The Witching Pool: A Justice Belstrang Mystery (Justice Belstrang Mysteries Book 2) John Pilkington (top 10 ebook reader TXT) 📖

you came for some other cause, but I see I was mistaken.’ He sighed dramatically. ‘Once a meddler, always a meddler, Belstrang. Even in retirement… have you naught to busy yourself with, on your estate?’

‘I have,’ I replied, keeping my temper. ‘But when a family in turmoil comes to beg my aid, I’ll not refuse them. Would you?’

‘Doubtless the family you refer to is that of the witch, Mason,’ Standish said. ‘May I offer you some advice on that score?’

‘There’s no need,’ I replied. ‘You would merely be adding your voice to those of others, who have already advised me to avoid the affair like the plague.’

‘Then they were wise to do so. Surely a man of your experience can see that the case against the woman is strong? Besides, I cannot and will not discuss it. You know well enough that I won’t preside at the trial. It’s a capital crime, and a matter for the Quarter Sessions.’

‘Then will you discuss the inquest into Susanna Cobbett instead?’ I enquired. ‘Since that’s now a matter of record. I gather your sympathies were entirely with the girl’s father, with little thought for the deceased.’

At that, Standish’s anger rose quickly. ‘I don’t recall you being present on that occasion,’ he retorted. ‘Is this mere hearsay, or…’

‘My good friend Doctor Boyd was there,’ I broke in. ‘He reported the substance to me – and I should add, he was most dissatisfied with the way the business was conducted.’

Standish paused, sitting rigid in his high-backed chair – and then exploded.

‘How dare you, Belstrang! Do you forget to whom you speak? If you mean to accuse me of some malpractice, then lay it forth now – indeed, I demand that you do.’

‘If you wish,’ I answered. Though a little startled by the man’s reaction, I confess to some satisfaction at having ruffled his feathers so easily. ‘For one thing, I heard that no-one examined the body of the deceased, to confirm whether or not she died by drowning,’ I continued. ‘Moreover, that pool is shallow and not easy to find in the dark. Given the distance from Ebbfield too, it seems unlikely that-’

‘Enough, sir!’ Eyes ablaze, Standish cut me short. ‘I’ll not have you coming to me with these theories, not to say accusations. Do you suggest I had motive in despatching the affair without proper scrutiny? It’s intolerable!’

‘Is it so?’ I fixed him with my bland look. ‘Then you’re not interested in hearing fresh evidence? If I had any, that is?’

‘What evidence?’ the other demanded. ‘By God, Belstrang, it appears you’ve been poking your nose in, further even than I was told. Visiting the witch in her cell for private conference - and that’s not all, some say.’ A sneer appeared. ‘Then, it’s no secret you’ve taken your late wife’s woman as your bed-maid, out at Thirldon… perhaps you were seeking a little diversion here? Some small reward, for promising to take an interest in this woman’s case? Even one who consorts with the devil? Shame upon you!’

Well now, as Childers might have said, that blew the cask open. In truth, I see now that I had gone to Standish for a fight, one that was long overdue. Why else had I fortified myself at the inn? Resisting the urge to get to my feet, I leaned forward and lifted a hand.

‘I’ve heard it said there are many sorts of witches,’ I snapped. ‘Men as well as women. Yet Agnes Mason has never harmed anyone, and as for driving a maid to madness, the notion is preposterous. Yet, along with most of this town, you seem to have condemned her before she even comes to trial. You question my motives – what of yours? Will you be hosting the Assize Judge here in your house, as you’ve done before? It would be a fine opportunity, would it not, given the King’s interest in such cases, to lift your reputation? For heaven knows, you could do with it.’

‘Good God - you vile old rogue!’

It was Standish who got up. ‘Always a blunderer - intemperate and stubborn, as was your father!’ he cried. ‘Why in God’s name should the fate of this wretched woman matter a jot to you? Then, you never could be dispassionate, which is why you were unfit to be a magistrate! I said so then, as I say it now…’

He stopped himself – but too late. In the taut silence that followed we stared at each other, while in my mind memories flew up and rearranged themselves into a clear pattern.

1612: those meetings of the City Fathers… a letter from the Attorney General in London… the mutterings in corners, at the Assize Sessions… the Mayor too is displeased, it was said. Then that gloomy day when I was called before the Council and asked, most politely, if I would step down from my place as magistrate. I could plead ill health… the burdens of office were becoming too much to bear… for the good of the city, it was for the best - was it not? And seeing how they were resolved, on that occasion Robert Belstrang set aside his stubbornness and, to his shame, acquiesced.

I had regretted it ever since - more deeply, I realised, than I ever allowed myself to think. And standing before me was one who had been instrumental in bringing it about: a man who had appeared sympathetic at the time, even as he stepped so readily into my shoes.

‘Well now, that’s clarified matters somewhat,’ I said finally. ‘I believe now, that I always knew you were one of those who contrived to have me ousted.’

I was about to go, but decided to take a parting shot. ‘As for the evidence I spoke of, I’ll keep it to myself. I’m no longer confident in its being heard dispassionately.’

And I left him, still on his