The Witching Pool: A Justice Belstrang Mystery (Justice Belstrang Mysteries Book 2) Page 7

  ‘And has a good eye, as well as an open mind,’ I finished. A welcome feeling, of mingled hope and relief, was upon me. ‘Not to mention one who is a true friend – the kind a man is most fortunate to have.’

  The other put on his disapproving look. ‘You read far too much into the offer, Robert,’ he retorted. ‘Call it a professional interest in a case of self-murder… call it idle curiosity, or what you will.’

  ‘I call it loyalty,’ I said. And with that I lifted my cup, saluted him and drained it.

  ‘Now I’ll return to Thirldon. But if I were to call upon you about ten of the clock tomorrow, would you be free to take a short ride with me, out to Ebbfield?’

  For answer, Boyd too raised his cup and drank off its contents, before setting it down with a look of resignation. But I knew him too well: he was a man of enquiring mind – he is so still. And I would swear there was a spark of excitement beneath his sober expression, even as he strove to hide it. Whether it was a rash decision on the part of both of us, would only be proven on the following day.

  But neither of us could have had an inkling of what would unfold.

  NINE

  Ebbfield was still a house in mourning. And as Boyd and I rode out from Worcester under a blue sky, I confess I had misgivings as to what now seemed a bold, if not rash course of action. In truth I had few expectations of learning much, and more of finding my presence unwelcome. I should add that I had said nothing, back at Thirldon, either about my meeting with Standish or of my further intentions. I had no desire to hear further doubts expressed by Hester or Childers.

  We were both wary as we approached the manor, slowing our mounts as the house came into view. But no sooner had we crossed the moat than we heard noises: stamping hooves, the barking of dogs and raised voices. Passing under the arched gatehouse, I was surprised to see seven or eight horsemen gathered in the courtyard, with servants milling about and several dogs off the leash. And there was Giles Cobbett on a fine coursing-horse, in conversation with others: men of his own standing, to judge from their clothes. Whereupon their business was at once plain: this was a hunting party.

  I reined in, Boyd doing the same beside me. I confess I was at a loss for words: did Cobbett truly mean to entertain guests so soon after his daughter’s burial, and in this manner? There was a restlessness about the man, as if he were eager for the chase - and at once Hester’s words at the graveside came to mind: I never saw a father so unmoved… My eyes moved across the group, to settle on one of the horsemen. For a moment I wondered if I were mistaken - then saw that I was not.

  Close to Cobbett, his gaze now upon Boyd and I, was Thomas Woolland, the parson who had conducted the funeral. He had swapped his vestments for hunting attire, though his demeanour was as I remembered: stern and forbidding. And the next moment, having caught the man’s eye, Cobbett himself turned in the saddle and saw us.

  For a moment he appeared confounded. Then, even from some distance away, I saw a flicker of anger cross the man’s features, to be replaced by a look of bemusement. After murmuring a few words to those nearest to him, he shook the rein and eased his horse forward, to halt but a yard or two from Boyd and I. As if sharing my unease, Leucippus gave a snort and tossed his head.

  ‘Belstrang?’ Cobbett eyed me, his gaze far from friendly. ‘What’s this – were you hoping to join my hunt?’

  ‘No… in truth, sir, I’ve always been a fishing man first and foremost,’ I answered, summoning a faint smile.

  ‘What of your friend?’ He looked sharply at Boyd. ‘Your face seems familiar, sir… do you have business here?’

  ‘Not as such, sir,’ the doctor answered. He gave his name and station, to which Cobbett barely nodded. Without troubling to conceal his impatience, he faced me again.

  ‘Well now, if this is another sympathy visit, I’m most grateful,’ he said, in a flat tone. ‘But you see I have guests, and our quarry awaits. Perhaps we might postpone our conversation for another day.’ He raised his brows. ‘I assume it was a conversation you desired?’

  ‘It was,’ I answered. Glancing past Cobbett, I found the eyes of every horseman upon me – especially those of Woolland. His expression was more than one of curiosity: it was one of plain hostility. Looking away, I was about to make reply to the master of Ebbfield, when my attention was caught by a slim figure on a pale-grey mare… and it was all I could do not to give a start.

