steady wins the race. Don’t panic. He won’t be able to swim with that injury, she told herself.Keep doing this and you’ll reach something. Shore hopefully.
She set off to swim across Windermere leaving behind Langhorne’s furious cries cursing her.
ChapterThirty-One
Using the telescope borrowed from the owner of Elleray, Alex scanned the lake. It was proving invaluable. It stopped them several times from wasting their effort chasing down innocent fishing and pleasure parties.
‘There’s a capsized boat towards the western side,’ he reported. ‘Can you see it? Over by that dip in the hills?’ He stood at the prow to point, the wind whipping his golden hair so that he looked in that pose like a classical deity come down to aid in the rescue.
Jacob’s gut told him that an upset boat was exactly the kind of mayhem that a living and breathing Dora would cause. He adjusted course.
‘There’s someone clinging on the side– and I think I can see someone swimming away. They’re heading out deeper rather than to the shore. That doesn’t make sense– head for the shore, you fool!’
‘It does make sense if you only know how to swim in a straight line and are just thinking of getting away.’ Jacob squeezed every knot of speed out of the little boat. How long could Dora last in the water? She’d only swum for about five yards when he’d given her a lesson.
‘I can see now. Yes, it’s her. She’s tiring though. She just went under’—Jacob’s heart missed a beat—‘but she’s now up with a lot of panicked splashing. Damn, Sandys: she’s in trouble. Can’t you go any faster?’
The contrary wind meant Jacob would have to tack again to reach her. ‘Can you sail?’
‘Yes, I can.’
‘Take over.’ Without giving Alex time to reply, Jacob took off his jacket, kicked off his boots and dived over the side. He struck out with swift efficient crawl strokes, ignoring the swearing behind him as Alex quickly had to scramble down the planks to take over the rudder and wrestle the boat back under control. The only goal in Jacob’s mind was to reach Dora, an urgent pounding in his chest, a focus that made each stroke slice and drive. He used the bigger target of the capsized boat to guide him on the choppy water, then he was close enough to see a dark head floundering some twenty yards away. He adjusted his course slightly to meet up with her.
She went under and came up with a splutter, a desperate look on her face as she went back to the doggy paddle she’d first learned. He kicked and went slightly under to lift her up as he got her in a lifesaver hold. His own panic subsided once he had her in his embrace. She was warm, alive and every inch of her his Dora. She would be safe now.
‘What happened to frog arms and frog legs?’ he said, scooping her to his chest.
