And only then, as the Justice peered about the dusty barn, did I realise that there was no sign of Ned Berritt.
In the absence of stools, and with the few benches being already taken, Boyd and I were obliged to seat ourselves on straw bales covered with horse blankets. No sooner had we done so than Standish called the proceedings to order. An ageing, bird-like clerk then appeared from somewhere and announced the business in a bored voice, before seating himself close to the Justice. A hush fell, as all eyes went to him. Only now did he allow his gaze to wander over the small crowd… but if he saw me, he gave no sign of it. After shuffling papers about he murmured to the clerk, who stood up and called out a name I did not recognise: William Mount. With others, I looked round to see a figure come forward – and at once I stiffened.
He was the man with the pistol, who had confronted me in Newland Wood only three days earlier. And my surprise was confounded when, as the fellow stood before the Justice’s table, he was named as the finder of the body of Howell Rhys.
I glanced at Boyd, and would have spoken had my friend not stayed me with a look which said plainly that we should wait. And so, I fixed my eyes on William Mount and prepared to hear his account. Having taken an oath, the man stood ready.
‘I understand, from submissions received, that you came upon the deceased in Newland Wood,’ Standish intoned, to which Mount nodded.
‘I was exercising my dogs, sir. One strayed into the wood… I heard him barking, and found the dead person at the place they call the Witching Pool.’
There was a stir, which the Justice ignored. ‘And what was the condition of the body?’
‘Floating in the water, fully clothed. I knew he was drowned, soon as I saw him. I didn’t touch him… just went and reported it to the constable.’
Now my anger was rising, for the man was lying. Did he not expect to be challenged? And would not the constable testify that it was Berritt who had carried word to Rowden first? These thoughts flew about, even as Mount was being dismissed. Having sworn he had nothing to add, he was allowed to go. It seemed to me that the man quickened his pace as he reached the open doors of the barn, to disappear from sight.
Next to be called was the constable of Powick village. In a glum monotone, he stated that he had learned the whereabouts and condition of the deceased on the morning he was found, from William Mount. He had then gone down to Newland with a cart, in the company of other men. They had retrieved the body, swathed it and conveyed it here, to the church. The parish clerk had reported it to the authorities, after which the corpse lay untouched until the doctor from Worcester came to examine it. The constable looked round, and indicated Boyd.
‘Likely that gentleman can tell you more,’ he added. ‘Meanwhile I stand to do my office, whatever it be.’
He waited, clearly thinking he was no longer needed… but I could no longer restrain myself. Standing up abruptly, I drew a breath and called out to Standish.
‘Might I be allowed to question the constable, sir?’
There was a murmur of voices, and heads turned. I was aware of Humphreys and Rowden sitting together watching me, and of Woolland seated nearby. But I fixed my eyes on the Justice.
‘Master Belstrang.’ Reining in his irritation, he met my gaze. ‘What, pray, do you wish to ask?’
‘I have evidence,’ I replied, causing another stir. ‘Evidence that would contradict what we’ve heard up to now. If you will place me under oath, I would be glad to give it.’
A hush fell; beside me, I sensed Boyd’s unease at my interruption. And when the answer came, it was no more than I should have expected.
‘I might consider that, when I’ve heard from other parties,’ Standish said coolly. ‘In the meantime, as a former Magistrate no doubt you’ll be content to let me conduct this inquest in the proper manner. For the present, I ask you to wait.’
With an effort, I held my tongue and sat down. At least Boyd’s testimony would be heard, I thought; as for Berritt, I was still puzzled by his absence. Yet that was as nothing to the dismay I felt when the next witness appeared - and I gave a start as the name was called: that of Eliza Dowling.
From somewhere at the rear of the watchers, she rose and made her way forward. She was still swathed in mourning black, with the air of a woman bowed in grief. It was enough to convince the clerk, who rose from his stool and placed it before the Justice’s table. Murmuring her thanks, she sat down and faced Standish.
