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

the greetings. I drew up the servant’s stool and sat close. ‘I half-expected to find you lying prone – even near to death.’

‘Well, I’m not quite the full shilling,’ Mountford said, sitting propped against his pillows. ‘I had a summer chill, but that passed. I would rather be up and walking the gardens, but I’m ordered to rest. My physician’s a dry old stick, who does little but prescribe sleeping draughts. I often pour them into my piss-pot.’

‘At least you’re being well looked after,’ I said, smiling – at which a slight frown appeared.

‘Indeed… you might say, too well.’

‘Given what you said in your letter, surely no care can be too much?’ I replied, with some surprise. ‘Do you truly fear you might be close to death?’

‘Robert…’ he gave a sigh. ‘You’re a man I trust. I knew that if I expressed such a notion, I could count on your coming here. Hence, I must beg your forgiveness if I exaggerated.’

‘So, you are not dying?’ I said, after a pause.

‘I hope not.’ He fell silent for a moment, then: ‘In truth, my friend, I need your help. There are few others I could call on just now, with your abilities.’

I confess I was non-plussed; Mountford had always been his own man, decisive and vigorous. But now he appeared troubled: a restless presence, in his sweat-stained night-shirt. I saw uncertainty in his eyes, which was unlike him. I nodded, inviting him to continue.

‘My brother John,’ he began – and seeing me stiffen, he held up a hand. ‘I heard what my son told you, but it’s untrue. I’m eager to speak of his death, yet they won’t let me. Francis and Maria, I mean… they treat me as if I’m in my dotage.’

There was an edge to his voice now. Lowering his gaze, he added: ‘I dislike saying this, but I believe they have designs… secrets…’

He broke off, and I recalled Francis saying that his father was at times prone to delirium. Could it be true? Yet I saw no signs of feebleness of mind – only of worry.

‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘If I can aid you, I will.’

He looked up, his relief plain to see, and unburdened himself. ‘John’s death,’ he said heavily. ‘I do not believe it was an accident.’

I frowned, but held my peace.

‘A clever man, my brother,’ he went on. ‘He knows – I mean, he knew - the foundries intimately, for he went there often to oversee our properties. Down to Lydney, that is. If there was danger of an explosion, he would have seen it. Besides, we’ve never had such an incident before.’

I drew a breath. ‘You imply-’

‘I’m not sure what I imply,’ my friend broke in. ‘But I’d bet my entire estate that things are being kept from me – by Francis, that is.’ He sighed, then: ‘I’d have gone down there myself, the moment the news came, summer chill or no. But my son forbade me. John’s body was already being shipped up here, on a sailing trow… the captain was a man I know, name of Spry. So I relented; I was downcast, as grief-stricken as I was when my wife died. You know what I speak of.’

I was silent, for I understood - and on a sudden he put out a hand, to grip my arm fiercely.

‘Will you look into this matter, Robert? I know it’s asking a great deal… perhaps too much, for one of your years. But I know you and, well…’ he gave another sigh. ‘I feel the reins slipping from my hands - it’s driving me to distraction. I need reassurance, that there’s not some scheme afoot to edge me towards oblivion!’

And at last, I discerned something in his gaze that I never expected to see: fear, pure and simple. In truth, I saw, my friend was no invalid: he was as good as a prisoner, in his own home. I shifted my hand to return his grip.

‘Tell me all you know,’ I said. ‘Then leave me to act – I’ll not rest until I’ve done my utmost to piece this matter out.’

And so he did, with much relief, the two of us in close conference for a good part of the afternoon. By the time I left him he was in better spirits, though I confess I cannot say the same for myself. Thereafter I spent some time walking in the nearby woods, to settle my mind and make a decision.

Only then did I realise that Mountford’s troubles had driven away my own worries about Thirldon. It was something to be thankful for.

***

Supper that evening with Francis and Maria Mountford was an uncomfortable affair for me, though neither of them appeared to pay any mind to my demeanour. I was alert, careful not to give away my unease concerning their treatment of Sir Richard. After I had assured Francis that the two of us had spent the afternoon reminiscing about old times, without mention of the death of his uncle, he seemed content to play the benevolent host. But I watched him, wondering what drove this unsmiling man… and what secrets he was keeping from his father.

For I believed my old friend, and found myself eager to get at the truth of what had happened to his brother, far down the River Severn. But if I was to investigate, I thought it wise to do so anonymously – that is, under an invented name. With hindsight I might call it reckless or even foolish, to take the role of a spy. But I needed to busy myself, to keep my fears about Thirldon at a distance. I had formed my resolve, and would stay with it.

Meanwhile, I allowed my hosts to believe that I would return home the following morning.

‘So soon, sir?’ Maria Mountford murmured languidly. ‘What a