I took in his words, and waited.
‘He was loth to speak to me, of course, but I sensed something,’ he went on. ‘Were he a Papist I’d describe him as being eager to make Confession, and to do some sort of penance. As it is, I think he’s desperate to unburden himself to someone.’
‘Well he might be,’ I muttered.
‘Indeed, and yet…’ Boyd frowned. ‘You hit the nail aright, when you accused him of being under Cobbett’s thumb. But instead, I thought to press him further in the matter of your friend Mistress Mason - and the accusations against her.’
I turned sharply to him. ‘What did he say?’
‘Only what you would expect: that she was a demon in female form who must be destroyed, and so forth. I left him soon after, being mighty tired of his company.’ He paused, then: ‘Yet there is a puzzlement here, Robert… this unholy and strange-looking link between Woolland, Cobbett and-’
‘And his tenant, Humphreys,’ I finished. In truth, I had thought the same: that private smile I had seen exchanged at the graveside, and could not forget.
‘Do you have any tasks this afternoon?’ I asked, on impulse.
‘Nothing pressing…’ The doctor eyed me warily. ‘What action are you proposing now?’
‘None, for the present. I was intending to invite you to ride home with me, take dinner at Thirldon and then help me tease this business out. I would welcome your insight. Will you honour me?’
‘Will we dine alone, or with Mistress Hester?’ Boyd enquired. ‘For I generally value her insight too… don’t you?’
I threw him a rueful look, and eased Leucippus to a faster gait as the spires of Worcester came into view.
***
After dinner, we sat outdoors at my garden table in the company of a jug of wine, as well as in the company of Hester. And, since there was no gainsaying him, that of Childers too. I had already given them an account of what had transpired in Kempsey, which distressed Hester a good deal. Having voiced her opinion, that Woolland was unfit to be in holy orders, she had fallen silent on the matter. Now, with all said and done, we assembled like a council of war – or rather like a jury mulling over the evidence, before realising that there was precious little of it.
‘I’ve turned it over until I’m giddy,’ I admitted. ‘I thought to uncover a design to have Agnes Mason hanged, so that Cobbett could seize her bit of land, whether he thinks there’s gold buried there or not. Now, it feels murkier… as if some conspiracy lies beneath, the purpose of which eludes me.’
‘It eludes me too,’ Boyd murmured. ‘Yet I’ll allow that conspiracies sometimes exist. Will we ever forget the Powder Treason, and what might have been had it succeeded?’
I glanced at Hester: neither of us wished to revisit that topic, given my involvement in uncovering the Anniversary Plot, which to most people’s knowledge never existed.
‘Yet as matters stand, sir, you must concede that Giles Cobbett has what he wants,’ Childers said, having waited to make his contribution with impatience. ‘Both of those young people now adjudged suicides, and believed by everyone to have been driven to madness by witchery. When those facts are put before a jury-’
‘I’m well aware of it,’ I broke in, with my withering look. ‘And moreover…’ I glanced at Boyd. ‘It looks if all those in Cobbett’s circle – for a circle it appears to me – are prepared to hide the truth, or even lie under oath, to further him in his aims.’ I was thinking of the testimony of William Mount, who claimed to have found the body, and of the Powick constable, but especially that of Eliza Dowling.
‘Or in the case of Justice Standish, to dispute evidence that doesn’t suit him,’ Boyd said. ‘Or to refuse to hear it.’
‘Hence, you stand alone,’ Hester put in, looking at me. With the eyes of all three of us upon her, she added: ‘Standish is the Magistrate, who will have conference with the judge at Quarter Sessions. Hence, who remains to listen to your theories? Provided you have any, that is.’
None of us spoke, until Childers chose to break the silence.
‘Some might say that you have done all you can for that woman, sir,’ he ventured.
I met his eye, and saw only concern for me; to him, the matter was all but closed. Yet he had not seen Agnes Mason in her cell, nor the distress of her son and daughter-in-law… I took a drink, but made no reply.