Tense as a pillar, I waited… to be confounded by her testimony. As accomplished liars go, I believe I never heard a better one. For this was a performance – as Boyd had described Cobbett’s testimony, at his daughter’s inquest. In a voice of sadness, dabbing at her eyes with a kerchief, the hard-faced nurse whom Hester and I had faced at the funeral won her audience over within minutes.
Firstly, she spoke of her late charge: her beloved Susanna Cobbett, from whose death, she claimed, she would never recover. Sadly, she related how she had watched Susanna fall into a despondency, an affliction of the mind which none could explain but which, in the light of what had since been revealed, she now understood. She appeared to wish to say more on that topic, but Standish interrupted.
‘We are not here to speak of Mistress Cobbett,’ he said, with impatience. ‘The inquest into her death has already been held, in this very place. Kindly tell us what you know of the deceased, Howell Rhys.’
Mistress Dowling let out a long sigh. ‘In truth, sir, I know little of him, save that he visited Susanna in secret… or so she believed. She was unaware that I had learned of the youth’s attentions, by discreet observation. Naturally I reported the matter to my master, who ordered Rhys never to come onto Cobbett land again…’ the woman paused, somewhat too dramatically. ‘Yet the damage, I fear, was already done.’
‘What do you mean?’ Standish snapped. Whereupon, after giving another sigh, the nurse spoke those fateful words that no-one would forget.
‘They were both bewitched,’ she said, drawing a gasp from the watchers. ‘Susanna, and Rhys too. It was he who urged her to take her own life, sir – I’m certain of it. Since they were forbidden, they would shed their earthly bodies, in the same manner and at the same spot, so that they could be together for all eternity. It was madness… they were driven to it, though of how that came about, I will not speak.’ Slowly, she shook her head. ‘May the Lord have mercy on them both.’
Having delivered her testimony, she fell silent… but for Robert Belstrang it was too much. In a moment I was on my feet again, causing heads to turn and Justice Standish to glare.
‘Sir,’ he growled, ‘I have already told you that I’ll consider any submission you wish to make-’
‘And yet, I cannot and will not be silent,’ I broke in. ‘You, I and everyone here present have been lied to, sir… I demand that you let me give testimony-’
I stopped, or rather was prevented, by a hand gripping my arm: Boyd’s. As I turned sharply to him, the doctor too rose and, in his voice of calm authority, addressed the magistrate.
‘Master Coroner,’ he said, ‘I ask your pardon on behalf of my friend. He, like all of us here, is eager to see justice done… even if certain events have placed him under a strain. With your leave, I’ll take the oath now and give the evidence I am come to deliver – at your own bidding, I might add. Evidence that may perhaps place the death of Howell Rhys in a clearer light… are you agreeable?’
There was a moment, as all eyes went from Boyd to the Justice. Whereupon, to general relief and a good measure of excitement, the man finally nodded. After dismissing Mistress Dowling, who rose and quickly vacated her chair, he beckoned the doctor forward.
Breathing hard, Robert Belstrang sank down on his straw bale and waited.
TWELVE
Boyd’s evidence did not take long. In a dispassionate manner, he spoke of examining the body of Howell Rhys in the crypt of the church. His first task, he explained, was to verify whether the deceased had perished by drowning, as was supposed.
And in that, he was obliged to report, the finder of the body had been mistaken. This caused another murmur of voices, which Standish quelled at once. Frowning at Boyd, he asked him to explain – which answer brought a collective sigh of dismay.
‘By poison?’ The Justice echoed. ‘How can you know that?’ Whereupon my friend repeated what he had told me the day before, about the lack of water in the lungs and other signs, as well as the suspicious bruising on the body. Hence, he added, it was his opinion that the deceased had-
But he got no further; raising a hand, Standish stopped him in mid-sentence. ‘I do not wish to listen to more opinions, doctor,’ he said frostily. ‘I’ve heard enough of those from Mistress Dowling. Instead, I ask you this: could the marks you saw on the deceased’s body have been occasioned by him forcing his way through a wood in the dark, perhaps causing him to fall – perhaps a number of times?’
Boyd eyed him stonily. ‘Would not my answer to that also amount to an opinion?’ He enquired.
