‘It’s a dirty business, gun-founding… hot and perilous,’ Jonas Willett said, before lapsing into silence. It struck me that he was the sort who might grow morose in drink, hence I sought to steer the discourse elsewhere.
‘How do you ship them?’ I enquired. ‘By barge, downriver?’
‘On trows,’ Peter answered. ‘Flat-bottomed sailing boats – you will see them up and down the Severn.’
I might have told him that I was as familiar with Severn trows as he was, since they sailed as far up the river as Worcester and even further – until I remembered that William Pride was supposed to be a Londoner.
‘There’s a pill – that’s what we call creeks here on the Severn. It flows down to Purton on the riverfront,’ Peter went on. ‘That’s where they dock, and we load our gunnery. Mountfords do the same… they have their own boats.’
‘I believe I’ve heard that,’ I said, my mind moving quickly. ‘It was on such a boat that John Mountford’s corpse was sent upriver, to their estate at Upton – am I correct?’
But to that, neither man spoke. They exchanged looks, and lifted their mugs.
‘Your pardon…’ I looked from one to the other. ‘I recall it’s not a matter you like to discuss.’
‘My father has small liking for Francis Mountford – that’s Sir Richard’s son,’ Peter said finally. ‘But John was respected hereabouts… he is greatly missed.’
I glanced at the older man, but he had lapsed into silence.
‘Is Francis here often?’ I asked. ‘For I recall that yesternight you spoke of men not being paid…’
‘Him and Tobias Russell… a pair of thieves, if you ask me,’ Jonas Willett grunted. ‘I’ll wager the old man don’t know the half of what goes on down here.’
He was growing surly, taking longer pulls from his mug. Fearing that further refills of the Comfort’s strong ale would prove unproductive, I addressed Peter.
‘Will you say more?’ I asked him. ‘If we’re to invest in mines and foundries here, my fellows and I need to learn all we can. It could be that we might offer employment in the future, for hard-working men.’
That last remark was careless, of course, and it shames me now to think of the deception I practised. But I thought of Richard Mountford on his sick-bed… his anxious face - and knew I must press home every opportunity.
‘In truth, there’s not a lot more to say, sir.’ Peter was looking askance at me now. The old man, however, chimed in.
‘Francis Mountford’s a hard man… a true ironmaster,’ he muttered. ‘He rarely shows his face at Cricklepit, save when a large shipment’s being readied. You might ask down at Purton wharf… when he’s here, he spends more time there than he does at his foundries.’ He gave a snort, then lapsed into silence.
‘Well, perhaps I will,’ I replied. I saw that Jonas’s eyes were down, gazing at his scarred boots; I would learn nothing further. I lifted my mug and drained it, then feigned a yawn.
‘I’ve enjoyed your company,’ I said. ‘But I’m away to my bed now. Perhaps we’ll talk again?’
Peter rose, with a wary eye on his father. ‘We do thank you for the ale, sir,’ he said, somewhat formally. ‘Now I’d best get us both home to our beds.’
He offered his hand, which I shook. Then I left them, making my way to the stairs. As I climbed, I looked back to see the young man bent over his sire, who was now dozing off.
***
On the Sabbath morning I rose to the sound of a bell tolling from St Mary’s, Lydney’s parish church, where almost the entire village congregated. Meanwhile William Pride took a breakfast of porridge, bacon and small beer at the inn, before venturing forth to attend to his horse. Finding Leucippus well-cared for, I tipped the stable-boy to saddle him and bring him outdoors, then got myself mounted.
It was a short ride to Purton, along a well-used track. Soon I was beside the Severn again, though it was a very different river from the one familiar to me at Worcester: perhaps a mile wide, with the far bank barely visible. I drew rein, my eyes settling on the timbered wharf with its stacked cargo, square shapes covered with sailcloth. Moored to the dock was a fine sailing trow, its hold open and empty, no doubt ready for loading on the morrow. There was no-one in sight.
Dismounting, I left Leucippus and walked to the waterside to look at the boat: the name Lady Ann was painted on her prow. As I stood, a figure appeared abruptly from beneath the aft decking. I gave him good morning, but received no reply.
