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

‘No more about the death,’ he answered, after a moment’s thought. ‘But to earn my coin, I’ll say this. You once asked about the dead birds… things set out to frighten folk away, you said. Well - in that, you were right enough. I was paid to do it, now and again. Make ‘em look like witches’ charms, or some such. It suited one man to keep folks away, so long as he thought there might be gold buried in the wood.’

I drew breath sharply, causing him to nod. ‘Ay… you know who I mean. The same one whose own daughter drowned in the pool.’He grew sombre. ‘It got to be a habit, hanging up crows and such. But I’ve stopped… no stomach for it now.’

I stared at him. ‘Did you use other means to scare people away?’ I asked. ‘Like the creature that was said to live in the pool – big enough to send a wave onto the bank, I was told, and send folk running away in fear?’

‘Ah… that.’ Somewhat sheepishly, Berritt met my gaze. ‘Well now… if you’ll swear to keep it to yourself, I’ll tell you.’ And after I had nodded agreement, if against my better judgement: ‘There was a great catfish in the pool once, as long as your arm. He was eating everything that moved, greedy bastard – it could have become a dead place. So I hooked him and killed him, took him away. Had a few good suppers off him, after that.’ He paused. ‘Are you content now?’

Lost for words, I barely nodded. I might have said more about how this wild rogue, whom I had once fined, had been one of the chief causes of people shunning the Witching Pool for years; but I held my tongue.

And soon after we parted, Berritt vanished into the bushes whence he had sprung.

I would never see him again.

ELEVEN

Two days after my encounter with Berritt, I received a message by courier from Boyd: he had viewed the body of Howell Rhys, and asked me to attend him as soon as was possible.

Mercifully, the business had been easier to arrange than I feared. On my return from Newland I had sent a letter to Boyd, acquainting him with what I had learned. Then I sent another to Justice Standish with my request, offering to visit him and state my case, but to my relief there was no need. Perhaps to avoid another taut meeting, Standish agreed to Boyd acting as surgeon in the matter. Now, having received word I made haste to return to Worcester. I was unsure what to expect, but on arriving at the doctor’s, I was both alarmed and intrigued to hear his findings.

‘Unnatural?’ I stood before him in his parlour, still perspiring somewhat from my ride. ‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean your friend Berritt was likely correct,’ my friend answered in his phlegmatic fashion. ‘The youth had been submerged, but there was very little water in the lungs – in short, his death was not by drowning.’

‘Then, what did cause it?’

‘Now we come to the nub of it,’ Boyd replied. ‘When I removed his clothing, down to the waist, I found heavy bruising about the chest and stomach…’

‘What, do you mean he was beaten to death?’ I broke in, my words tumbling over themselves in my eagerness.

‘Robert, would you care to sit down and catch your breath?’ My friend suggested. ‘When I lay out the facts I’d prefer to do so in good order, if you’ll allow.’

With an effort at calm, I seated myself. Boyd having done the same, he continued: ‘As I said, there was severe bruising, but that’s not what killed him.’ He paused. ‘In my opinion the lad was poisoned.’

‘By the heavens…’ At once I recalled Berritt’s words: The face… the colour wasn’t what you’d expect…

‘I’ve seen it before,’ the doctor nodded. ‘The discoloured lips, the pallor… though since he’d been in the pond an entire night, it’s difficult to be sure.’ He frowned. ‘Had I been able to examine the contents of his stomach, I could perhaps speak with more certainty. But since I was working under the eyes of others, who resented my presence, I thought it best to bring matters to a close - and to keep my findings to myself.’

‘But this is important,’ I said urgently. ‘If Rhys was murdered – which is what you imply – it has a strong bearing on the case. Whoever had motive for such, I would-’

‘Murder?’ Boyd held up his hand. ‘See now, I did not use that word. I merely said death was likely caused by poison. The deceased could have taken it by design, hence…’

‘Then why would he go to the Witching Pool to drown himself?’ I objected. ‘It’s absurd.’

‘That, indeed, is the nub of it,’ the doctor agreed.

We both fell silent. My own thoughts were running at speed: if Howell Rhys had taken poison, the verdict might still be one of suicide, given the whims of a jury made up of plain folk who simply wanted to get back to their day’s business. His reasons would seem clear: the lad was distraught at the death of his beloved, and had no desire to live without her. At least, I reflected, there was no suggestion that he had been driven to madness by witchery.

‘Who were these others, who resented your examining the corpse?’ I asked. ‘Do you mean they tried to prevent you?’

‘No… they could not, once I showed my order from the Justice in his capacity as Coroner,’ he answered. ‘They could only throw me looks of disapproval. There was the constable from Powick – a dullard, who saw me as a meddling intruder. And some of the