Standish bristled. ‘I pray you, sir, answer the question.’
‘Very well, then: I think it most unlikely,’ Boyd told him. ‘It looked to me more as if he had been in a fight.’
There was another restless stirring among the watchers, to be silenced once again by the magistrate. ‘Be that as it may,’ he said, ‘from what I see, there’s no evidence at all that he was poisoned. But then again…’ here he paused, and looked deliberately at the jury. ‘Even if that were so, does it not seem likely, given what we know of the deceased’s state of mind, that he could have taken it on purpose?’
‘In which case,’ Boyd demanded, ‘why on earth would he go to the trouble of trying to drown himself?’
The response was a murmur and, to my quiet satisfaction, one or two stifled laughs - but Standish was having none of it.
‘For the reason we have already heard,’ he retorted. ‘That in his troubled state, he wished to die at the same spot where his lover Mistress Cobbett perished. The poison – if indeed there was any – might simply have been a means to ensure that he succeeded in his aims.’
To that Boyd made no answer, and soon after he was asked to withdraw. For a moment he hesitated, then appeared to think better of it. But as he turned to walk back to his seat, he caught my eye, and I understood: my friend was more than dissatisfied - he was annoyed, which was rare for him. The matter was not finished, his gaze told me; my spirits lifted at the thought.
The next witness to be called was Thomas Rowden, master of the late Howell Rhys.
He came forward at a slow pace: a stolid man, walking stiffly. Having taken the oath, he fixed Justice Standish with a look of disapproval, as if he resented having to attend him. From the start, his evidence was that of a man who clearly had better things to do.
Yes, he confirmed, he was the farmer who had employed Rhys for more than a year. He had engaged him in time for last year’s lambing, having had good reports of his work. No, he had no knowledge of when the boy, as he referred to him throughout, had made the acquaintance of Mistress Cobbett. He believed it was true, however, that Rhys had sometimes left the fields by night and crossed the river to keep tryst with the girl. Then, it came as no surprise to him.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Justice Standish enquired.
‘What I mean,’ Rowden replied, ‘is that if ever a boy had his head in the clouds these past months, it was him. He was moonstruck… his mind not on his work. I had to chastise him, more than once. Lovesick, some might call it - that or bewitched, as Cobbett’s woman put it.’
My hackles rising anew, I glanced at Boyd, who was tight-lipped. Once again, I thought, we were being told that those ill-fated lovers had been the victims of a madness caused by conjuration. And my view was only hardened as the Justice questioned his witness further.
‘On the night in question, that of Thursday last by my reckoning,’ Standish asked, ‘were you aware that Rhys had abandoned his duties and gone elsewhere?’
‘Not till the morning after, when he was found,’ Rowden answered sourly. ‘He stayed out with the flock some nights, so I wouldn’t have known.’ He shook his head. ‘No shepherd I ever knew would have gone off and left ‘em like that.’
Unless he was abducted, I wanted to say - and I might have done so, had Standish’s next question not prevented me.
‘You knew the deceased well – better than any other person present,’ he said. ‘In which case, I ask whether you are able to say that he was capable of taking his own life. Would you so swear?’
‘Well now…’ Rowden hesitated. ‘He was sad enough and mad enough… so aye, I believe I’d say so. And now he’s gone and done it, I hope to God he pays the price for his sins.’
He drew a breath, shifting on his feet. ‘Am I finished now?’ he demanded. ‘For if I don’t get back to my fields soon, I’ll likely have sheep scattered from here to the Indies. Do you ken that?’
A moment followed which was tinged with amusement. I saw it on the faces of some of the Powick folk, who likely knew Rowden and his ways… but it was the face of Abel Humphreys that caught my eye. He too was smiling - quite broadly, and making no effort to hide it. And I knew at once that, if he too were called as a witness, he would tell a similar tale to those of Eliza Dowling and Thomas Rowden: that Howell Rhys had been bewitched like his lover, and driven to take his life – which in the end, meant by the actions of Agnes Mason.
