Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery by John Pilkington (top 10 most read books in the world .TXT) 📗

But when Lockyer made his bow and turned to go, I stayed him. ‘Do you know what play the Earl’s men are performing?’

‘I do, sir - it’s Doctor Faustus by the late Master Marlowe. It’s got devils running around, and magic.’ He threw me a sly look. ‘Not real magic, that is… no harm in a show, is there?’

Summoning a frown, I dismissed him. It seemed unlikely that he was referring to my brush with the supposed witch Agnes Mason the year before, whom I had saved from the gallows. But Thirldon had always been a hive of gossip. My authority, I reflected ruefully, was a mere shadow of what it had been in my magistrate’s days. As if to drive the notion home, I had barely retired to my bed-chamber that night when the door opened and Hester entered, wrapped in her russet night-gown.

‘If it’s about the play tomorrow, I’ve already been waylaid and given my consent,’ I told her. ‘I was feeling magnanimous, I suppose… or drowsy with claret-’

‘I would like to go too,’ Hester interrupted. ‘I haven’t seen a play in a long time – nor have you.’

Standing in my stockings in the candlelight, I made a gesture of dismissal. ‘I’ve seen Doctor Faustus twice, in London,’ I said. ‘I’ve no desire to see it again. You should go - you can keep an eye on the Thirldon men, see they don’t get soused and start a fight.’

‘You wish me to attend alone?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘There are no private gallery-boxes at the King’s Head. I’d be a target for any lecherous gallant who had a mind to seize me.’

‘What piffle,’ I muttered, stifling a yawn. ‘You’d be a match for any of them.’ But there was truth in her words. The inn-yard could be rowdy - and a woman alone, whatever her age, was generally considered fair game…

‘In any case, it’s likely some of your friends will be there,’ Hester said.

‘I don’t have friends nowadays,’ I lied. My old companion Doctor Budge was a true friend, but he was away for the summer spending time with his daughter and her family. ‘More likely I’d run into some old enemy from my days on the bench.’

‘I believe an afternoon’s entertainment will be good for you,’ came the reply. ‘You never go anywhere, save fishing.’

I sighed. ‘May we leave this for the morning?’

‘I suppose we may. In fact, that was my thought too.’

She made no move to leave the room; our eyes met, and I drew a sharp breath. ‘I see,’ I said, in a different tone. ‘Is this a matter of bribery, or…?’

‘Call it what you will,’ Hester said, undoing her gown.

And that was how we both came to be attending a performance at the King’s Head Inn, the following afternoon.

It was what followed afterwards, however, that set the cat among the pigeons.

***

In spite of my reservations, I had enjoyed the play. The Earl of Arundel’s company were seasoned players who had been touring the provinces, and their delivery was well-honed and lively. Though Marlowe’s work was familiar to me, I had almost forgotten the power of his poetry, which more than compensated for the knockabout scenes of clowning, to a man of my tastes. The inn-yard was packed, my own servants dotted among the crowd, delighting in the show. As did Hester, who was moved by the cries of the wretched Faustus when the devils come to drag him off to hell at the end. She spoke of it as we made our way out through the throng and into the street.

‘It’s a morality tale - one of straight retribution,’ I told her. ‘If you make a pact with evil, you pay the price. As for yearning after Helen of Troy – or even her spirit – that’s mere lust personified.’

‘Of course - Master Justice,’ she replied, with a dour look. ‘Being a paragon of virtue yourself, you naturally disapprove of pleasure for its own sake.’

I lowered my gaze; having enjoyed a rare episode of carnality with her the previous night, I was in no position to preach. We walked on in silence through the busy street, past the Guildhall where, on a sudden, Hester stopped.

‘Do you see who it is?’ She asked, tugging my sleeve.

I looked up, and drew to a halt myself. Walking towards us was Dorothy Standish, the wife of my old rival Justice Matthew Standish, with whom I had oft been at loggerheads. Especially in the previous year, when I’d had a hand in the downfall of the wicked landowner Giles Cobbett, friend and – so I had deduced – silent paymaster of the unscrupulous Justice. I never saw Standish, as a rule. He and I were enemies, now that I knew he had been one of those responsible for my having to quit as magistrate. Nor had I any wish to speak to his haughty wife. I took Hester’s arm and would have walked past her – but to my surprise the woman blocked our path. Only then did I notice that she was not alone, but in the company of an over-dressed gallant who must have been twenty years her junior.

‘Master Belstrang…’ a thin smile appeared. ‘How pleasant to see you… you and your servant.’

‘Madam.’ I managed the curtest of nods. ‘Your pardon, but we cannot stay.’

‘Of course you can’t… always such a busy man.’ The lady half-turned to her companion - a simpering fellow, I surmised. ‘Master Belstrang was once a Justice here, did you know?’ She murmured. ‘Now he… well, in truth I’m not sure what it is he does now. Tends his fruit trees, perhaps?’

Beside me, I felt Hester stiffen. Suppressing a retort, I made as if to side-step the two of them, but it seemed Mistress Standish was not done with me yet.

‘It’s such a pity,’ she