‘Isn’t she a peach?’ The first genuine smile lightened his features. ‘Far above my touch, of course, but a man can dream.’
Dora was sure she wanted no insight into what dreams he might have for the Lady Alice judging by his love letters. She closed the desk drawer. ‘As you said, there’s nothing here.’ She rose. ‘Thank you for the sherry– and for allowing me to look.’
‘Do you know where we can find Mr Knotte?’ asked Jacob. ‘We have an address at the inn for him, but the landlord says that is only for his letters.’
‘Ah yes. I’m afraid Slipknot ran out of money for a room at the inn what with the summer visitors driving up the prices. He tends to bumble around the area, cadging a night’s lodging off old friends. In fact, he was here last night. I suspect from the hints he dropped as to whether I thought it all right, that he might think to use Barton’s cottage for a few days. I told him that no one else is using it, and Barton wouldn’t mind. He is– was– always generous like that.’ Langhorne dropped his head between his raised knees. ‘Dammit, Barton, where are you?’
ChapterFifteen
Road to Cockermouth
After leaving Langhorne’s lodgings, they went directly to the Salutation where Jacob had stabled Nero. Hiring a sturdy mount for Dora, they set off for Cockermouth, with the intention of riding there and back in the same day. The first part of the route involved going over much of the ground they had already walked, past Rydal Water and Grasmere, but the horses cut the time it took to a fraction, particularly as Jacob and she were both accomplished riders. Dora felt her spirits lift the further they got from the familiar territory. The day was fresh, only a few spots of rain, so it made for perfect travelling weather. They were soon passing Grasmere in its idyllic green vale and heading north to Keswick with Skiddaw and Blencathra behind, the northern rampart of the Lakes.
‘Have you been to Cockermouth?’ asked Dora as they climbed the rise to Wythburn and the valley beyond Grasmere. She had the feeling of escaping her troubles– the interview with Jacob’s brother must’ve upset her more than she thought. Her horse, a stubborn beast who did not like to be on another creature’s tail, surged forward to take the lead.
‘Only a couple of times.’ With a gentle tap on Nero’s flank, Jacob pulled up alongside her. ‘May I say how at ease you look on horseback?’
‘You may.’ She grinned at him. She knew he was trying to cheer her up after she’d lost the argument about whether to ride side-saddle. She had reasoned it was more practical to ride astride. He’d argued that she could get away with it at night and in an emergency, but it might work against her in future if witnesses saw her in daylight riding like a man through areas where he hoped they would be accepted.
Dora was not a sore loser, though her behind might be after a long ride in this saddle. ‘You have no friends to call on in the town?’ she asked. ‘Have you been a recluse, wandering like the breeze through Cumberland?’
‘I admit that I am against mingling in polite society while I’m here. I prefer the company of intelligent people.’
‘Ah! A very palpable hit against the upper classes! Dr Sandys, I declare you are a Jacobin!’
‘You mustn’t joke about such things, not with Moss in the area.’ She pulled a face at him. ‘And, for your information, the Earl of Lonsdale is the most important peer in the region, an earl being senior to a viscount in the pecking order.’
‘That must chafe your brother.’
Jacob snorted. ‘Hardly. That title was resurrected a couple of years ago for the Lowthers.’
‘Therefore, Lord Lonsdale is a Johnny Newcome?’ Dora felt she was coming to grips with the power circles in the Lakes. ‘And the Lowthers are the family for whom Wordsworth’s father was steward?’
‘Correct. Their family seat is Lowther Castle, but you’ll find that over near Penrith, miles to the east?—’
‘Meaning the steward in Cockermouth would be the representative of the earl’s interests in the west, but such a man would not necessarily be of a rank where your family would go visiting?’
‘Exactly. Arthur would not consider another nobleman’s steward in the same circles as him and would only communicate with them on business matters or for official ceremonies.’
She should consider herself honoured then that the viscount had deigned to speak to her at all in the garden. ‘Who do you know in Cockermouth?’
‘The only people coming from the town with whom I’m familiar are the Wordsworths and a certain magistrate.’
‘But he was found dead in Billingsgate. I see.’ She reined in her eager mount who was trying to gain a head on Nero once more. ‘Whoa, boy, it’s not a race. That begs the question, who are we going to visit today?’
‘Smith reported that Sir Richard Leyburn was a popular figure in London, and the gentlemen I talked to at my father’s funeral were of the same opinion. I propose we call on Leyburn’s servants and find out what really went on in the household.’
‘We?’ She quirked a brow.
‘All right, you.’
‘Good, because a visit by the brother of Viscount Sandys would instantly dry up the flow of gossip. You might not know anyone in Cockermouth, but I would lay good money on everyone knowing who you are, some might even have spied you painting your landscapes on some artistic hillock.’
He laughed at the image. ‘True. Cumberland is sparsely populated, not counting the summer visitors, so that even I might warrant a story or two. I’ve noticed that news passes swiftly thanks to tinkers, pedlars and such threading their way through the valleys. Who needs newspapers when they have doorstep chatter?’
‘I can imagine the tales of the reclusive Sandys, war hero and artist. I bet that makes for a good anecdote carried along with the packs of cotton and needles, with the truth much embroidered. All that is why you must remain aloof today.’
Jacob made an expression of mock-sorrow. ‘You don’t want me there? I thought I could linger in the background, watching how they react to your questions.’
