Shouts from the slope above where they were standing announced the arrival of the search party, Arthur striding at the head.
‘Is it your man’s clothes?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ confirmed Jacob.
‘Right, the first thing we must do is search the shoreline. He could have pulled himself ashore, or already been washed up. There’s a faint chance that he might be alive still– injured in some way.’ The cowed inhabitants of Near Sawrey clustered around him. ‘You men, you go south. I’ll get the team from Hawkshead to search their end of the lake as they’ll know it best.’ He turned to a wrinkled farmer. ‘Are there any currents in the lake? Are there places where things are most likely to wash ashore?’
‘There was a schoolmaister who went under. I can think on’t as weel as if it had nobbut been yesterday,’ began the farmer in his thick dialect.
‘If you remember the spot, search there first.’
‘He must mean the man Wordsworth wrote about– a teacher in the grammar school,’ murmured Jacob to Dora.
‘Your brother is very commanding, isn’t he?’ said Dora wryly as Arthur dispatched the locals on their search.
‘Trained since birth. We should go and meet the Hawkshead party. I think we’ll need the boats and grappling hooks at first light. There’s little to be gained trying to search the lake at night and a body can wait.’ Jacob turned to his brother. ‘We’ll tell William and his group what to do. I’ll see about getting boats readied.’
‘Very well,’ said Arthur. ‘We should move our centre of operations to Hawkshead in any case. Once I’ve got this search underway, I’ll join you there. You’d better take those.’ Arthur nodded to the clothes. ‘Check for a note.’
‘We already did,’ said Dora, scooping up the bundle.
‘But thank you for the suggestion,’ said Jacob, not wanting to sound ungenerous when his brother was being an asset in the search. A viscount could get others hopping where a lowly doctor could not.
After relaying the orders to William and his entourage that the Hawkshead men search the northern stretch of the lakeshore, they rode to the Red Lion. Hartley was huddled in the taproom, nursing a hot tonic under the clucking watch of the plump innkeeper.
‘You reckon he’s dead and gone then– or as near dead as makes no matter?’ she asked. ‘Drown-ded folk don’t come back in my experience.’
‘It looks that way,’ said Jacob. ‘A glass of wine for the lady and an ale for me. How’s the lad?’
‘Fairly maizled wi’ t’cold.’
Probably not the cold but shock. That had a way of making you lose all warmth. ‘Do you have a blanket?’
‘Aye.’ She disappeared into the back and returned with a woollen wrap. ‘If he were a lass, I’d tell him to blubber it out but his determined on being strong, poor lad.’
Jacob draped the blanket over Hartley’s shoulders and returned to Dora.
‘I’m sorry now we brought him, but I thought William might get lost in the dark without a local guide. Hartley needs to be back home.’
‘Isn’t his proper home in Keswick? I can’t see him wanting to go back to his camp on Rydal Water.’
‘With his brother then.’
Dora eyed Jacob suspiciously. ‘You’re asking me to take him back to your cottage, aren’t you?’
‘Not to protect delicate lady sensibilities, but because the boy needs it. The locals know me. I need to see about the boats.’
‘I imagine that will involve coins exchanging hands.’ She sighed. ‘Very well. When I finish my drink, I’ll ride back with him. Shall I take the clothes?’
‘No, leave them here. The authorities– such as they are around here– might want to see them.’
‘Don’t let people get the idea it was suicide. You know they might not give him a decent burial when he’s found if they think like that.’
Jacob nodded. ‘An accident. We can all agree on that.’
Dora shook her head, curls brushing her collar. ‘I don’t, though. I’ve been thinking more about it. Is a young man likely to get into trouble in calm water like this? He looked hale and hearty, not the kind to be carried off with a heart attack. I suppose it is possible, but it feels wrong.’
‘Then what?’
