‘Dora, he cannot give consent– and I don’t feel qualified. I mention it as something I’ve seen work, not something I’m prepared to do myself.’
‘But at Berwick…?’
‘Berwick was a battlefield and you do in those circumstances things which you wouldn’t elsewhere.’
‘Then there’s nothing that will bring him out of this?’
‘Time might prove the cure. Send a message express, Moss. I’ll arrange some of the local women to nurse him. He mustn’t be left alone.’
‘His friends might want to do him that service,’ suggested Moss.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?’ said Jacob, giving him a grim look. ‘No, let’s leave him in the hands of neighbours– we can trust the good wives of Town End– and tell his friends to pray for his recovery, but from a safe distance.’
Footsteps outside brought another gentleman into the bedroom, Knotte at his shoulder.
‘Mr Scambler, this is Dr Sandys,’ said Moss. ‘Dr Sandys, the local apothecary. Knotte, let you and I leave the medical men to their work while we tell the others what has happened.’
ChapterTwenty-Two
Several hours later, once the news had spread, messages sent and nursing arranged, Jacob, Dora and Moss retreated up the hill behind Wright’s house to a quiet spot in the garden of the empty Dove Cottage for their conversation. They choose the shade of an apple tree and sat down to share a late dinner that had been brought over by Captain Cooper when he learned what had detained them. The officer was now holding vigil outside Wright’s cottage, but Jacob had made sure none of the friends were allowed in the bedroom to disturb the patient’s rest and, possibly, finish the job.
‘Tell us what’s happening, Moss,’ said Jacob once they were sure they had the garden to themselves. ‘You as good as admitted that you’ve been sent here because you already suspected someone in this group was involved in the killing of Sir Richard Leyburn. Do you know who?’
Moss held up a hand. ‘Wait a moment. I can’t go spilling sensitive information to you just because you ask for it, not without some reciprocity. What are you doing mixed up in this business?’
‘It wasn’t our purpose but being here has unfortunately dragged us into this.’
‘It seems strangely convenient that you were in place.’
‘Bloody inconvenient, you mean,’ Jacob corrected him. ‘I have a house near Loughrigg Tarn, so Miss Fitz-Pennington and I originally came on holiday. Then my father died, which threw our plans into confusion.’ He touched the black band he wore on his arm as a sign of mourning. He hadn’t yet had time to convert his wardrobe for the customary period of sombre colours.
Moss grimaced. ‘Ah yes, I had heard. My condolences.’
‘Leyburn’s family asked our London office to investigate who might’ve wanted to kill the magistrate and so our people wrote to us because we were the nearest to Cockermouth. We were following up the local angle to see if he had any scandalous secrets– the answer was that he did not.’
‘Separately to that, though it now appears connected,’ added Dora. ‘Mr Barton and Miss Wordsworth asked us to find a stolen manuscript– a verse autobiography by Wordsworth. It has become clear that it is mixed up in this business and not a separate crime.’
Jacob cleared his throat. ‘About that, Dora.’
‘What’s William Wordsworth got to do with anything?’ grumbled Moss. ‘His radical days are long behind him.’
‘Then you are looking into the activity of radicals?’ said Dora quickly, seizing on the hint. ‘And you think you’ve found them in this group of young men?’
‘I’m not admitting to anything. Explain why this manuscript is important.’
Jacob pulled closer a canvas bag he had carried up the hill and opened the flap. ‘I feel a drum roll would be appropriate.’
‘The notebooks!’ exclaimed Dora. She was shocked to see the bundle of booklets that had so concerned them lying there as if they’d never been missing. ‘You clever, clever man! Wherever did you find them?’
‘Exactly where they were supposed to be– in Barton’s valise.’
‘What? I don’t understand. Did I somehow miss them?’
‘You weren’t mistaken– they weren’t there when you looked, or when Barton first noticed them gone. Someone put them back, possibly once Barton himself went missing.’
‘Good,’ said Moss glumly, ‘you’ve got your stolen property back. Can we talk about murder– and attempted murder please?’
‘But we are,’ said Jacob.