  Jane Cobbett, the only member of the female sex present, was also looking at me - as intently as she had done but three days ago, at her sister’s burial. With an effort I turned back to the girl’s father, realising he was addressing me.

  ‘As I’ve said, though it pains me greatly, I fear we must leave it for another time.’ Cobbett’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘I beg pardon if your ride was wasted… then it’s a fine morning, is it not?’

  To his irritation, however, feeling a surge of Belstrang stubbornness, I failed to heed the rebuff.

  ‘It is indeed. Yet I’ll admit I’m surprised to see you venturing out to hunt, given the short time that’s elapsed since your recent loss. Your middle daughter, too… I formed an opinion that she was most grief-stricken, and likely to remain in mourning for a time.’

  At that, the man fairly bristled with anger. I had gone too far… but then, I have often found this a way to get at the truth. Beside me, I knew Boyd had tensed; his horse felt it, and shifted restlessly.

  ‘I think I’ve heard enough from you just now, Belstrang,’ Cobbett said icily. ‘In fact, now I think upon it, I’ve seen and heard enough of you to last me a year. Whatever your business, I suggest you take it away with you - now.’

  He jerked the rein harshly, then turned in the saddle to deliver his final words.

  ‘I’ve heard things of late, about your sudden interest in my affairs,’ he snapped. ‘Ill-judged and meddlesome, some call it, even discourteous – which matches your reputation, as I recall. But I say this: if you truly intend to take up the case of that cunning-woman, you make an enemy of me. And I give you warning: that is something no man who knows me well would ever wish to do.’

  He turned his back and walked his horse back to his companions. Words were spoken – seemingly a jest of some kind, for the response was laughter from the other men. The dogs barked and frisked, sensing the start of the hunt – and at once the word was given, for the party shook reins and urged their mounts forward, Cobbett in the lead. With barely a glance at Boyd or me they swept past in a body, causing us no small difficulty in getting out of their way. Then they were through the gatehouse, hooves pounding as they spurred across the bridge, the dogs racing ahead. One of the last to ride out was Woollard, who threw me a withering look as he passed.

  But he was not quite the last: looking very small and erect in her side-saddle, Jane Cobbett was walking her mare in the rear, and I knew that her slowness was deliberate. She drew close to me, lowered her head and spoke.

  ‘I pray you, sir, do not make haste. Ride as far as Tait’s Crossing, then wait for me. Will you do so?’

  I glanced at Budge, and nodded.

  ***

  A half-hour passed, and no-one came.

  We had said little on our ride to the crossing, which was where we now sat on our mounts, at the side of the road. The Severn glided past, its surface dotted with wildfowl, while the small wherry lay idle, moored to the bank. As a ferry-boat it was seldom used: an old tub, many called it, run by an ageing rogue called Dan Tait, who lived nearby and earned a few pennies for his pains. There was no sign of him today, which suited me well enough.

  ‘Perhaps young Mistress Cobbett has changed her mind,’ Boyd remarked presently. ‘I regret I can’t wait all morning… though I’m as curious as you. She appeared frightened.’

  ‘And I will hear her,’ I said. ‘I must. Though of course, I’ve no wish to keep you.’

  ‘The parson…’ Boyd was frowning. ‘I know some churchmen enjoy a hunt, but he’s an odd fish, that one.’

  I nodded, r
ecalling Woolland’s fiery speech at the graveside, and his denouncing of Agnes Mason. At that moment, however, we were alerted by the sound of hooves: Jane Cobbett appeared at last, riding towards us at pace. She reined, somewhat breathless, and threw me a look of gratitude.

  ‘I knew you would wait, Master Justice. You have my thanks, for in truth there’s no-one else I can talk to - if you are willing to hear me, that is?’

  ‘I am,’ I assured her. ‘As is my good friend here, Doctor Boyd from Worcester. Though I confess we were surprised to see you ride to the hunt… was it at your father’s bidding?’

  The maiden shook her head. ‘I had to beg him to let me come – I needed to get away from her, if only for a few hours.’ She looked away for a moment. ‘I speak of our nurse, Dowling.’

  ‘Indeed?’ I glanced at Boyd. ‘Will you say more? Does she use you harshly, or…?’

