Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery John Pilkington (story reading .TXT) 📖

It was of no import, I replied; a trifling matter. But I watched him walk off, and unease settled upon me: I felt certain the man was lying.

My mind busy, I sat in the same corner where I had spoken with the Willetts, neither of whom was present that night. I decided to put aside William Pride’s initial bonhomie and assume the appearance of a man with matters on his mind, who did not wish to be troubled - which indeed, was true enough. But a short while later, as I finished my mug and was about to go, an incident occurred which would change everything.

The first I knew of it was a raising of voices, and a scraping of stools as someone got quickly to their feet. Sensing that a scuffle was about to break out, I stood up, peering over the heads of drinkers. Others were doing the same, a general hubbub rising. I looked about, but Hawes the landlord was nowhere to be seen. Whereupon, having no wish to be a party or even witness to a brawl, I started towards the staircase – but I was too late. Without warning two men careered towards me, locked in a tussle, and almost threw me off my balance. Others followed, cursing and shouting.

In consternation I fell back, reaching instinctively for my sword as the two combatants fell to the floor, rolling and punching. But instead of leaving them to settle their differences, the entire company appeared bent on giving one of the men a beating, gathering to deliver curses and kicks.

For Justice Belstrang, of course, this was too much.

‘Enough!’ I shouted, drawing my old rapier and raising it. ‘Stand aside, or I’ll cut the next man who strikes a blow!’

To my relief, the assault ceased as heads turned towards me; mercifully, my authority seemed to be sufficient. Men stepped back, leaving the two tusslers on the floor, one atop the other. This one turned quickly to glare at me.

‘Tis none of your affair,’ he snapped. ‘Get away!’

‘I won’t,’ I returned, looking down at his victim, who was already blooded. ‘Cease your brabble, or I’ll-’

‘You will not, Master Pride,’ said a voice close by.

I looked round to see Henry Hawes, an oak billet in his hand, shouldering his way forward in determined fashion. It seemed he was no stranger to disturbances, and at his approach The Comfort’s customers moved away.

‘I’ll take care of this, sir,’ he said. ‘If you’ll be good enough to withdraw.’

‘Gladly,’ I breathed, lowering my sword. Thereafter I watched as Hawes seized the man whom I now believed was the chief troublemaker by the arm, and dragged him aside.

‘He’s had enough,’ he said, looking at the one on the floor, who was the slighter of the two. ‘So have you, Combes – enough to drink, that is. Go home and sleep it off.’

There was a moment’s silence, but it was over. With a scowl the heavier man got up, massaging his bruised knuckles. Without a word he pushed his way through the watchers and made for the door. All eyes were now on the bloodied figure who sat up, panting, and peered blearily about him.

‘Can you stand, Peck?’ Henry Hawes was saying. He looked round. ‘Will someone lend a hand, to help me lift him?’

But nobody came forward. Instead men were turning away, returning to their seats. Some headed for the door.

‘I will do so,’ I said. Having sheathed my sword, I stepped to the landlord’s side, ready to offer a hand – whereupon to my surprise, the loser of the fight scowled.

‘I need no help from anyone!’ He cried. ‘You Cricklepit men – a curse on the whole pack of you!’

I gazed at him: a grizzled fellow clad in dusty green. But as his eyes focussed on me, his expression changed: I was not one of the Cricklepit men. Lowering his gaze, he put hands to the floor and heaved himself to his feet, grunting with pain.

‘You know better than to pick a fight here, Peck,’ Henry Hawes said, relieved to see that the man could stand up.

‘I didn’t seek it,’ Master Peck retorted. He put a hand to his mouth and inspected the blood upon it. Raising his gaze suddenly, he looked about.

‘You foundry bastards,’ he cried, ‘you’ll be the ruin of this forest! Cutting trees down like they were corn, for your whoreson furnaces - soon there’ll be nothing left! You varlets who serve that rogue Mountford – I curse every one of you!’

There was angry muttering at that, and one or two men looked as if they would act, but Hawes was having none of it.

‘You’re leaving,’ he said to Peck. ‘Get yourself home, and forbear to come here for a while.’ He put a hand on the beaten man’s shoulder and began to shove him – whereupon Peck staggered, putting a hand to his forehead.

‘Let me help,’ I said.

Hawes paused, then gave a nod. The two of us, one at either shoulder, steered the man to the door and out into the night air. There he stood, breathing hard, as with a last glance the landlord turned and went back inside. A moment passed, while Peck surveyed me with a puzzled look.

‘Why did you aid me?’ He asked. ‘Are you not one of them?’

‘Let me accompany you homeward,’ I said, with a glance at the inn. ‘For it strikes me you might not get far before someone in there comes out after you – and this time, you won’t get up.’

And when the other hesitated, I took a chance.

‘Besides,’ I told him, ‘I’m interested to hear about the rogue Mountford. Perhaps you and I may have something in common. Shall we walk?’

FIVE

He was from the tiny hamlet of Aylburton, no more than a mile away: