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

none; I felt certain of it, and my heart turned at the injustice that was being meted out to this woman. I must have given myself away, for in the next moment a slight smile appeared.

‘You believe me,’ Agnes said quietly.

‘Well now, let’s suppose for the moment that I do,’ I replied. ‘Even so, your case is most difficult, Mistress… some might say hopeless.’ I drew a breath. ‘Perhaps you could venture an explanation as to why Cobbett has taken the terrible step that he has? To accuse you of bewitching his daughter to such a fearful extent that she became mad - mad enough to travel some distance from her home, and drown herself in a stagnant pond?’

To that Agnes made no answer. Her smile faded, but she continued to look steadily at me.

‘Come now,’ I urged. ‘You must know that a man like Cobbett would never do this unless he believes he has a case? Whatever else he is, he’s no fool. He’ll have to give evidence at trial, for one thing-’

‘You are mistaken, sir,’ Agnes interrupted. ‘He is a fool, in some ways – a rich man, but a man like any other. For he too believed I had powers I do not possess, though I’m loth to speak of it.’

‘But you must,’ I exclaimed, frowning. ‘Any scrap of evidence could be valuable, when you come to trial. You face the gallows. Whatever has passed between you and your landlord, you should…’

I fell silent then, feeling something of a fool myself. Any man of a certain age who looked upon Agnes might imagine what had passed. Cobbett was a widower, and there was his humble tenant, a handsome widow… I was about to try and put the notion into words, as delicately as I could, when she spoke up somewhat sharply.

‘Oh no – not that.’

She looked displeased. ‘He never came to me for the reason you’re thinking,’ she said, with a shake of her head. ‘There are some who believe I have unearthly powers, merely because I’m the seventh child of a seventh child. Or because I retain good health for my years, and have some skills passed from my mother in herb-lore and such.’ She drew breath. ‘But I’m not a cunning-woman sir, and never was.’

‘Well… in truth, Mistress, I incline to the same opinion,’ I said with some relief. ‘But see now, you must say more if I’m to help you. For I grow convinced that the charge Cobbett has brought is but a scheme. Perhaps, in his grief, he wishes to cast blame away from himself for his daughter’s demise. Or more likely he wishes to take possession of your land - you’ve as good as said so yourself.’

I waited. For a moment she seemed to debate with herself, then: ‘I’m loth to break my word, when anyone asks me to swear secrecy,’ she said. ‘But it was a fool’s errand. I told him so, yet he wouldn’t listen. I speak of the day he caught me alone on the road - more than a year back, it was. He wished me to use my skills, he said, to find gold.’

And when I merely stared at her: ‘It’s an old tale, at Madresfield and Clevelode and the country round about. Have you heard of Offa’s Gold, sir?’

I shook my head.

‘Folk used to say there’s a trove buried somewhere near our farm,’ Agnes said. ‘Saxon gold from the time of the Kings of Mercia, hidden after some battle when they were in flight. There’s no truth to it, I’m certain. But Cobbett’s a greedy man, there’s few would deny it. He’d seen some old map, he said, and…’ she shrugged. ‘In short, he demanded I do my utmost by conjuration, to divine for Offa’s Gold as some folk divine for water. He would pay me a share, he said, so that my family need never fret about rent again. Those were his words… but when I told him it was beyond me to attempt such a task, he grew angry. I believe that’s the last time he and I spoke. Now Edward always goes to pay the rent…’ Her face clouded. ‘Isabel too dislikes Cobbett heartily. She’s a daughter to me… I cannot bear to think on it now, with her carrying another child as she is.’

She was silent, having said all she wished; indeed, to my mind there was little more she needed to say. And yet, proving her testimony would be a task of Sisyphean magnitude. My heart sank at the thought.

For the plain fact was, Cobbett was a powerful man who, for some reason, had set himself against Agnes. He would have taken steps – and for one thing, I had little hope now that the inquest into his daughter’s death would shed much light. I thought suddenly of Boyd, and resolved to see him as soon as he returned from Powick.

For the present I could only take my leave of Agnes, and as I had done with her family, urge her to retain what hopes she could. I would return, I promised, though I was uncertain when.

‘You are kind,’ was all she said. She watched as I stepped to the door, opened it and turned to bid her farewell; then she favoured me with a smile that touched my heart.

There was a guard in the passage outside, but it wasn’t Sergeant Lisle. Instead I found myself facing a squat man with a bald pate, wearing a sneer. Having lost no time in slamming the cell door and locking it, he spat on the flagstones and eyed me.

‘She didn’t turn you into a toad, then?’

I blinked, and my gorge rose in an instant. ‘Sir,’ I snapped. ‘You may not know me, fellow, but I was a Justice here. Kindly remember your place.’

‘Oh… I beg your pardon – sir,’ the fellow