‘A fine vessel,’ I called out. ‘Are you the master?’
My answer was a brief nod; the captain of the Lady Ann, I would learn, was not a courteous man. But he walked to the landing-plank, stepped on to it and came ashore.
‘Are you the new fellow?’ He asked bluntly. He was perhaps forty years old, thin and scrawny, wearing a seaman’s toque. ‘I didn’t expect you till tomorrow.’
‘In truth, I regret I’m not the one you expected,’ I answered. ‘Just a man of business, poking about.’
A look of impatience appeared. ‘I’d advise against that, sir,’ the trow-master said. He turned away, but I stayed him.
‘I’m a friend of the Mountfords, who’s looking to invest hereabouts. Perhaps you and I might do business one day.’
He stopped to look me over, noting my sword in its scabbard. Finally, he asked which of the Mountfords I knew: would that be Francis, or his father? On impulse, I thought it wise to say it was Francis.
‘I mistook you for another,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll leave you to your walk.’
‘Are those Mountford’s cannons?’ I asked, nodding towards the covered cargo. ‘I suppose they’re bound for Bristol?’
But the man was suspicious. ‘I won’t speak of that,’ he answered. Again he made to move off, but I was eager to press what I believed was my advantage.
‘My name’s Pride,’ I told him. ‘I have iron works in the Kent Weald. Might I know your name?’
‘It’s Spry,’ came the terse reply – at which a memory sprang up at once.
‘Why, you’re the man who took John Mountford’s body upriver, to his father’s house,’ I said. ‘I heard of it in Upton… such a sad and terrible accident.’
But if I had seen this as an opening, I was thwarted. Captain Spry clammed up, turned from me and stepped swiftly away. I watched him walk up the gangplank on to his vessel, and disappear under the awning.
In doing so, however, the man had erred. For his very actions had aroused the suspicions of ex-Justice Belstrang – had they not existed already. Something was being hidden from me, and I intended to find out what.
I would return the next day, I resolved, to watch The Lady Ann being loaded – and no-one was going to prevent me.
***
That night at The Comfort I took supper alone, intending to retire early; as was my habit, I would gather my thoughts and begin compiling a report of what I had learned. But when I asked Henry Hawes for ink and paper, the landlord spread his hands sadly. There was none to be had just now, I was told… did I wish to send a letter?
It was of no import, I replied; a trifling matter. But I watched him walk off, and unease settled upon me: I felt certain the man was lying.
My mind busy, I sat in the same corner where I had spoken with the Willetts, neither of whom was present that night. I decided to put aside William Pride’s initial bonhomie and assume the appearance of a man with matters on his mind, who did not wish to be troubled - which indeed, was true enough. But a short while later, as I finished my mug and was about to go, an incident occurred which would change everything.
The first I knew of it was a raising of voices, and a scraping of stools as someone got quickly to their feet. Sensing that a scuffle was about to break out, I stood up, peering over the heads of drinkers. Others were doing the same, a general hubbub rising. I looked about, but Hawes the landlord was nowhere to be seen. Whereupon, having no wish to be a party or even witness to a brawl, I started towards the staircase – but I was too late. Witho
ut warning two men careered towards me, locked in a tussle, and almost threw me off my balance. Others followed, cursing and shouting.
In consternation I fell back, reaching instinctively for my sword as the two combatants fell to the floor, rolling and punching. But instead of leaving them to settle their differences, the entire company appeared bent on giving one of the men a beating, gathering to deliver curses and kicks.
For Justice Belstrang, of course, this was too much.
‘Enough!’ I shouted, drawing my old rapier and raising it. ‘Stand aside, or I’ll cut the next man who strikes a blow!’
To my relief, the assault ceased as heads turned towards me; mercifully, my authority seemed to be sufficient. Men stepped back, leaving the two tusslers on the floor, one atop the other. This one turned quickly to glare at me.
‘Tis none of your affair,’ he snapped. ‘Get away!’
‘I won’t,’ I returned, looking down at his victim, who was already blooded. ‘Cease your brabble, or I’ll-’
‘You will not, Master Pride,’ said a voice close by.