But Humphreys was not called; nor was Rowden questioned further. After Standish had thanked the man sardonically for sparing his valuable time, he dismissed him. He then muttered something to his clerk, who dipped his quill and began writing on the papers before him. Along with Boyd, I watched Rowden walk stiffly away, to be followed by Humphreys, who had left his seat and moved to the doors. They left the barn without looking back.
I looked about: at Standish, at the jury who were already putting their heads together, at the plain Powick folk who spoke low among themselves. The verdict, I knew, was already decided. And it was no surprise to anyone when, but a few minutes after being directed to consider, the foreman of the jurors rose to announce that by their findings, Howell Rhys had taken his own life, by reason of being driven to madness.
With sinking spirits, I lowered my eyes. And though I burned with anger at the way Standish had guided the jury to that conclusion – a conclusion he himself appeared to desire – I no longer had the will to protest. Having barely listened as he pronounced the inquest closed, I turned to Boyd. But before I could speak a voice rang out, causing an immediate stir.
‘Sir, we must conclude with a prayer!’
It was Woolland, the parson from Kempsey, on his feet in sermonising manner. Holding up a hand for silence, he fixed Standish with the same look I had observed at Ebbfield, when he raged against the evildoer who had driven Susanna Cobbett to madness. And as Standish blinked in surprise, he went on: ‘I beg your indulgence, sir. We have heard testimony of wicked acts perpetrated upon two innocent young people, which drove both to commit the terrible sin of self-murder. Moreover, the mortal remains of one of them lies here yet, but a short way from this place. Like others, I am concerned to know how the body will be laid to rest… if there can be any rest, that is, for one who acted as he did.’
He paused, seemingly to reassure himself that he had everyone’s attention, as if that were in doubt. Then:
‘I for one would not bury this person in my churchyard, even were he of my parish,’ Woolland went on. ‘Nor, I understand, is the Powick parson willing. What then, is to be done?’
There was silence, until Standish at last found his voice. Furious at his authority being snatched away in such a manner, he too rose to his feet.
‘Let me assure you, sir, that the deceased’s father has already been informed, by letter,’ he said loudly. ‘For the present, the body will remain in the crypt of the church until it is claimed by his family. And I object to your imputation that I’ve given no thought to the matter. More, I dislike your addressing this inquest,
which has already been concluded. The time is past for further submissions-’
‘Like the one from the former Justice, you mean?’ Woolland broke in harshly. ‘You appear to have forgotten his request to be allowed to speak. Then, perhaps it would have delayed you, if you wish to make haste in going to your dinner.’
At that, jaws dropped; few had heard anyone address a Magistrate in such a manner. And though I confess to a sense of vindication at Woolland’s words, I felt no warmth towards the man. He was on the verge of ranting, as he had done at Ebbfield that morning. With interest, I waited to see how Standish would respond.
‘Master Belstrang?’ Still fuming, the justice eyed me. ‘I confess I had forgotten, for which I beg your pardon most humbly. Do you still wish to speak?’
All eyes turned in my direction; it was an opportunity, even if the inquest was over. I allowed my gaze to move from Standish to Woolland, and back to Standish.
‘Would it alter the verdict, sir?’ I asked, assuming my bland look. ‘I think not, hence I will save my evidence for another occasion.’ Seeing how that displeased him, I added: ‘But I would welcome the chance to ask Parson Woolland what has brought him here – in effect, what his interest is in this case since, as he admits, the deceased was not of his parish.’
I turned to Woolland with raised eyebrows, and saw at once that I had put him on the defensive.
‘You question my interest, sir?’ He retorted. ‘I’m a man of God, who goes wherever he is called. You yourself, I remember, were at the burial of the poor maiden who was driven to madness like the other one spoken of here - hence you will have heard my words at the graveside. We do battle with the evil one, sir, by day and by night – and I for one will not rest from my labours. Which is why…’ he turned to Standish. ‘Which is why, Master Coroner, I repeat my call for a prayer before we quit this place. So, with your permission?’
The Witching Pool: A Justice Belstrang Mystery (Justice Belstrang Mysteries Book 2) Page 9