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

pity… we understood you to be a keen angler. Francis could have invited you to fish the lake that lies on our land.’

‘Alas, I must forgo the pleasure on this occasion,’ I replied. Francis made no comment – and now I saw it, plainly enough: he was relieved at the prospect of my departure.

‘Can you not at least delay your ride until the afternoon?’ His wife persisted. ‘As you know, Sir Richard sleeps late… you could take dinner here, then bid him farewell.’

‘Much as I would like to, I fear not,’ I told her. ‘There are matters at home requiring my attention.’

To which the mistress of Foxhill was about to utter some further protest, had she not been silenced by her husband.

‘For heaven’s sake, Madam,’ Francis said sharply. ‘Belstrang has stated his intention, and he has his reasons. I pray you, let the man be.’ Turning to me, he said smoothly: ‘We are delighted to have had your company, sir, which I’m certain will have cheered my father a good deal. You leave with our warmest thanks, and our affection.’

It was all I could do to manage a polite nod. For in truth, my growing dislike for this man had hardened into something else: a deep distrust. I saw no hint of the affection he had spoken of. It merely stiffened my resolve to discover what had happened, down in the distant Forest of Dean.

I left Foxhill early the next day, riding back into Upton where I re-crossed the Severn. But instead of turning northwards towards Worcester, I took the road south towards Tewkesbury. A much longer ride lay ahead, into a part of rural England I barely knew.

And the man who now set forth on that journey, was no longer ex-magistrate Robert Belstrang of Thirldon: he was William Pride, a man of business. That was my integumentum – my cover name, if you will, plucked out of the air. I hoped the diversion would bring results; at the least, it would continue to distract me from fears of losing my home.

***

The day was sunny, the early cloud having lifted. Leucippus took the road at a good pace, and we reached the bustling town of Tewkesbury well before mid-day. We had crossed the border into Gloucestershire now, and I stopped to rest the horse, letting him eat from the nose-bag while I took a light dinner at the nearest inn. Here I called for ink and paper, and penned a brief letter to Hester informing her of my intentions, paying the host to send it to Worcester by the first carrier available.

Then I was back in the saddle, crossing the river again on to the road to Tirley. Thereafter it was a steady ride, south-west through the villages of Haffield and Rudford. By late afternoon we were in Westbury, where I watered the horse again. The country was rich and green, yet unfamiliar to me. I pressed on past the great bend in the river, to enter the ancient Forest of Dean. The roads were fewer and narrower now, and I was obliged to stop and ask a carter for directions to Lydney: another four or five miles. Whereupon at last, as evening drew in, I reached the village and drew rein.

It was quiet, little more than a hamlet

on the River Lyd, with the great forest at its back. I knew the mills and forges Mountford had described to me were upstream, in the woodlands which stretched away as far as I could see. A track led off towards the Severn, which was but a short distance from here. Tomorrow I would venture forth, posing as a man with money to invest in iron works. But for the moment both Leucippus and I needed rest and sustenance. To my relief there was an inn close by: The Comfort, the sign read. I was soon inside, ordering a room and board and stabling for the horse.

The host was one Henry Hawes, a ruddy-faced Forest of Dean man with an accent I could barely penetrate. But he was courteous, and it was a relief to ease the stiffness from my limbs over a supper and a mug of locally-brewed ale. In response to my casual questions, however, he grew somewhat wary. The Mountford family were indeed well-known, he allowed: one of the biggest employers at their foundries, the nearest being up the Lyd, a mile and a half away. But they were not great landowners hereabouts, like the Catholic Wintours with their noble connections. What, he wondered, was my interest?

I assumed a casual manner, mentioning a small share in iron mines elsewhere, which I might be seeking to increase. William Pride, I decided, should be something of a free-wheeler, prepared to take risks with his money; I believed it would open a few doors. My host having left me to attend to his customers, I finished my drink and surveyed the room, with its thickening fug of tobacco smoke. The drinkers were all working men, downing their ale after a hard day’s toil. Feeling wearied, I rose to go to my chamber, only to be accosted by a heavy-bearded fellow in dusty clothes, who barred my way.

‘I heard what you were saying to Henry Hawes, sir,’ he stated. ‘Do you know the Mountfords well?’

I told him I had some slight acquaintance with the family.

‘I ask because there’s some here would be glad to have news,’ the other continued, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Several other men, I saw, were now looking in my direction. ‘Like, when they’re likely to get paid again.’

‘I’m unable to answer that, my friend,’ I told him, with a shrug. ‘I’m here to look about, nothing more.’

‘Is it so?’ The man regarded me, noting my good clothes and my sword, then: ‘Foundry business, is it?’

I gave a nod, suppressing my distaste at his impertinent tone;