I looked round to see Henry Hawes, an oak billet in his hand, shouldering his way forward in determined fashion. It seemed he was no stranger to disturbances, and at his approach The Comfort’s customers moved away.
‘I’ll take care of this, sir,’ he said. ‘If you’ll be good enough to withdraw.’
‘Gladly,’ I breathed, lowering my sword. Thereafter I watched as Hawes seized the man whom I now believed was the chief troublemaker by the arm, and dragged him aside.
‘He’s had enough,’ he said, looking at the one on the floor, who was the slighter of the two. ‘So have you, Combes – enough to drink, that is. Go home and sleep it off.’
There was a moment’s silence, but it was over. With a scowl the heavier man got up, massaging his bruised knuckles. Without a word he pushed his way through the watchers and made for the door. All eyes were now on the bloodied figure who sat up, panting, and peered blearily about him.
‘Can you stand, Peck?’ Henry Hawes was saying. He looked round. ‘Will someone lend a hand, to help me lift him?’
But nobody came forward. Instead men were turning away, returning to their seats. Some headed for the door.
‘I will do so,’ I said. Having sheathed my sword, I stepped to the landlord’s side, ready to offer a hand – whereupon to my surprise, the loser of the fight scowled.
‘I need no help from anyone!’ He cried. ‘You Cricklepit men – a curse on the whole pack of you!’
I gazed at him: a grizzled fellow clad in dusty green. But as his eyes focussed on me, his expression changed: I was not one of the Cricklepit men. Lowering his gaze, he put hands to the floor and heaved himself to his feet, grunting with pain.
‘You know better than to pick a fight here, Peck,’ Henry Hawes said, relieved to see that the man could stand up.
‘I didn’t seek it,’ Master Peck retorted. He put a hand to his mouth and inspected the blood upon it. Raising his gaze suddenly, he looked about.
‘You foundry bastards,’ he cried, ‘you’ll be the ruin of this forest! Cutting trees down like they were corn, for your whoreson furnaces - soon there’ll be nothing left! You varlets who serve that rogue Mountford – I curse every one of you!’
There was angry muttering at that, and one or two men looked as if they would act, but Hawes was having none of it.
‘You’re leaving,’ he said to Peck. ‘Get yourself home, and forbear to come here for a while.’ He put a hand on the beaten man’s shoulder and began to shove him – whereupon Peck staggered, putting a hand to his forehead.
‘Let me help,’ I said.
Hawes paused, then gave a nod. The two of us, one at either shoulder, steered the man to the door and out into the night air. There he stood, breathing hard, as with a last glance the landlord turned and went back inside. A moment passed, while Peck surveyed me with a puzzled look.
‘Why did you aid me?’ He asked. ‘Are you not one of them?’
‘Let me accompany you homeward,’ I said, with a glance at the inn. ‘For it strikes me you might not get far before someone in there comes out after you – and this time, you won’t get up.’
And when the other hesitated, I took a chance.
‘Besides,’ I told him, ‘I’m interested to hear about the rogue Mountford. Perhaps you and I may have something in common. Shall we walk?’
FIVE
He was from the tiny hamlet of Aylburton, no more than a mile away: a forester, whose family had been here for generations. Long before the iron men came, he said; that started in the time of King Henry the Eighth. Why? Because iron cannon cost only a third of what bronze ones cost – did I not know that?
I told him that I had heard so, but said nothing about having an interest in mining, let alone cannons. Instead, as we walked the lane by moonlight, I asked him about the Mountfords. Was Francis Mountford the rogue, I asked? Or did he mean the man’s uncle, the late John Mountford?
But Master Peck grew wary, and I feared he would prove reticent. Well, John Mountford had been a fair man, he allowed, even if he was as much to blame as others were for tearing up the forest. As for Francis… he drew a breath.
‘I’d not tangle with that one,’ he muttered. ‘Cold-hearted, like his foundry-master.’
‘I know Tobias Russell,’ I said, to encourage him. ‘Guards Cricklepit like a fortress… I’d not tangle with him, either.’
