Derwent pounced on the bag. ‘Oh, good-o! Iced buns!’
‘Derwent,’ Barton said in warning.
The younger boy grimaced and tentatively held the bag out to Dora. ‘Ladies first.’
Dora laughed in delight. These two were very entertaining. ‘Thank you, sir, but I bought them for you.’
With enthusiastic gratitude, the boys fell on the buns like wolves. Dora waited for the first pangs of hunger to be satisfied before she began on her questions.
‘Mr Barton said you often visit him in his cottage.’
Hartley nodded and swallowed. ‘We do. He’s a good sport. Not stuffy like the others.’
‘Have you, by any chance, borrowed something from him recently– without his knowledge?’
Both boys instantly looked stricken and shot guilty looks at Barton.
‘We’re sorry, Mr Barton. We won’t do it again,’ said Derwent, mortified.
‘We thought you wouldn’t mind,’ added Hartley, not sharing his brother’s repentance.
Barton gave an avuncular nod. ‘It is always best to ask first. If you return it unharmed, then we can put it aside and forget about it. However, you must never again go through a gentleman’s things without a very good reason.’
Derwent blinked innocently. ‘But we did return her. We only took her out for an hour or two.’
‘Actually, it was more like four,’ admitted Hartley. ‘But it was full moon, so we could see what we were doing. I caught two perches.’
They were talking about the boat. ‘Then you didn’t take anything belonging to Mr Barton from the house? No papers or books, nothing of that kind?’ asked Dora.
The boys now looked shocked. ‘Us? It’s the holidays: what would we want with books?’ asked Hartley with unassailable logic.
Dora mentally struck them from her list of suspects.
Barton looked crestfallen. ‘Oh dear. I was hoping it was you.’
‘What’ve you lost?’ asked Derwent.
‘Can you keep a secret?’ asked Barton.
They both nodded fervently, looking delighted that an adult would trust them.
‘One of Mr Wordsworth’s manuscripts.’
‘Oh, gadzooks, you’re in for it,’ murmured Derwent.
‘Uncle William will be mad at you,’ agreed Hartley. ‘He’s always telling us not to touch his things and take more care.’
‘I didn’t, in fact, lose it. Someone stole it from me,’ Barton explained.
‘They never!’
‘They did.’
Dora considered the two ‘Indian scouts’ before her, able to come and go about the area without anyone taking much notice of what they were about, or if they did notice, dismissing it as a game. ‘Boys, would you like to help Mr Barton and me find out who took the manuscript?’
‘Is this wise?’ asked Barton.
Probably not, but her gut was telling her the Coleridge boys would be valuable sources of intelligence, and she’d learned to trust her gut. ‘I’m not asking them to do anything dangerous.’ Their faces fell. ‘Only brave and honourable,’ she amended, at which they perked up. ‘We would be grateful if you would keep an ear to the ground for anyone offering for sale, or boasting about, a manuscript they’ve found. We don’t think it is signed but you’ll know Uncle William’s handwriting, won’t you?’