  ‘At times, but that’s not why I’m here,’ Jane said quickly. ‘There are other reasons - my sister for one. She is deep in melancholy, and I’m afraid for her.’ She gave a sigh. ‘Then, that’s not something I should trouble you with. I must speak of another… his name is Howell Rhys.’

  I gave a start: a picture of Ned Berritt arose, standing by the Witching Pool as he told me of Susanna Cobbett’s swain. At once I told Jane what I knew, to which she nodded.

  ‘It’s true. They were much in love, though unable to meet save at an open window, for the house is locked at sunset. I would keep a watch for Susanna, while she stole down to the back parlour… he would wait for her, shivering when the night chilled him in his wet clothes. Those were hurried meetings, tinged with sadness – they could barely even kiss!’

  She was close to tears, but checked herself. ‘They planned to run away together. But now, with what’s happened…’ she shook her head forlornly. ‘He must be broken… I know not what he’ll do, for he adored her.’

  ‘Your father, I would guess, forbade the two of them to meet?’ I asked – to which an answer came, with some emotion.

  ‘Forbade them?’ Jane echoed. ‘More than that – he only saw Howell once, but swore if he ever saw him again, he would kill him on the spot! And I believe he would do it, too…’

  She trailed off, biting her lip. I caught Boyd’s eye, and saw he would speak.

  ‘I pray you will take heart, Mistress,’ he said. ‘Things may not seem so dismal in time. Howell Rhys will mourn, of course - and deeply - but he’s young, as you are. Once the time for mourning is passed-’

  ‘It will not pass, sir.’

  Jane eyed him sadly, moving both of us to pity her. Turning to me, she added: ‘There are secrets at Ebbfield. Yet I’ll not say more… you are kind, to hear me spill my thoughts.’

  ‘Now wait,’ I said, seeing she meant to leave us. ‘I wish to help, yet you’ve not told me how I can. Do you wish me seek out Howell Rhys? I pray you, speak before you ride off.’

  ‘I cannot stay longer, for I will be missed,’ Jane said. ‘I’ll say that I fell behind, my mare being out of sorts, though whether my father will believe me is another matter.’ She managed a brief smile. ‘But yes, I would be grateful if you could ask after Howell. He lodges at a farm beyond Clevelode, where he minds the flock. He’s a gentle fellow, and I fear for him.’

  ‘Yet, you say he and your sister planned to elope?’ Boyd enquired. ‘How could they do so, without money or means of support?’

  His answer was a bleak look. ‘When the urge to flee is strong enough,’ Jane said, ‘money may be of least concern. Susanna believed Howell would protect her with his life – and so he would have done, had he any notion of what was about to happen.’

  She looked down, patting the neck of her grey mare. ‘I’ll take my leave,’ she said. ‘If you have news of Howell, I beg you to pass it in secret to our old servant – Matthew, that is, with the white hair. Do you know him?’

  I assured her that I did. And though I would have put further questions, clearly this was not the time. She gripped the rein and turned her horse, to face the way she had come. Then, after favouring me with a faint smile, she rode away. I watched her urge her mount to a canter and disappear from sight.

  It fell to Boyd to break my reverie. ‘So, you mean to go down to Clevelode and seek this young shepherd?’ he enquired. ‘For you appear to have promised it.’

  ‘I have,’ I admitted. ‘Tomorrow’s the sabbath… like everyone else he’ll be at church. I believe I’ll find him.’

  Boyd made no reply, merely shook his reins. Thereafter we rode back to Worcester, my mind busy with the events of the past hour. From seeking to find ways to aid Agnes Mason, I thought, I now found myself on a path which was likely to prove at best a distraction, at worst troublesome. I was still pondering the matter as we entered the city, where we parted, Boyd to his duties and I to return to Thirldon. At least, there I could collect my wits, even if I had to avoid Childers poking his nose in.

  But there would be no peace that day.

  No sooner had I left my parlour to go to supper, than I was called to the stable yard where I found some of the servants gathered. Childers was among them, as was my groom Elkins, who seemed to be the centre of attention. He made his bow when I approached, as did the others save Childers, who looked even gloomier than usual.

  ‘What on earth’s the matter?’ I demanded. ‘I was about to dine…’ I paused, catching the grim look on Elkins’ face. ‘Now you make me uneasy,’ I said, with an attempt at levity. ‘Has the King fallen sick in Scotland, or just got drunk and fallen off his horse? Speak up.’

