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

said. ‘I will name the father of the girl Howell loved… the same man who forbade him to see her.’ His voice rose as he spoke, until it was filled with anger. ‘A cold-hearted man who kept his daughters penned up like cattle, yet might have burned to avenge the one who died-’

‘I pray you - no more, Master Rhys.’

I cut him short, shaking my head. To suspect Giles Cobbett of such a crime was one thing, but to act upon that suspicion was something quite different.

‘There’s no proof,’ I told him. ‘Even my friend Doctor Boyd, who spoke at the inquest, would tell you the same. The man you accuse is wealthy and powerful. To gather enough evidence to bring such a charge against him would be…’ I hesitated. ‘It would be all but impossible.’

After that we were silent for a while. The kitchen was deserted, since I’d told everyone to leave me alone with the visitor. Indicating the jug of beer, I invited Rhys to take a refill, but he shook his head.

‘I must ride back to Powick before nightfall. I have a bed with some folk who took pity on me – which is more than most have done. The constable, he would barely tell me anything. And as for that parson…’ he looked away briefly. ‘I’ve heard enough about him. But to the devil with the fellow… I’ll be taking my son home tomorrow, to let him lie at peace among those who knew him and loved him.’

I barely nodded; I was saddened, even ashamed. Had I truly advised him to let the matter drop, I thought, knowing that his son had likely been murdered? Could I have done the same, had the victim been my daughter? I sought for some words of comfort, but found none.

After a moment, Rhys got to his feet. ‘I thank you for your kindness, Master Belstrang,’ he said in a tired voice. ‘Now it’s best that I be on my way.’

I too arose, feeling the man’s grief as I saw how it weighed upon him… whereupon:

‘Wait,’ I said, after drawing a breath.

He turned to face me.

‘Ten days ago,’ I told him, ‘a man called Mason came to me for help, which I have tried to deliver. In truth, I’ve made small progress since - at times, it almost feels as if I’ve gone backwards. But let me say this to you, Master Rhys: I make no promises, but I swear I’ll not let the matter rest. Not until I’ve done all I can to bring about justice – and yes, perhaps retribution. If I can discover what happened to your son, I will do it. So, when you take Howell back to the Welsh Borders tomorrow, will you go in the knowledge that I wish to see this through to the end? Can you do that, for my sake if no other?’

Rhys regarded me without expression. I even wondered if he hesitated to trust me… until a smile formed.

‘I will go with a lighter heart than I thought possible, but an hour ago,’ he said. ‘And even if you fail, it will be of comfort to me to know that someone here cared enough to try.’

Whereupon we walked out through the doors together, shook hands and parted. A few minutes later I watched the father of Howell Rhys ride away on his old sway-backed horse. He neither waved nor looked back, but I fancied he sat a little more erect in the saddle.

But my moment of satisfaction was of short duration. The following morning, I learned that Ned Berritt had been found dead.

FIFTEEN

I received the news at mid-day, when a courier arrived bearing a message from Boyd. It seemed Berritt had been found not at one of usual haunts, but floating in the Severn near Tait’s Crossing. Normally a body would be carried downriver by the current, but it had been caught up in reeds on the eastern bank, where Dan Tait himself had found it. He had sent word to Worcester, whence the matter had been passed to the acting Coroner: one Justice Standish.

Within the hour I was in the city once again, conferring with the doctor.

‘It’s preposterous,’ I told him. ‘A man like Berritt would never have drowned – he knew every inch of the water.’

Boyd was silent, sitting in his chair, eyes lowered.

‘And more,’ I went on, ‘I’ll wager his body had been there for two days at the least – which is why he never appeared at the inquest. Do you see?’

I spoke with some heat, as theories had been buffeting my mind for the past hour. Since my speech with David ap Rhys the day before, I took the matter personally. Pacing the room, my hat in my hand, I was about to say more when Boyd looked up.

‘What should I see, Robert?’ He enquired.

‘That the man was murdered. Will you doubt it?’

‘I might, since I’ve not seen the evidence,’ he replied after a moment. ‘Though I’ll agree that it looks suspicious. Yet before you ask, I won’t be allowed to examine the body. Our friend Standish has already ruled that out.’

‘How so?’ I demanded.

‘Because, in view of your close interest in the recent deaths, I took the trouble to go to his house directly after hearing the news and suggested it. He was too busy to receive me, but sent his servant to inform me that another physician would be appointed. I know not who it is.’

‘But that smacks of corruption,’ I exclaimed. ‘Berritt was a vital witness in the matter of Rhys’s death, who would have cast doubt on other testimonies – now he’s dead. I know it was by design, as I believe I know who had reason to silence him-’

‘Robert, stay yourself.’ Boyd was frowning. ‘Are we to tread this