Page 65 of Fair Weather Enemies
The smile that graced Jane’s lips pleased Adam greatly. “As do I,” she said.
Their hostess soon entered the room, dipped a stately curtsy, and sat in the chair adjacent her husband’s. “Of what are we conversing?”
“I believe,” said Wordsworth, “that our fine guests are prepared to continue their journey. Am I correct?”
Adam nodded. “You are. Our unrelenting schedule is greatly displeased over the delay. We must be off again.”
Wordsworth settled back into his chair with a wry smile. “To pursue the treasure, then?”
Adam found Jane frowning at him. They, along with Hester and Barlow, had agreed to withhold the purpose of their journey from their hosts. However, Adam had already told Mr. Wordsworth the entire tale during his bedside vigil. He decided to confess.
“I told him while you slept. I broke faith, and I apologize. However, I felt we could trust our new friends.”
Jane nodded slowly but still frowned. Mary came to Adam’s rescue.
“Your telling my husband about the treasure matters not. We knew nearly immediately after you arrived what you sought.”
“How?” blurted Adam and Jane simultaneously.
“Though this house is grand, it is cozy. And the walls are thin.”
Wordsworth waved his hand in the face of their surprise. “Worry not, my young friends. We have no designs on your gold. However, we do love a good puzzle. When alone, we have spoken of nothing else for the past several days. Our curiosity is near bursting. Might you take us further into your confidence for the purpose of allowing us to assist?”
“We have lived in this area for a long time,” said Mary. “I am certain we might help.”
Adam glanced again at Jane with eyebrows raised in question. After a brief hesitation, she dipped her head with assent. He turned toward their hosts.
“Very well.”
Adam recounted their journey in greater detail than before. Jane helped him quote the lines of the letters from memory, paraphrasing here and there. The Wordsworths leaned farther forward through the telling, engrossed in the tale and asking clarifying questions from time to time. Adam finished the story with the walk from the Druid’s Circle. Mary was the first to comment.
“I declare! An epic journey, if ever there was one.”
“Indeed,” said Wordsworth. “Homer himself might approve. In the interest of continuing this great odyssey, perhaps you might share with us the next lines.”
Jane retrieved her letter from her reticule while Adam produced his. She unfolded the paper. “It goes thus. ‘Betwixt water’s edge and the hip of Goliath.’”
“Down to the marsh where the ancient fort lieth,” he read.
“Ford and run southward, a westerly way.”
“Find all angels surveying a proud bird of prey.”
The Wordsworths eyed each other, the activity of thought apparent on both faces.
“If ‘the hip of Goliath’ refers to the road threading Helvellyn and Thirlmere,” mused Mary, “then the ‘marsh’ may refer to the connecting flow between Grasmere and Rydal. One could certainly ford it and run southward.”
“Good suggestion, Mary. But no fort lieth there. However, I do know of the remains of a fort situated on a marsh.”
Mary’s eyes lit. “The Roman stones beyond Ambleside! Of course. Lake Windermere overtakes the entire area at times and makes muck of the place.”
“Correct, dear.” He flipped his gaze between Adam and Jane. “South of Ambleside at the tip of Windermere lies the ruins of an old Roman fort. Foundation stones only. But ancient, nonetheless. It lies east of the Rothay in a marshland. If you ford the river there, a road on the far side runs south by southwest.”
Jane gasped, echoing Adam’s sentiments. “Ford and run southward, a westerly way,” she said.
“Exactly.”
Adam agreed that the lines fit the Wordworths’ description of the landmarks. However, what of angels and birds of prey? “And the next line? How does it fit?”
