The Witching Pool: A Justice Belstrang Mystery (Justice Belstrang Mysteries Book 2) by John Pilkington (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📗

your mother in happier times,’ I began - but I was at once arrested by the look in her eyes. There was more than grief: there was nervousness, even fear. Hester saw it too, and caught her breath. By instinct both of us were moved to try and comfort the girl – but almost at once, we were challenged.

‘Jane! What are you doing?’

I looked up to see the nurse, skirts swishing about her as she hurried towards us. Without checking her stride, she took Jane Cobbett by the shoulders and almost thrust her aside.

‘In God’s name, sir, have you no shame?’ she demanded of me. ‘Troubling my poor charge in her grief, at such a time? I pray you, go to the house and attend your father!’

The instruction was for Jane who, without a word, turned about and obeyed. But as she went, she threw a look over her shoulder which I will not forget: that of a soul in anguish. I had barely noted it before the nurse faced me again, but quickly I recovered myself.

‘I had not the least intent to trouble your charge, Mistress,’ I said, in my magistrate voce. ‘She came to me… I believe she wished to speak.’ Whereupon I gave my name, adding that I had some acquaintance with the Cobbett family. Such explanations, however, seemed of little concern to this woman.

‘There was small need for you to come here… sir,’ she answered. ‘This family is in torment, if not one of their own making, and in need of privacy. I would have thought a man of your rank and education would have understood.’

‘Might we know your name, Mistress?’

Hester spoke up, her eyes peering into the other woman’s. Another moment followed, before the nurse nodded briefly. ‘Eliza Dowling. Master Giles’ daughters have been in my care since their mother passed.’

‘Your care?’ Hester was taut as a wand. ‘Well, it appears to me they will need more than mere discipline in the days ahead,’ she said. ‘They will need understanding.’

‘Do you presume to teach me, Madam?’ Eliza Dowling retorted. ‘I’m grateful, but I fear my duties call me. If you’ll allow?’

Whereupon, with a look of severity, she turned and called out to the younger sister who, I now saw, had been watching our exchange open-mouthed. But she came meekly, and was soon swept away towards the house. I watched as both figures disappeared from sight, before glancing absently at the grave.

The labourer was at work already, shovelling earth so quickly, he seemed in haste to have the dead girl’s remains hidden from sight, for ever.

***

We did not speak for some time on the ride homewards, each of us busy with our thoughts. Finally, as the spires of Worcester’s churches came into view, we slowed our mounts and walked them at gentle pace.

‘Those poor girls,’ Hester murmured. ‘Who will they turn to now, with no older sister to be their confidante?’

I made no answer; the particulars of the burial and its aftermath were yet fresh in my mind.

‘Something was wrong back there,’ she added. ‘More than the tragedy of the death.’ She glanced at me as we rode. ‘Humphreys, for one thing – the tenant. He made my blood run cold. For that matter, so did the parson.’

I nodded. ‘I wouldn’t like to be one of his flock when he’s in full flow, spouting fire and damnation.’

‘And what of Cobbett?’ Hester asked. ‘You saw his demeanour as I did.’

But I was thinking of Agnes Mason, who was likely unaware of the strength of feeling gathered against her. If ever there were a hopeless case, I reflected, hers was one.

‘I had a notion we might take our dinner in Worcester,’ I said finally. ‘But if it please you, we’ll go home directly. I’ve some business this afternoon, that will not wait.’

Hester threw me a questioning look, but said nothing.

Nor did she query my request, back at Thirldon, for Henry the cook to put some cakes in a pouch, along with a stoppered flask of ale, and bring them to me after we had dined. Though from her expression, she guessed where I intended to go.

***

Two hours later I stood once again in the gloomy Guildhall cellars, before the door of Agnes Mason’s cell.

My arrival had not gone entirely smoothly, for in the entrance hall I had been confronted by an official who told me the prisoner was now forbidden visitors. On learning who I was, however, the man relented and called Sergeant Lisle. After I had surrendered my sword, the sergeant accompanied me downstairs to the chamber at the end of the passage. Key in hand, he paused at the door and regarded me.

‘Might I enquire as to what’s in the bag, Master Justice?’

‘Cakes and ale,’ I answered. ‘Is the prisoner now forbidden such comforts?’

‘Not by me, sir,’ Lisle said. ‘But I have to ask. I’m also obliged to search you, but let’s take that as done, shall we?’

I sighed and gave him my thanks, whereupon he unlocked the door and stood back. This time I had no need to adjust my eyes to the gloom, for there was a small rushlight burning. In its feeble glow, I entered the cell to see Agnes Mason rising from her pallet in surprise. As the door closed she stood up, smoothing her skirts hurriedly, but greeted me warmly.

‘Master Justice… once again, you cheer me.’

Somewhat awkwardly I held out the bag; I had forgotten how disarming her smile was. She took it and thanked me.

‘A costrel of ale and some sweet cakes,’ I said. ‘Better than prison fare, I suspect. Do they feed you properly?’

She nodded and set the pouch aside, her smile fading. ‘I make no complaint, sir. But the jailer is harsh… he dashed my porridge to the floor this morning.’

At once, I