And indeed, it seemed there was little more to be said; as a council of war the afternoon was a failure. To go against Giles Cobbett, and those who stood ready to support him, now seemed fruitless. What, indeed, was my cause? As for theories, as Hester had said, I had none to speak of: only unease over Susanna Cobbett’s death, suspicion of murder done to Howell Rhys, and a smouldering anger that an innocent woman was to be sent to the gallows.
Hence, after some further desultory talk we rose from the table, Hester to deal with household matters and Boyd to go to his duties in Worcester. I walked with him to the stables, and once we were alone, begged a small service from him: I asked him to visit the Guildhall and enquire as to the condition of Agnes Mason.
‘Her condition?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘The jailer, Burton, is a varlet,’ I told him. ‘He may tamper with her food. But if Sergeant Lisle is there, you may ask him on my behalf.’
He hesitated, then: ‘You have taken that woman’s welfare to heart, have you not?’
‘It’s what I would do for any prisoner whom I think has been wrongly accused,’ I answered, to which he gave a sigh, and signalled his consent.
After seeing him ride away I stood in the stable yard, absently watching Elkins leading one of the mares out for exercise. The afternoon was already waning, and having a mind to be alone I intended to go to my private parlour to read.But it was then, as I turned away, that Elkins halted by the gateway and called out. I looked round, hearing a sound of hooves approaching, and saw a lone horseman enter the yard. He slowed his mount, then drew rein and looked directly at me.
‘Would you be Master Belstrang, sir? Justice Belstrang?’
‘I would.’ I looked him over, seeing a grey-haired, ruddy-faced man in plain garb, mounted on an old sway-backed horse. ‘And who might you be?’
‘David ap Rhys, sir… I’ve ridden from Powick. I got there too late for the inquest yesterday, but I know what passed.’ He let out a sigh. ‘Might I speak with you?’
‘Of course - I pray you, dismount.’
I called to Elkins to see to the visitor’s horse. And soon David ap Rhys, whose border accent I had now recognised, stood before me. He was the father of Howell Rhys, he explained, though I already knew.
‘You look weary, Master Rhys,’ I said. ‘Will you come in and take some refreshment?’
‘Most gladly, sir.’ He paused, then: ‘Yet before all else, I desire to thank you most heartily – you and the other gentleman, the doctor, for standing up for my son as you did.’
‘I think the doctor may have earned your thanks,’ I said, taken aback. ‘I did little.’
Rhys shook his head firmly. ‘Nay, sir - you refused to condemn my boy, as others have done. And I will say more, if you’ll hear me.’
‘Well now, I will indeed,’ I said.
***
It was a sad tale, told by a man ragged with grief. He sat at the well-scrubbed table in the Thirldon kitchen, having eaten a little food and now clutching a mug of beer. He talked with pride of Howell, the youngest of his three sons. The boy had been a fine shepherd, but was not needed so much on their farm now that his brothers were working it. He had been content to go and work for Rowden, not meaning to stay more than two years. But then he had encountered Mistress Cobbett when she was out riding, and everything changed.
‘He did love her most fiercely, Master Belstrang,’ Rhys told me. ‘He sent me letters… I don’t read too well, but my eldest boy does. Howell had plans… he was going to get the maid away from her father, which she too desired, being most unhappy. He wouldn’t leave the county without her - he swore it.’<
br />
Recalling Jane Cobbett’s testimony that morning by the crossing, I nodded. ‘From what I know, his sentiments were returned,’ I said. ‘Did he speak of swimming the river by night, to keep tryst with her?’
‘He did,’ Rhys said at once. ‘He was always a fine swimmer, and unafraid. Indeed, his courage was well known…’ he broke off suddenly, fixing me with a keen eye.
‘Which is why I say to you now, sir, that my son would never have taken his own life. I know it, as all of us who were his kinfolk know it. And whatever befell that poor maid, he would have toiled to find out what lay behind it – for I know in my heart there’s more to that than has been told!’
‘And by heaven, so do I,’ I answered, after a moment. ‘In truth, I’ve thought so from the start. Nor do I believe your son was bewitched and made mad – any more than Susanna Cobbett was.’
The other drew a long breath. ‘It warms my heart to hear you say so. But then…’ a haggard look appeared. ‘It can mean only one thing, Master Belstrang: that he was murdered.’
