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

church people, who doubtless shared his opinion. Later came Rhys’s master, the farmer… an angry man. He seemed more concerned that the shepherd had abandoned his flock, than the fact that he had lost his life.’

‘Well, I believe Rhys was abducted,’ I said. ‘The bruising you found points to a struggle… he was dressed for the night-time, and would have been alone. But let’s assume you’re correct concerning the poison. Could it have been administered by force?’

Boyd was eying me uneasily. ‘Robert, I pray you – rein in these theories before they lead you astray. Whatever the means by which the poison entered his body, there’s no proof of murder. Besides, who would wish the poor lad dead? Surely not Cobbett, if that’s how your mind moves. With his daughter gone, he has no reason to pursue her forbidden lover.’

I gave a sigh, for he was right. Was I so eager to free Agnes Mason from the likelihood of conviction, I wondered, that I had grown obsessed with seeing Cobbett behind every evil that occurred? ‘You read my thoughts too well,’ I said ruefully. ‘Some might call it witchcraft.’

‘What with the fears and rumours that are about now, let’s hope that word is not used at the inquest,’ my friend replied.

‘Yet you will present your findings, as told to me?’

‘Of course. Unwelcome as they might be…’ Boyd sighed. ‘I’d not be surprised if our friend Standish tries to hurry matters along as he did before. A careless man, with a degree of idleness beneath his cloak of authority.’

‘Well now, this time I’ll be there to observe him and to make objection,’ I said. ‘And I confess that the more it discomforts him, the more satisfaction I shall feel.’

With that I stood and suggested dinner, to which my friend agreed. Yet he was as sombre as I, thinking on what lay ahead.

***

The following morning the inquest into the death of Howell Rhys, shepherd, took place in the old tithe barn at Powick, amid an air of some excitement. It was the second such procedure within ten days, and would no doubt be the talk of the village and its surrounds for a long time to come.

Along with Boyd, I arrived as men were setting out a table for the Justice. There was a handful of Powick folk present, among them a pinch-faced fellow whom Boyd pointed out as the constable. The jury of sixteen men were already seated, on benches at one side. I was observing them when my friend touched me on the arm. Turning, I was surprised to see someone I recognised, stepping in out of the sunlight: Thomas Woolland, the parson from Kempsey - and friend of Giles Cobbett. What, I wondered, was his interest?

But there was no time to think on it, for more people were arriving. One was Abel Humphreys, dressed in the same garb he had worn when I last saw him. With him was a man who looked like another farmer, whom I would learn was Rowden, master of the deceased shepherd. Finally came Justice Standish, striding in with a harried look, a sheaf of papers under his arm. Ignoring everyone, he walked to his table and sat down heavily. And at once my hackles rose, for I saw that Boyd’s suspicions were correct: Standish had the air of a man whose patience was short, and who wanted the entire affair despatched quickly.

And only then, as the Justice peered about the dusty barn, did I realise that there was no sign of Ned Berritt.

In the absence of stools, and with the few benches being already taken, Boyd and I were obliged to seat ourselves on straw bales covered with horse blankets. No sooner had we done so than Standish called the proceedings to order. An ageing, bird-like clerk then appeared from somewhere and announced the business in a bored voice, before seating himself close to the Justice. A hush fell, as all eyes went to him. Only now did he allow his gaze to wander over the small crowd… but if he saw me, he gave no sign of it. After shuffling papers about he murmured to the clerk, who stood up and called out a name I did not recognise: William Mount. With others, I looked round to see a figure come forward – and at once I stiffened.

He was the man with the pistol, who had confronted me in Newland Wood only three days earlier. And my surprise was confounded when, as the fellow stood before the Justice’s table, he was named as the finder of the body of Howell Rhys.

I glanced at Boyd, and would have spoken had my friend not stayed me with a look which said plainly that we should wait. And so, I fixed my eyes on William Mount and prepared to hear his account. Having taken an oath, the man stood ready.

‘I understand, from submissions received, that you came upon the deceased in Newland Wood,’ Standish intoned, to which Mount nodded.

‘I was exercising my dogs, sir. One strayed into the wood… I heard him barking, and found the dead person at the place they call the Witching Pool.’

There was a stir, which the Justice ignored. ‘And what was the condition of the body?’

‘Floating in the water, fully clothed. I knew he was drowned, soon as I saw him. I didn’t touch him… just went and reported it to the constable.’

Now my anger was rising, for the man was lying. Did he not expect to be challenged? And would not the constable testify that it was Berritt who had carried word to Rowden first? These thoughts flew about, even as Mount was being dismissed. Having sworn he had nothing to add, he was allowed to go. It seemed to me that the man quickened his pace as he reached the open doors of the barn, to disappear