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

possession a sworn confession from a man named Peter Willett, which corroborates Russell’s admissions.’

At that, I was startled. With a cry that was almost a yelp, Mistress Mountford got to her feet, her mouth agape.

‘By the Lord Jesus!’ she blurted, almost swaying where she stood. ‘It’s creeping out, sooner than I feared-’

‘Be silent!’ Her husband’s command rang out harshly, at which the lady fell back into her chair as if pushed. With an effort, Mountford faced me.

‘What does this mean, Belstrang?’ He demanded. ‘You’re not a Justice now… are you here at the behest of others? You carry confessions, you say - but by what authority?’

‘I’ll come to that,’ I said; on a sudden, I felt oddly calm. For good measure, I fumbled in my doublet and drew out one of the false statements. ‘I have here another sworn admission, from a Spaniard named Sebastien,’ I went on. ‘I was unfortunate enough to find myself at close quarters with him, in a trow on the river. We were returning from Bristol, where I observed the unloading of a consignment of your cannons. In short, he tried to kill me - but as you can see, he failed.’

With that, I waited. From the corner of my eye, I saw Maria Mountford cast her eyes downwards in dismay. Her husband, however, appeared composed.

‘Well now… you have been most assiduous,’ he said, after a moment. ‘And all because my father, in his confusion, asked a favour of you? Perhaps it slipped your mind when I told you he was prone to fancies, so that we even fear for his sanity?’

‘Nothing has slipped my mind, sir,’ I replied. ‘And my journey proved most fruitful. In short, I now know that your uncle was not killed in an explosion at the foundry, for there was none. He was slain by Peter Willett, to stop his mouth after he uncovered the treachery that was being done.’

‘Indeed? How interesting.’ Mountford’s tone was icy now. ‘And by whose order do you imagine such a crime was done?’

For answer, I merely returned the man’s gaze. A moment passed, whereupon he turned to his wife and, to my surprise, put out a hand to her.

‘My dear, you are distressed,’ he said, with a concern that was blatantly false. ‘Belstrang has been precipitate in coming here with these allegations… more, he has insulted us both. I pray you, withdraw and let me deal with him.’

And with that he drew her to her feet, doubtless expecting her to make some attempt at composure and leave. In that, however, he was thwarted.

‘Deal with him?’ His wife echoed, in a shrill voice. ‘Aye, so you shall, for you always do! What weapons will you deploy this time? Threats, bribery… a promise to drop a word in the right ear?’ And to my embarrassment she turned to me, her face now flushed with bitterness.

‘Have a care, Master Belstrang,’ she threw out. ‘You know not who you treat with. And if you accept an offer to stay here this night – as you will – then my advice is to sleep with a poniard under your pillow! That, or wield a very long spoon with which to eat your supper… God save you, sir, and good-night!’

And having said her piece – a well-delivered parting speech, I must admit – the lady turned from her husband, tugging her sleeve from his grip. Thereafter she summoned what dignity remained to her, and walked to the door without swaying once.

Yet, no sooner had she left the room than Francis Mountford faced me again, a cool smile now in place. ‘Your pardon,’ he said in a bland voice. ‘My wife is out of sorts today… likely some woman’s trouble. Yet as she intimated, I offer our hospitality - without condition. The evening draws in, and having ridden all he way from Gloucester, both you and your horse will require rest and sustenance. Dine with me, and let’s see how me may move forward from this… these matters you have uncovered. I trust you will accept?’

***

Despite everything it was rather a good supper, and I saw no reason to refuse it. It bought me time, to find means to get Francis Mountford to reveal the names of his fellow Concord Men, if that were possible. Legally, I had no powers save that of any gentleman who chose to swear out a warrant for another man’s arrest. More, I was alone, and it crossed my mind more than once that Mountford could decide to take desperate measures - as he had done with his uncle, who soon featured as the chief topic of our discussion.

I had been at pains to eat no more than my fill, and to drink sparingly; tempting as Mountford’s fine wines were to the palate, I had no desire to let them cloud my judgement.

‘So, this man Willett confessed to killing John,’ he said, as we ate our roasted capon and sallet. ‘Would he be related to Jonas Willett, who once worked for us?’

‘I think you know that he’s his son,’ I replied. ‘For you loaned him money to establish his own foundry, on the Newerne stream… or had it slipped your mind?’

‘Ah, yes…’ Francis nodded. ‘And did you meet the old man on your travels?’

‘He’s dying,’ I said shortly. ‘And in misery, now that his son’s languishing in Gloucester Castle, facing the gallows.’

In truth, I was finding myself disconcerted by my host’s casual manner. What was he planning? I wondered. The answer, in fact, would come later… but for now, he appeared to enjoy playing the wealthy and assured landowner.

‘Appalling,’ he said, with a shake of his head. ‘As I recall, the son was something of a rogue. Likely we’ll never know what passed between him and John Mountford.’

‘You know what passed,’ I said, striving to keep emotion from my voice.