‘Exactly. They’re expecting him to come up with something flavoured by the local dialect that will prove as popular.’
‘Have they met Knotte recently? I think his time at university has taken all the Cumberland out of him. He’s more likely to be fleeced in a card game in some fashionable gambling hell than clip a fleece off a sheep.’
‘But it is a connection between our murder victim in London and the missing Barton.’
‘Not to mention the manuscript. Sir Richard would think nothing of meeting his protégé if appealed to for help. Then there’s the shepherd’s crook used as a weapon– another sign pointing at Knotte– and we don’t trust coincidences.’ Dora adjusted her seat, feeling the twinge of muscles in her back. Damn side-saddle. ‘We know Knotte admires Wordsworth’s poetry. Hmm, he is clearly worth a closer look. But there are two things against him.’
‘Only two?’
‘I mean as a suspect. He appears to have a motive for liking Sir Richard, not for killing him, and how could he have been in London whacking him over the head with a crook if he has been here all summer?’
‘Ah yes, but has he? Do we know where he’s been, or have we merely assumed he was because no one mentioned him being absent?’
‘Well, that should be easy enough to find out. Do you think Moss is looking at him?’
‘I think Moss is looking at all of them, including Barton and Langhorne. The connection to Sir Richard might be through Knotte, but that might’ve given grounds for one of the others to take against him; it could have spawned jealousy or envy that Knotte had a patron, ready and waiting for him to produce something.’
‘Under that reasoning the crook is a piece of vindictive literary criticism: you sponsored this terrible shepherd poet so deserve to die? I didn’t realise poetry could be so deadly.’
‘To some, like the young poet Thomas Chatterton, it is a matter of life and death.’
‘But Chatterton famously killed himself, not others.’
‘I would think if you felt that strongly, taking someone’s life, then your own, is entirely possible.’
‘We are back to Barton.’
‘Yes. Back to our missing client.’
ChapterSixteen
Loughrigg Tarn
They arrived home late to find Arthur and Ruby comfortably ensconced in Jacob’s library. They had made themselves at home and looked like a comfortable married couple putting their feet up after a busy day. The guests had lit a fire even though it was summer and Ruby was reading to the viscount while he lay, head back on Jacob’s favourite armchair, resting for what, from his air of exhaustion, might be the first time in weeks.
Jacob felt a twinge of guilt. Were there a few extra grey hairs down to him sprouting at his brother’s temples? Angry at being excluded from the final hours, Jacob had given little thought to– indeed, hadn’t wanted to imagine– how difficult the transition had been for his oldest brother: the weight of expectations of his peers; the scrutiny of his tenants and dependants; the historic responsibilities. Arthur’s desire to meddle in Jacob’s life might be the way he felt he could exercise a modicum of control over a process which he couldn’t stop. He was now Sandys and the future of the name rested with him. Younger brothers were largely allowed to go their own way and enjoy the advantages of being one of the spares in the succession. Jacob wasn’t going to surrender the one benefit that came to him in the unequal laws of primogenitor, but he could sympathise that his brother’s burden was heavy.
‘All well with you both?’ asked Jacob in a low voice, not wanting to jar the mood.
‘Yes, thank you, Dr Sandys,’ said Ruby. ‘We’re enjoying Gray’sElegy.’
‘Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife’, quoted Dora, taking a seat next to Ruby on the sofa. ‘A very peaceful subject.’
‘And wise:The paths of glory lead but to the grave’, added Jacob. ‘What every soldier with any sense learns. Better to stick to a country life than find yourself shot to pieces by Napoleon’s armies.’
Arthur opened his eyes. ‘Come now, Jacob, I know you don’t believe that. A country must defend itself, and it is man’s part to take up arms.’
‘True, but not because he expects glory. He should do it because it’s a righteous cause.’
‘The difficulty is knowing if the cause is righteous or not,’ murmured Dora.
The nuances of this debate had sailed over Ruby’s head. ‘You’ve missed the best part in the poem.’ She changed to her stage voice, letting the line sob with emotion. ‘Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,And waste its sweetness on the desert air. That’s the real tragedy– the waste of so much talent that deserves to be noticed.’
Arthur sat forward and lifted her hand from the cover of the book. He kissed it. ‘You are not destined to be unseen, Miss Plum, never you fear. Talent and gentle manners will take you a long way.’
His brother, the gallant. Jacob was amused to see a side of his brother he rarely witnessed. However, he had his own lady to tend. He went to the dining room next door, hoping to rustle up some dinner for Dora and himself. As had happened the night before, Arthur had ordered provisions to be fetched.
Ruby fairly sparkled under such flattery. ‘My lord, you are too kind.’