I made no reply; though I too believed that, I was uneasy about voicing it. For a while Rhys seemed lost in thought, gazing down at the table. Finally, he looked up.
‘Do you have any notion as to who would do that? And why?’ He asked, speaking softly.
I hesitated. ‘If I did, I would be slow to name them,’ I answered finally. For there was a spark in the man’s eye now: an urge, naturally enough, to settle the score, which discomfited me. Justice, not vengeance, was my watchword. I decided not to speak of what Jane Cobbett told me, of how her father threatened Howell Rhys’s life – but the next moment, I was confounded.
‘Yet I would not,’ David ap Rhys said. ‘I will name the father of the girl Howell loved… the same man who forbade him to see her.’ His voice rose as he spoke, until it was filled with anger. ‘A cold-hearted man who kept his daughters penned up like cattle, yet might have burned to avenge the one who died-’
‘I pray you - no more, Master Rhys.’
I cut him short, shaking my head. To suspect Giles Cobbett of such a crime was one thing, but to act upon that suspicion was something quite different.
‘There’s no proof,’ I told him. ‘Even my friend Doctor Boyd, who spoke at the inquest, would tell you the same. The man you accuse is wealthy and powerful. To gather enough evidence to bring such a charge against him would be…’ I hesitated. ‘It would be all but impossible.’
After that we were silent for a while. The kitchen was deserted, since I’d told everyone to leave me alone with the visitor. Indicating the jug of beer, I invited Rhys to take a refill, but he shook his head.
‘I must ride back to Powick before nightfall. I have a bed with some folk who took pity on me – which is more than most have done. The constable, he would barely tell me anything. And as for that parson…’ he looked away briefly. ‘I’ve heard enough about him. But to the devil with the fellow… I’ll be taking my son home tomorrow, to let him lie at peace among those who knew him and loved him.’
I barely nodded; I was saddened, even ashamed. Had I truly advised him to let the matter drop, I thought, knowing that his son had likely been murdered? Could I have done the same, had the victim been my daughter? I sought for some words of comfort, but found none.
After a moment, Rhys got to his feet. ‘I thank you for your kindness, Master Belstrang,’ he said in a tired voice. ‘Now it’s best that I be on my way.’
I too arose, feeling the man’s grief as I saw how it weighed upon him… whereupon:
‘Wait,’ I said, after drawing a breath.
He turned to face me.
‘Ten days ago,’ I told him, ‘a man called Mason came to me for help, which I have tried to deliver. In truth, I’ve made small progress since - at times, it almost feels as if I’ve gone backwards. But let me say this to you, Master Rhys: I make no promises, but I swear I’ll not let the matter rest. Not until I’ve done all I can to bring about justice – and yes, perhaps retribution. If I can discover what happened to your son, I will do it. So, when you take Howell back to the Welsh Borders tomorrow, will you go in the knowledge that I wish to see this through to the end? Can you do that, for my sake if no other?’
Rhys regarded me without expression. I even wondered if he hesitated to trust me… until a smile formed.
‘I will go with a lighter heart than I thought possible, but an hour ago,’ he said. ‘And even if you fail, it will be of comfort to me to know that someone here cared enough to try.’
Whereupon we walked out through the doors together, shook hands and parted. A few minutes later I watched the father of Howell Rhys ride away on his old sway-backed horse. He neither waved nor looked back, but I fancied he sat a little more erect in the saddle.
But my moment of satisfaction was of short duration. The following morning, I learned that Ned Berritt had been found dead.
FIFTEEN
I received the news at mid-day, when a courier arrived bearing a message from Boyd. It seemed Berritt had been found not at one of usual haunts, but floating in the Severn near Tait’s Crossing. Normally a body would be carried downriver by the current, but it had been caught up in reeds on the eastern bank, where Dan Tait himself had found it. He had sent word to Worcester, whence the matter had been passed to the acting Coroner: one Justice Standish.
Within the hour I was in the city once again, conferring with the doctor.
‘It’s preposterous,’ I told him. ‘A man like Berritt would never have drowned – he knew every inch of the water.’
Boyd was silent, sitting in his chair, eyes lowered.