‘May I ask what your interest is here, master?’ Peck said then. He stopped, squinting at me in the dim light; it was time for some invention.
‘I prefer not to answer that,’ I said, after a pause. ‘But I will say it’s justice that drives me, not desire for wealth. And I’ve no more liking for Master Francis than you have.’
The other said nothing, but resumed walking stiffly. Falling in beside him, I sought for some further words to draw him out, when to my surprise he said: ‘You’re not the first to come here asking questions. There was a man a year or so back, turned out to be an agent of Spain, working for the Papists. He was took by some soldiers, in the end.’
‘Well, I assure you I’m not one of that party,’ I said, somewhat sharply. ‘On the contrary…’
I broke off, berating myself. From being William Pride the investor, was I now about to pose as an agent of the Crown? I was beginning to find the deception game somewhat trying. Fortunately, Master Peck was barely listening. Instead, his eyes strayed upwards, to the heavens.
‘Do you see that?’ He said, pointing. ‘The Great Comet – she’s there every night’ And when I nodded: ‘Some are saying it’s a bad omen.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ I replied. Whereupon Peck lowered his gaze, and drew a breath. ‘There are things hereabouts you wouldn’t want to delve into too deeply here, master,’ he murmured. ‘Then, when riches are to be gained, when was it not so?’ With that, he stopped again and turned to face me.
‘I thank you for aiding me,’ he said. ‘But I’ll walk alone now. You’ll want to be getting back.’
‘Stay a moment,’ I said. I believed I was on the verge of learning something of value, which might slip away. ‘I’ll admit one thing to you: that I serve the King’s peace, and no other. If you can tell me anything about the Mountfords that they would prefer I didn’t know, I’ll be in your debt.’
For a while Peck regarded me with a frown, so that I fully expected him to turn away. But to my surprise, he answered.
‘You might ask about the Concord Men,’ he said, speaking low. ‘But be most careful… that’s all I will say.’
And he was gone, walking heavily.
I watched him disappear into the gloom, before turning round to return to Lydney. So deep in thought was I, I failed to hear the footsteps until it was too late – until a shape loomed out of nowhere, causing me to stop in my tracks. Then something whirled through the air, and there came a crack on my skull that stunned me. As I staggered, half-dazed, a voice close to my ear hissed a warning tha
t I barely made out, though later I would recall it plainly enough:
‘Leave and return whence you came - or next time the blow will be fatal.’
After that there was only a sound of heavy boots, hurrying away into the dark. And yet, as the warning voice still rang in my head, I knew I had heard it before; when and where, however, I could not tell.
***
The next morning. I awoke in my chamber at The Comfort with an aching head, a dry mouth and a powerful thirst for revenge. And quickly, the events of the previous night came into focus.
I recalled returning to the inn, and entering to a sudden silence. Men had paused at their drinking, mugs half-way to mouths, regarding me without expression. My head throbbed from the blow I had received, but thankfully there was no blood. Shaken, but striving to appear unconcerned, I made my way to the staircase as Henry Hawes appeared, a look of apparent concern on his face.
‘Are you all right, Master Pride?’
‘Of course,’ I answered at once. ‘Why should I not be?’
‘No matter, sir. Shall I send a mug up to your chamber, or-’
‘No,’ I broke in. ‘I’m weary, and will go to my bed.’ I met his eye, then glanced round to find men still gazing at me.
‘In fact,’ I added, ‘I’m weary of the company here, too. Mayhap I’ll seek accommodation elsewhere - good-night.’
Now, as the words came back to me, I sat up and regretted not accepting the drink. The morning was already advanced, I saw, sunlight streaming in. With an effort I rose and shuffled to the window – then I remembered that it was Monday, and I had intended to ride down to Purton again to watch cannons being loaded.
I threw the casement wide and drew some breaths, then took my time dressing, feeling a lump on my head the size of a plover’s egg. I was angry – as much at my own carelessness as for the stark warning I had received. I would never be able to identify my assailant, for I had barely seen him, though I believed he had come from the inn. If I were to remain here, I knew I would be in danger. As for finding accommodation elsewhere, that could be difficult: The Comfort was the only inn for miles.
Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery Page 4