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

‘But he used to,’ I finished, with some satisfaction: at last, the question of who had ordered Mount to turn me away from the Witching Pool, and then to give false testimony at the inquest into Howell Rhys’s death, was cleared up. ‘So – who were the two who borrowed your boat?’

He would not answer, merely repeating that it had been dark.

‘That won’t do,’ I said, growing impatient again. ‘I need to know who they were. I repeat: it could be a capital crime we speak of. I said I’ll try to spare your name, but-’

‘Damn you, do you mean to send me to my grave?’

Wild-eyed, Tait stared at me. ‘Do you not think he would know who told you?’ He cried. ‘And do you not think he’d carry out his threat, to have me slain? He doesn’t bluff… he’d squash me like a gnat! I’ll not name him, and you can go to hell!’

But he was too late. I had fallen into my magistrate’s ways, and teased out what I needed: that one of the men who had taken his boat and crossed the river that night, was no less a personage than Giles Cobbett himself.

I sheathed my sword and glanced at Leucippus, who was cropping grass peacefully. ‘I won’t ask who the other man was,’ I said. ‘For it scarcely matters.’

Tait threw me a baleful look; but I was already on my way, with renewed purpose.

SIXTEEN

At Thirldon that evening I called Childers to my private chamber after supper, and told him all that I had learned. I knew it would dismay him, but the time was passed for indecision. I would write a letter, I told him, containing a full account of my discoveries. In the event of anything happening to me, this was to be copied and sent to men of rank: Sir Samuel Sandys, the High Sheriff of Worcester, and Sir Edward Coke, the Chief Justice in London - even to Justice Standish. I was about to say more, but seeing the look on my steward’s face, I invited him to speak.

‘This sounds so doleful, sir. What do you fear might happen to you? Or should I ask, what is it you propose to do?’

I did not answer immediately. Since leaving Dan Tait at the riverside, I had turned the matter over to the exclusion of all else, only to end up dissatisfied. For as yet, I had no firm evidence to accuse Giles Cobbett of anything, though in my heart I felt sure he was involved in the deaths of both Howell Rhys and Ned Berritt, at the least. A man like Dan Tait was not a good witness, and might even change his story. I thought briefly of others, like Humphreys, who would always defend Cobbett. I thought of Agnes Mason, awaiting likely execution – and finally I thought of the one whose death had begun this whole chain of events: Susanna Cobbett, whose own father had crossed the river with another man on that fateful night. Beyond that I had only vague suspicions, but I arrived at one conclusion: I saw no other course than to go to Ebbfield again, confront Cobbett and demand he respond to my questions, or face the consequences.

I drew a breath and told Childers. I expected an outburst, but he surprised me.

‘You will not go there alone.’

It was not a question. I met his gaze, my impulse being to reprimand him. But his concern was clearly for me above all else; then, when had it not been?

‘I suppose not,’ I said finally. ‘I should take witnesses-’

‘Like me,’ Childers broke in. ‘And an escort – a small one, perhaps, but made up of stout Thirldon men.’

‘I had thought to ask Doctor Boyd to accompany me,’ I said, still taken aback. ‘But I hesitate to involve him in-’

‘Anything that might turn unpleasant?’ Childers suggested. ‘That would seem wise.’

‘I confess to surprise, if not amazement, at your change of heart,’ I said, to which he let out a sigh.

‘You have often let your own heart rule your head, sir… I saw it from when you were a youth. And since justice is your spur, what can I do but serve you?’

He fell silent, until I gave way to a smile. ‘You don’t think we’re both somewhat old for such an escapade, then?’

‘Likely we are,’ he replied. ‘But age doesn’t seem to stop you from bustling about the shire, getting embroiled in other people’s troubles. And I can still wear a sword as well as you. Have you forgotten how your father arranged for me to have the rank of gentleman?’

‘I have not.’

‘So, when do you intend to set out for Ebbfield?’

‘In the morning about nine of the clock,’ I answered. ‘And I pray you, say nothing to Mistress Hester.’

***

The sun was already warm, it being one of those days in May which heralds the coming summer. My party rode at a steady pace into Worcester, then out again on to the Tewkesbury road. It consisted of Childers and myself, my groom Elkins, my manservant Lockyer who had once been a soldier, and the two gardeners, the stoutest men at Thirldon. Six of us in all: enough to furnish an escort, yet not enough to appear a threat. Apart from Childers and I, the others knew little of my intent save that I required protection, which was enough. It gave me a measure of pride to have them at my back.

Nothing was said as we approached Ebbfield and crossed the moat. At the gatehouse I slowed Leucippus to a walk, the other men doing the same. But when we passed under the arch, we found activity in the courtyard. There were people about, and someone busy saddling a horse, but this was no hunting party as