‘And more,’ I went on, ‘I’ll wager his body had been there for two days at the least – which is why he never appeared at the inquest. Do you see?’
I spoke with some heat, as theories had been buffeting my mind for the past hour. Since my speech with David ap Rhys the day before, I took the matter personally. Pacing the room, my hat in my hand, I was about to say more when Boyd looked up.
‘What should I see, Robert?’ He enquired.
‘That the man was murdered. Will you doubt it?’
‘I might, since I’ve not seen the evidence,’ he replied after a moment. ‘Though I’ll agree that it looks suspicious. Yet before you ask, I won’t be allowed to examine the body. Our friend Standish has already ruled that out.’
‘How so?’ I demanded.
‘Because, in view of your close interest in the recent deaths, I took the trouble to go to his house directly after hearing the news and suggested it. He was too busy to receive me, but sent his servant to inform me that another physician would be appointed. I know not who it is.’
‘But that smacks of corruption,’ I exclaimed. ‘Berritt was a vital witness in the matter of Rhys’s death, who would have cast doubt on other testimonies – now he’s dead. I know it was by design, as I believe I know who had reason to silence him-’
‘Robert, stay yourself.’ Boyd was frowning. ‘Are we to tread this ground again? If you mean to accuse Giles Cobbett, you will merely add to your troubles. For even if…’ he paused, then: ‘Even if the man had reason to silence Berritt, and was prepared to go to such desperate lengths, do you not think he would take steps to ensure he could never be linked to the crime? He has the means to buy whomever he chooses – even murderers.’
‘And constables and parsons too, it seems,’ I said, with some bitterness. ‘Well, we spoke yesterday of conspiracies. Will you now agree that this looks mightily like one?’
‘Perhaps,’ he admitted. ‘But to what end?’
‘To have the deaths of both Susanna Cobbett and her swain declared self-murder, by virtue of being made mad by Agnes Mason, thereby making her conviction all but certain.’
‘And then?’
‘And then he can seize her land, for whatever purpose…’
I broke off, a frown coming on. On a sudden, I felt a pang of doubt. I recalled Agnes’s words, in her cell at the Guildhall: the land’s good for littl
e but pasture… I eyed Boyd, who wore his sceptical look.
‘When all’s considered, what purpose do you think he has?’ He asked. ‘This fairy-tale of buried gold? He’s a wealthy man – he even allows a tenant to fall behind with the rent. Why then, do you think he would go to so much trouble to remove one who does pay it?’
‘And more,’ Boyd continued, seeing I had no answer, ‘if you believe Cobbett’s behind the death of Rhys, and now Berritt, why did he not simply arrange an accident for Mason – or even hire an assassin to cut her throat and throw her in the river?’
Feeling somewhat spent, I sank down on a chair – but on a sudden, I knew what I would do next.
‘I mean to go downriver now,’ I said. ‘I’ll find Dan Tait, and wring every scrap of intelligence out of the old rogue. For if Berritt was murdered there would be signs on his body – and I’m not about to listen to any more lies, from anyone.’
With that, I stood up to leave – and before my friend could speak, I shook my head.
‘No… I thank you for the offer you’re going to make, but on this occasion, I think it best I go alone.’
***
An urgency was upon me now, though in truth I knew not why. I ate no dinner, but rode out of Worcester by Frog Gate and took the Tewkesbury Road once again. Having covered the distance in a short time I reached the crossing, where Dan Tait’s boat was moored to the bank. There was no sign of the ferryman. I dismounted, tethered Leucippus and walked to the riverside.
All was calm. A breeze rippled the water’s surface, while nearby a heron rose at my approach, soaring off to the far bank. In the distance I could see the tree-tops of Newland Wood, favoured haunt of the man who had once stood before me in the dock, and later taken revenge by shooting an arrow so close, I had feared for my life. I saw him yet, with his bow on his shoulder, amused by my discomfort. Deep in thought as I was, I was startled when a voice hailed me.
‘You want to cross, sir? If you do, I can’t take the horse.’
The Witching Pool: A Justice Belstrang Mystery (Justice Belstrang Mysteries Book 2) Page 11