‘And it was us who told Mr Langhorne where you were,’ added Hartley. ‘Everyone must be so cross with us.’
That spiral of guilt and negative thoughts had to be scotched immediately.
‘Not at all. I’m proud to have escaped with only a black eye or two. You did exactly what you should’ve done. It was our bad luck Langhorne had insinuated himself into the hunt. And you didn’t just tell him– you told Mr Smith, Mr Moss and the others. That meant help reached me in time as Mr Smith and Dr Sandys were hot on his heels. So I will say it again: thank you both. It’s safe to go back to your camp if you’d like to do that.’
The two boys looked at each other. ‘We thought we’d go and see how Mr Barton is.’
‘It’s a long way to walk.’
‘Mr Moss said he’d take us in his gig, then drive us home to Keswick. He said it wasn’t fair to expect heroes to walk.’
Dora smiled. Moss had returned an hour ago to keep an eye on the boys for Jacob’s peace of mind, he’d explained. He was sitting in the kitchen with Ruby and the two were sizing each other up like mistrustful cats sharing the same hearth. This idea of driving them home sounded like a plan Jacob might’ve cooked up and asked Moss to execute. ‘Have you decided Mr Moss is to be trusted?’
Hartley frowned, not yet certain of anything. ‘He’s not all bad.’
‘He said he’d teach us how to hide our camp better– for next summer,’ said Derwent with more enthusiasm.
Heaven help the people of Grasmere and Rydal, but maybe it took a whole valley to raise these two boys. ‘In that case, I wish you godspeed and I look forward to our next visit to see how you are getting on.’
The boys gave her sweetly awkward bows and left.
* * *
Jacob returned that evening with better news on Wright. He had begun to show signs of life, reacting to stimulus and appearing to be slowly surfacing. He was back from the brink.
Stripping off his clothes, Jacob slid into bed beside Dora and pulled her into his arms. She drew circles on his chest, her ears pressed against his ribs, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The wind rustled the trees outside, a hurried noise of the world moving on. The ever-present flock bleated.
‘His parents have arrived with an excellent doctor from Colebrookdale,’ he said, stroking her hand where it rested on him. ‘We discussed if there was any surgical remedy and agreed we might set back his recovery if we attempted anything.’
‘Then he’ll recover?’
‘I hope so. He’s young– he has that in his favour. He might find the brain injury affects his speech or movement, but I’m sure his parents will provide him with the best care. They’ll move him as soon as he is well enough.’
‘Poor lad. He just wanted to drink and pretend to write poetry.’
‘It’s a very high price to pay for enjoying yourself.’
‘Did they find where the skate came from? I was wondering about that.’
‘Barton’s cottage– where else? Langhorne treated it like his own personal storeroom and he could tell when it was safe to go over and raid it simply by looking out of his window to see if anyone else was in occupation.’
‘So it wasn’t just an argument when he went to retrieve the notebooks– he went armed with the intention of committing another murder with the skate? Does Langhorne’s family know what he did?’
‘They will do, I’m afraid, because he shot at his father’s employer. I wonder if Lord Furness will continue to employ Mr Langhorne senior?’
‘And thus Andrew Langhorne continues to create yet more victims even from his watery grave.’ That didn’t seem fair to Dora. Langhorne’s father was nothing to do with any of this and yet he would pay the social and economic price.
‘They’re going to search the lake tomorrow– or at least that area between where the boat capsized and the shore. They can’t drag all of it, of course.’
‘Wouldn’t it be ironic if Langhorne provided us with the last poetic death on the lines of Wordsworth’s poem– the body rising bolt upright and ghastly.’
‘A spectre shape of terror– as Wordsworth put it. A fitting end. I hope they find him, just to put that last detail to bed.’
‘And Luke Knotte? What will happen to him? He has no living family, does he?’
‘I think he would be content with the solution the locals have come up with. He’s to be buried in Grasmere churchyard and Wordsworth is going to suggest an epitaph for a fellow poet.’
He would appreciate that. ‘Is he Knotte’s father, do you think?’
