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

go out of him so easily, though doubtless he was keen to get the business over. And so, at Woolland’s bidding the entire assembly rose to their feet and bowed their heads, while he asked for a blessing on those present. He then murmured a short prayer for deliverance from evil, before ending with a loud amen. The company having made their response, conversation soon broke out, every man and woman turning to their neighbours.

The Justice, meanwhile, seized his papers and made for the doors followed by the clerk. I turned to Boyd, to find him gazing at the parson.

‘I’m going after Standish,’ I said on impulse. ‘This inquest was a travesty, just as you described the one into Susanna Cobbett’s death.’

‘What do you intend to say to him?’ My friend asked, turning to me. ‘Or rather, what would it achieve now?’

‘You saw it as clearly as I did,’ I told him. ‘He wanted a suicide verdict, so nothing more need be done. Now he can use both inquest reports at the trial of Agnes Mason, as evidence of her guilt – even though it was mere conjecture on the part of witnesses. And if the Worcester jury is of a similar bent to those men…’ - I indicated the jurors, now talking among themselves – ‘then the outcome is beyond doubt.’

‘Well, if you are determined, I won’t stay you,’ Boyd said. ‘But I confess my own suspicions lie elsewhere.’ He nodded in Woolland’s direction. ‘A little too much righteousness there, perhaps… a little too much suppressed rage, for a man of God. In short, I wouldn’t trust him with a bent farthing.’

‘Nor would I, now you put it so,’ I said, allowing my own eyes to stray towards the parson… whereupon I frowned. The man was now in conference with Eliza Dowling, the nurse from Ebbfield. As I watched, Boyd following my gaze, the two of them walked to the doors, talking low.

‘What do you make of that?’ he mused.

‘I’m uncertain. But I would dearly like to confront Woolland at his own parsonage, and see how he behaves without a congregation to whip up.’

Dusting bits of straw from my breeches, I watched Woolland and Mistress Dowling leave the barn, as others were doing. A few looks were thrown our way, none of them friendly. I had been about to suggest that we take a cup of something restorative at the inn in Powick, but suspected we would not be welcome.

We got ourselves out into the sunshine, and made our way to where the horses were tied. The street was thronged with villagers, doubtless discussing the inquest. But having walked no more than a dozen paces, I stopped in my tracks.

Under the sagging eaves of a cottage, but a few yards away, three people stood huddled in private conversation: Standish, Woolland and Eliza Dowling. As Boyd and I drew near, the parson spied us and quickly turned his back.

‘That notion you had, of bearding the man at his parsonage,’ Boyd murmured, his eyes on the oddly-matched group. ‘Might you and I go together? Tomorrow, say, after he’s conducted his morning service?’

‘I think perhaps we should,’ I said.

THIRTEEN

The next morning I arose in sober mood. The cause of it was another taut conversation with both Hester and Childers the previous evening, which had led to some discord between us. In brief, Childers had allowed his concern for my welfare to get the better of him, and given vent to his fears once again.

‘I know how you despise gossip, sir,’ he had said. ‘And you have oft ploughed a lonely furrow, yet this business of the witch – your pardon, of Agnes Mason – draws you ever deeper into a mire. There’s been talk of dark shapes seen about Newland Wood, and cries heard - of something neither human nor animal. Moreover, there are calls for Mason to be removed from the Guildhall – from the city entirely, in fact – and lodged outside the walls.’ He shook his head. ‘It may displease you, yet I would fail in my duty not to warn you that you meddle-’

‘With evil?’ I broke in. ‘Or mere superstition?’

‘With popular opinion, at the very least,’ was his reply. He sighed, and looked to Hester for support.

‘Well, I thank you for correcting me,’ I said. ‘I thought I was doing my best to avert a perceived injustice, but even I may be mistaken.’ I faced Hester. ‘Would you care to give your opinion?’

I awaited her reply. I had already given both of them an account of the inquest, along with my views of it. And though I knew she was already displeased by my going to see Cobbett, as I had done despite giving assurances to the contrary, she had passed no remark.

‘I heard in Worcester that Agnes Mason is refusing food,’ she said, after a moment. ‘Perhaps she means to starve herself, and so avoid trial.’

‘Who says so?’ I asked, somewhat too quickly.

‘People in the market, and in the street…’ She met my gaze. ‘But as it’s mere gossip, it shouldn’t concern you.’

‘It would concern me, if it were true,’ I said.

She made no reply, and thereafter we had finished our supper in silence. But I was troubled: despite Mistress Mason’s request not to visit her again, I was sorely tempted to do so. Then, I had nothing to report which could have encouraged her – quite the opposite. These thoughts were in my mind that morning, as I left Thirldon and journeyed into Worcester again to meet with Boyd. I found him in reflective mood.

‘The town is now abuzz with talk of Mason’s trial,’ he murmured, as the two of us rode out of the city by Frog Gate. ‘It seems there are some who claim they were healed by her, and would defend her. But the majority,