Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery by John Pilkington (top 10 most read books in the world .TXT) 📗

house… and were those hoofbeats? I strained at my captors, who had also turned in consternation. I managed to tear one arm free, and would have struck out with it – but I did not. In amazement I saw both men step away, staring in the direction of the noise… whereupon I lunged forward, shoving one to the ground. As he fell, I turned to run to the gate.

‘Here!’ I shouted. ‘Over here!’

Stumbling, both arms now free, I struggled to pick up pace. Since I expected to be caught from behind at any moment, I made an effort to veer sideways, first one way and then another… though out of breath, I was gaining ground. The gate was ahead; I reached it, put a hand to the latch – then stopped.

Beyond the gate lay the gardens, neatly trimmed flower beds and fruit trees. A little further off was the courtyard, which was now filled with activity. Dust was raised, and horses milled about… and still there was shouting. I saw figures – and my heart leaped at the sight of steel cuirasses, reflecting sharp sunlight. Wildly I looked round for my captors… and drew a sharp breath.

They were not behind me – in fact, they were barely in sight. They were far down the field, sprinting at full tilt… and as I gazed, they split apart to take different courses. With heart pounding, I leaned against the gate and slumped.

They were running for their lives - while mine was saved.

And moments later I was walking exhaustedly into the courtyard… where, at sight of the only man I recognised, I halted and let out a breath.

‘Sir Samuel?’

Sir Samuel Sandys, the High Sheriff of Worcestershire, turned in surprise. He was somewhat flushed, grey hair plastered to his brow with sweat… yet for a man in his fifties, he had always been agile. With raised brows, he lifted a hand and started towards me.

‘Belstrang? What in God’s name are you doing here?’

‘Just now, sir, I’m thanking God for your timely arrival,’ I answered. ‘You are come at the eleventh hour - I could say at the last minute of that hour. If I said “well met”, it would fall somewhat short.’

Whereupon I took another step, and clasped his hand warmly.I no longer felt pain… only a blessed sense of relief.

NINETEEN

The afternoon became evening, and as night fell candles were brought into the main parlour of Foxhill by subdued servants. Three of us sat at the table, weary yet calm, to slake our thirst and eat a little food. One was Sir Samuel Sandys, I was another… and the third was Sir Richard Mountford.

He was pale and haggard, so that I berated myself silently for intending to leave him. But his mind was clear, despite the distressing news he had been obliged to hear: that his own son had not only betrayed him by trading illicitly, but had bespoken the death of John Mountford. It would have been hard for any man to bear. Now he sat in silence; he ate nothing, only taking sustenance from a hot posset that had been brought. Matters had been aired between us, almost to the point of exhaustion; the truth was not pretty, but at least it was out.

Seeing that he should take charge, the High Sheriff spoke up with his natural authority.

‘I had word some days ago from Justice March, in Gloucester,’ he said. ‘He acted rightly and promptly – as have you, Belstrang. Even if your innate recklessness got you into trouble, once again.’

He paused to drink, then eyed Sir Richard. ‘In God’s name, sir, I heartily wish you spoken to me of your suspicions, however vague. Now a nest of vipers has been uncovered – these Concord Men.’ He shook his head, and turned to me.

‘The list of names is long – and some of those on it confound me. Papists I might have expected, in view of the unfolding business on the Continent. But others are noblemen, merchants, men I trusted… some of them known to you. The late Giles Cobbett was among them.’

At that I showed my surprise: Cobbett, whose vile abuse and slaying of his own daughter I had helped uncover the year before… the greedy landowner, whose wealth was never enough.

‘You know all of them, then?’ I asked. ‘The names?’

Sandys nodded. ‘Your son has turned tell-tale, now that all is up,’ he said to Sir Richard. ‘Though I would be dishonest, were I to say that there’s any hope of him cheating the gallows. It’s a very grave matter. I can but offer you my sympathy, and my heartfelt condolences.’

I glanced at Sir Richard, and was saddened: he looked a beaten man. He was holding his mug as if to warm his hands… and I saw them shake. He made no answer, but gazed down at the table. We were all silent for a while. I knew Francis had been confined to his chamber soon after Sandys’ arrival, and had been questioned at length. In the end he had babbled to try and save his own skin, which did not surprise me.

‘Your daughter-in-law… Mistress Maria,’ I ventured, at which Sir Richard looked up; the lady, I should add, was conspicuous by her absence, and had retired to her rooms. ‘I know she is not blameless, yet she tried to aid me,’ I said. ‘She has been foolish, perhaps…’

But I trailed off as my friend shook his head.

‘Nay, Robert - I pray you, don’t excuse her. She chose to wed my son, knowing what sort of a man he was… he promised her riches, and made good on his promise.’ He let out a great sigh. ‘The foundries always paid well… we were productive and respected by all, including the King. Why in heaven’s name could Francis not have been content with that?’

There was