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

And indeed, it seemed there was little more to be said; as a council of war the afternoon was a failure. To go against Giles Cobbett, and those who stood ready to support him, now seemed fruitless. What, indeed, was my cause? As for theories, as Hester had said, I had none to speak of: only unease over Susanna Cobbett’s death, suspicion of murder done to Howell Rhys, and a smouldering anger that an innocent woman was to be sent to the gallows.

Hence, after some further desultory talk we rose from the table, Hester to deal with household matters and Boyd to go to his duties in Worcester. I walked with him to the stables, and once we were alone, begged a small service from him: I asked him to visit the Guildhall and enquire as to the condition of Agnes Mason.

‘Her condition?’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘The jailer, Burton, is a varlet,’ I told him. ‘He may tamper with her food. But if Sergeant Lisle is there, you may ask him on my behalf.’

He hesitated, then: ‘You have taken that woman’s welfare to heart, have you not?’

‘It’s what I would do for any prisoner whom I think has been wrongly accused,’ I answered, to which he gave a sigh, and signalled his consent.

After seeing him ride away I stood in the stable yard, absently watching Elkins leading one of the mares out for exercise. The afternoon was already waning, and having a mind to be alone I intended to go to my private parlour to read.But it was then, as I turned away, that Elkins halted by the gateway and called out. I looked round, hearing a sound of hooves approaching, and saw a lone horseman enter the yard. He slowed his mount, then drew rein and looked directly at me.

‘Would you be Master Belstrang, sir? Justice Belstrang?’

‘I would.’ I looked him over, seeing a grey-haired, ruddy-faced man in plain garb, mounted on an old sway-backed horse. ‘And who might you be?’

‘David ap Rhys, sir… I’ve ridden from Powick. I got there too late for the inquest yesterday, but I know what passed.’ He let out a sigh. ‘Might I speak with you?’

‘Of course - I pray you, dismount.’

I called to Elkins to see to the visitor’s horse. And soon David ap Rhys, whose border accent I had now recognised, stood before me. He was the father of Howell Rhys, he explained, though I already knew.

‘You look weary, Master Rhys,’ I said. ‘Will you come in and take some refreshment?’

‘Most gladly, sir.’ He paused, then: ‘Yet before all else, I desire to thank you most heartily – you and the other gentleman, the doctor, for standing up for my son as you did.’

‘I think the doctor may have earned your thanks,’ I said, taken aback. ‘I did little.’

Rhys shook his head firmly. ‘Nay, sir - you refused to condemn my boy, as others have done. And I will say more, if you’ll hear me.’

‘Well now, I will indeed,’ I said.

***

It was a sad tale, told by a man ragged with grief. He sat at the well-scrubbed table in the Thirldon kitchen, having eaten a little food and now clutching a mug of beer. He talked with pride of Howell, the youngest of his three sons. The boy had been a fine shepherd, but was not needed so much on their farm now that his brothers were working it. He had been content to go and work for Rowden, not meaning to stay more than two years. But then he had encountered Mistress Cobbett when she was out riding, and everything changed.

‘He did love her most fiercely, Master Belstrang,’ Rhys told me. ‘He sent me letters… I don’t read too well, but my eldest boy does. Howell had plans… he was going to get the maid away from her father, which she too desired, being most unhappy. He wouldn’t leave the county without her - he swore it.’

Recalling Jane Cobbett’s testimony that morning by the crossing, I nodded. ‘From what I know, his sentiments were returned,’ I said. ‘Did he speak of swimming the river by night, to keep tryst with her?’

‘He did,’ Rhys said at once. ‘He was always a fine swimmer, and unafraid. Indeed, his courage was well known…’ he broke off suddenly, fixing me with a keen eye.

‘Which is why I say to you now, sir, that my son would never have taken his own life. I know it, as all of us who were his kinfolk know it. And whatever befell that poor maid, he would have toiled to find out what lay behind it – for I know in my heart there’s more to that than has been told!’

‘And by heaven, so do I,’ I answered, after a moment. ‘In truth, I’ve thought so from the start. Nor do I believe your son was bewitched and made mad – any more than Susanna Cobbett was.’

The other drew a long breath. ‘It warms my heart to hear you say so. But then…’ a haggard look appeared. ‘It can mean only one thing, Master Belstrang: that he was murdered.’

I made no reply; though I too believed that, I was uneasy about voicing it. For a while Rhys seemed lost in thought, gazing down at the table. Finally, he looked up.

‘Do you have any notion as to who would do that? And why?’ He asked, speaking softly.

I hesitated. ‘If I did, I would be slow to name them,’ I answered finally. For there was a spark in the man’s eye now: an urge, naturally enough, to settle the score, which discomfited me. Justice, not vengeance, was my watchword. I decided not to speak of what Jane Cobbett told me, of how her father threatened Howell Rhys’s life – but the next moment, I was confounded.

‘Yet I would not,’ David ap Rhys