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

was laughter from the other men. The dogs barked and frisked, sensing the start of the hunt – and at once the word was given, for the party shook reins and urged their mounts forward, Cobbett in the lead. With barely a glance at Boyd or me they swept past in a body, causing us no small difficulty in getting out of their way. Then they were through the gatehouse, hooves pounding as they spurred across the bridge, the dogs racing ahead. One of the last to ride out was Woollard, who threw me a withering look as he passed.

But he was not quite the last: looking very small and erect in her side-saddle, Jane Cobbett was walking her mare in the rear, and I knew that her slowness was deliberate. She drew close to me, lowered her head and spoke.

‘I pray you, sir, do not make haste. Ride as far as Tait’s Crossing, then wait for me. Will you do so?’

I glanced at Budge, and nodded.

***

A half-hour passed, and no-one came.

We had said little on our ride to the crossing, which was where we now sat on our mounts, at the side of the road. The Severn glided past, its surface dotted with wildfowl, while the small wherry lay idle, moored to the bank. As a ferry-boat it was seldom used: an old tub, many called it, run by an ageing rogue called Dan Tait, who lived nearby and earned a few pennies for his pains. There was no sign of him today, which suited me well enough.

‘Perhaps young Mistress Cobbett has changed her mind,’ Boyd remarked presently. ‘I regret I can’t wait all morning… though I’m as curious as you. She appeared frightened.’

‘And I will hear her,’ I said. ‘I must. Though of course, I’ve no wish to keep you.’

‘The parson…’ Boyd was frowning. ‘I know some churchmen enjoy a hunt, but he’s an odd fish, that one.’

I nodded, recalling Woolland’s fiery speech at the graveside, and his denouncing of Agnes Mason. At that moment, however, we were alerted by the sound of hooves: Jane Cobbett appeared at last, riding towards us at pace. She reined, somewhat breathless, and threw me a look of gratitude.

‘I knew you would wait, Master Justice. You have my thanks, for in truth there’s no-one else I can talk to - if you are willing to hear me, that is?’

‘I am,’ I assured her. ‘As is my good friend here, Doctor Boyd from Worcester. Though I confess we were surprised to see you ride to the hunt… was it at your father’s bidding?’

The maiden shook her head. ‘I had to beg him to let me come – I needed to get away from her, if only for a few hours.’ She looked away for a moment. ‘I speak of our nurse, Dowling.’

‘Indeed?’ I glanced at Boyd. ‘Will you say more? Does she use you harshly, or…?’

‘At times, but that’s not why I’m here,’ Jane said quickly. ‘There are other reasons - my sister for one. She is deep in melancholy, and I’m afraid for her.’ She gave a sigh. ‘Then, that’s not something I should trouble you with. I must speak of another… his name is Howell Rhys.’

I gave a start: a picture of Ned Berritt arose, standing by the Witching Pool as he told me of Susanna Cobbett’s swain. At once I told Jane what I knew, to which she nodded.

‘It’s true. They were much in love, though unable to meet save at an open window, for the house is locked at sunset. I would keep a watch for Susanna, while she stole down to the back parlour… he would wait for her, shivering when the night chilled him in his wet clothes. Those were hurried meetings, tinged with sadness – they could barely even kiss!’

She was close to tears, but checked herself. ‘They planned to run away together. But now, with what’s happened…’ she shook her head forlornly. ‘He must be broken… I know not what he’ll do, for he adored her.’

‘Your father, I would guess, forbade the two of them to meet?’ I asked – to which an answer came, with some emotion.

‘Forbade them?’ Jane echoed. ‘More than that – he only saw Howell once, but swore if he ever saw him again, he would kill him on the spot! And I believe he would do it, too…’

She trailed off, biting her lip. I caught Boyd’s eye, and saw he would speak.

‘I pray you will take heart, Mistress,’ he said. ‘Things may not seem so dismal in time. Howell Rhys will mourn, of course - and deeply - but he’s young, as you are. Once the time for mourning is passed-’

‘It will not pass, sir.’

Jane eyed him sadly, moving both of us to pity her. Turning to me, she added: ‘There are secrets at Ebbfield. Yet I’ll not say more… you are kind, to hear me spill my thoughts.’

‘Now wait,’ I said, seeing she meant to leave us. ‘I wish to help, yet you’ve not told me how I can. Do you wish me seek out Howell Rhys? I pray you, speak before you ride off.’

‘I cannot stay longer, for I will be missed,’ Jane said. ‘I’ll say that I fell behind, my mare being out of sorts, though whether my father will believe me is another matter.’ She managed a brief smile. ‘But yes, I would be grateful if you could ask after Howell. He lodges at a farm beyond Clevelode, where he minds the flock. He’s a gentle fellow, and I fear for him.’

‘Yet, you say he and your sister planned to elope?’ Boyd enquired. ‘How could they do so, without money or means of support?’

His answer was a bleak look. ‘When the urge to flee is strong enough,’ Jane said, ‘money may be of least concern. Susanna believed Howell