  ‘The King is well, Master Justice, as far as we know.’

  It was Childers who answered. ‘But there is grave news,’ he added, ‘terrible news, from Newland. A rider passed on the road, and gave it to Elkins as he exercised the horses.’ He hesitated, then: ‘There’s been another drowning, at the Witching Pool. Worse, they say it’s another self-murder… a dreadful act.’

  I stared at him - then heard Elkins pronounce words that froze me where I stood. ‘It’s a young lad… a shepherd from Clevedon way,’ the groom said. ‘Drowned himself last night, they say. He was found this morning…’

  He fell silent, for I was no longer listening, but gazing down at the cobbles. Finally, I lifted my head and looked round at the faces of my trusted servants.

  ‘Who discovered him?’ I asked. ‘And how can they be certain what occurred?’

  ‘An old woodman found him, sir,’ Elkins answered. ‘One who’s often about there. I don’t know his name.’

  Berritt… who else would it be?

  ‘Very well,’ I said, with an effort. ‘We must await further news. For now, I’ll leave you to your work.’

  I glanced at Childers, intending to say something about our supper; then I realised I had lost my appetite.

  TEN

  On the following morning I rode into Worcester again, as church bells rang out for the Sabbath. Having found a boy to hold Leucippus, I went straight to Boyd’s house. I expected the doctor to be at church and was prepared to wait, but to my relief he had returned. Though surprised to see me again so soon, he quickly discerned my humour and proposed a walk in his small garden. There in the sunshine, strolling among his fruit trees, I told him of Howell Rhys’s death. But then with hindsight, I should have anticipated his response.

  ‘It’s not unknown,’ he said. ‘The youth could not face the future without his beloved, so chose to end it as she did, and in the same spot. Likely he thought their spirits would meet, and hence they would be together for eternity.’

  I was thinking on what Jane Cobbett had said the day before; the explanation sounded plausible. And yet:

  ‘I’m not sure I believe that,’ I said.

  Boyd lifted an eyebrow.

  ‘Though most would view it as you describe, I’m unconvinced. I think that someone like Rhys, who had the courage to swim the river by night and crouch under a window just to snatch a brief moment with his Jane - when he’s been told by her father that he’d s
lay him on sight - was made of sterner stuff.’

  ‘All men are fools when it comes to love,’ the doctor murmured.

  ‘But at the least,’ I returned, ‘such an incident merits a proper inquest, does it not?’ I had stopped walking, and stood amid the buzz and hum of insects. My friend turned to face me.

  ‘Unlike the one held for Susanna Cobbett, you mean?’

  ‘I do indeed.’

  He was silent for a moment, then: ‘There was an incident of a different kind, this morning in the city. During the night, it seems, someone nailed a paper to the doors of the Minster, accusing Agnes Mason. Calling her a servant of the evil one, a demon in woman’s shape… you’re familiar with the terms. And demanding her death by burning, no less. Many people saw it. If feelings were running high before, they will certainly increase now, when news spreads of a second self-murder.’

  ‘By heaven…’ I felt my heart sink. ‘Would they accuse her of bringing about this too?’

  Boyd merely shrugged.

  ‘But it’s absurd… utter nonsense,’ I exclaimed. ‘Even if such things were possible, how could she bewitch the youth from a prison cell? And for what motive?’

  ‘Logic is often cast aside, when fear and superstition run unchecked,’ my friend said. ‘But still…’ he grew thoughtful. ‘I do wonder who would go to the trouble of writing that paper, and fixing it where half the city would see it.’

  I looked sharply at him. ‘Then, you’ll agree there may be rounds for further investigation?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Boyd replied. ‘There often are, are there not?’

  ‘Well then…’ I drew a breath: a resolve was forming, one that would perhaps help me to move matters forward. ‘Supposing I were to go to Standish, who will no doubt preside at the inquest? I could say I had an interest in the case, without specifying what. Hence I could observe the proceedings, as you did before. Standish knows he can’t pull the wool over my eyes, as a former Justice…’ then as a new thought occurred: ‘And more, as a respected physician, you could offer to examine the body.’