The arrest of Giles Cobbett was set for the following day, on another breezy morning, about nine of the clock.
The party was led by Sergeant Lisle for the Crown, on a warrant from Justice Standish. He was accompanied by three constables armed with horse pistols. I had brought Elkins and Lockyer with me, for my own reassurance more than anything else. That made the party seven in number, well-mounted and determined. Having spent a restless night, I was taut with apprehension, not least because Cobbett’s daughters were still under my roof, and were fearful of what the day might bring. I had been obliged to tell them their father was to be taken to Worcester prison, which brought little comfort.
We rode in silence along the south road, attracting stares from people travelling to the city. Lisle and I had exchanged a few words on setting out, but he was in no mood to talk. On a few occasions I caught him glancing my way, as if he was uneasy about my presence. Yet the journey was short, and without incident. We passed Tait’s Crossing, where the boat had been pulled up on the riverbank. The ferryman, as so often, was not to be seen. And a short while later we were approaching Ebbfield, where the first surprise awaited us: the narrow bridge across the moat had been blocked with bundles of cordage, boards and logs.
The party reined in warily, but there was no-one in sight. Walking Leucippus forward, I halted beside Lisle.
‘Well, Master Justice,’ he said. ‘You know Cobbett better than most here, I’d wager. What think you of this?’
‘I’m unsure,’ I answered. ‘It almost looks as if he expects a siege. One might think we’re back in the time of the Wars of the Roses, moat and all…’ I indicated the water, which was foul and weed-choked. ‘Though, since a man could wade across, it’s not much of a defence.’
‘Nor is that barricade,’ Lisle said. ‘Will your servants lend a hand to demolish it?’
The operation was soon in train. As the constables, along with Elkins and Lockyer, pulled apart the crude barrier and threw most of it into the water, it occurred to me that this was some delaying tactic on the part of Cobbett. It made me wary: the man had now been informed of the whereabouts of his daughters, yet had made no effort to bring them home. Was he planning something?
If he was, we would soon discover its nature. Within a short time the party was mounted again, clattering over the bridge and under the gatehouse arch into the cobbled courtyard which, as I had somehow expected, was deserted.
We halted and sat our mounts, but no-one appeared. After a moment Lisle got down, signalling to his men to do the same. My own servants eased their mounts close to mine.
‘I don’t like this, sir,’ Lockyer said.
‘Nor do I,’ I told him. ‘But we’d best wait and watch.’
Lisle was walking to the door of the manor, the constables behind him. There was no sign of life at the windows; nor, I realised, was there smoke from any chimneys. In fact, the manor appeared abandoned. I had a notion to check the stables, but turned as Lisle reached the door and proceeded to knock hard upon it.
‘Giles Cobbett!’ He called loudly. ‘You are to accompany me to Worcester, to be lawfully questioned on a charge of murder. Open in the name of the Crown!’
Nothing happened. I looked about, scanning the windows on the upper floors, but saw no movement.
‘Open!’ Lisle repeated. ‘Or I will force an entry.’
Again, silence - then came a sound, at which every man stirred. But it was not at the main door: instead, all eyes turned to see a shambling figure appear from a side entrance to the house: Matthew, Cobbett’s old servant. He took a few paces forward, saw me and halted.
‘Master Justice… thanks be to God.’
His voice shook, whether from fear or some other cause, I did not know. As the party watched, he sagged as if ready to drop, then made an effort to walk towards me. I dismounted quickly.
‘Matthew? What on earth has happened…’ I began – then stopped as he broke into tears.
‘God save you, sir…’ Head bowed, he wiped his nose with a sleeve, and only then appeared to be aware of Lisle and the other men. Whereupon he lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness, and let them fall.
‘All is lost,’ he cried. ‘Ebbfield is lost - there is no-one left!’
* **
It took some time to calm the old servant, seated on a bench at the side of the courtyard. Sergeant Lisle and I, along with the constables and my people, gathered about him. Someone offered him a costrel of ale, from which he drank a little. Finally, with much sighing, he told his tale.
The servants, it seemed, had fled, deserting their master in a body. It had happened the previous afternoon, after a message arrived for Cobbett. Until then the place had been a hive of unrest, before word came that Jane and Alison were safe. Thereafter, it appeared that the master of Ebbfield had become somewhat irrational, threatening everybody in sight. He had even thrown open a chest of coins and scattered them about, calling his servants thieves and varlets, telling them to take their share and run like the rats they were. In the end he had shut himself away in his chamber, with only Eliza Dowling to attend him.
‘Then where is he now?’ Lisle demanded sternly. ‘Do you tell me that he too has fled?’
‘Nay…’ Matthew peered up at him with rheumy eyes. ‘I did not say so. But he gave orders not to be disturbed.’
The sergeant sniffed. ‘Then I’m about to disappoint him.’
‘See now… you don’t understand,’ the old man answered, in an agitated voice. ‘He is not himself… he took to the chapel, early this morning. I fear for his safety…’
‘How so?’ I asked, throwing a swift glance at the sergeant. ‘Is he alone, or…’
‘I cannot be sure, sir,’ came the mumbled reply.
‘You say there are no servants remaining?’ Lisle asked after a moment. ‘Then, who made that barricade?’
‘Dan Tait built it,’ Matthew said, lowering his gaze. ‘That rogue… he’s been here again, demanding more money.’
‘More money for what?’ I enquired.
He looked up, letting out another sigh. ‘I cannot tell you, Master Justice. There are terrible secrets here…’ he glanced round. ‘You come as rescuers, sirs, but too late. Mayhap it was ordained that the Cobbett line would fail, after more than a century. For myself…’ he paused, then: ‘This is not the family I served from boyhood. Hence, I will testify, as I should have done long ago. But I pray you, spare me further questions now.’
And with that he sat back and closed his eyes, seemingly without a care as to what followed.
I turned to Lisle. ‘You hold the warrant, sergeant. Whatever action you take, we will aid you.’
‘I know that, Master Justice.’
He drew himself to full height and looked round. ‘We’ll go to the chapel at once and arrest Cobbett - and if anyone tries to prevent us, they too will be taken. Given the man’s likely state of mind, I ask you to charge your pistols.’ He eyed the constables who nodded, content with his leadership.
‘What of the nurse - Dowling?’ I asked. ‘She is still here, it seems.’
‘I have no orders concerning her,’ Lisle answered. ‘Perhaps you should speak with her about the daughters, since you appear to be acting as their guardian.’
I made no reply; I knew Eliza Dowling was the last person Jane and Alison Cobbett wished to see. With a last glance at Matthew, slumped on the bench, I turned to the matter in hand.
The seven of us, armed and watchful, walked around the side of the house, to where the chapel stood. There was nobody in sight, nor was there a sound from the stables. Had even the horses bolted? Taut as a bowstring, I followed Lisle and his people up the pathway, with Elkins and Lockyer close behind. On reaching the door the sergeant lifted the latch and pushed, then turned to the rest of us.
‘Locked.’ He frowned. ‘I’m loth to break it, this being a holy place.’
‘Is there no other entrance?’ One of the constables asked, a stocky fellow who looked as if he wa
s spoiling for a fight. He busied himself making his pistol ready, as did the others.
‘I think not,’ I told him. My eyes strayed to the grassy patch where Hester and I had witnessed the burial of Susanna Cobbett, and found myself frowning: the grave was unmarked.
‘Mayhap the old servant has a key,’ Elkins said.
But Lisle turned away, and startled everyone by banging hard upon the door. ‘Open up! He shouted, leaning close to the timbers. ‘In the name of the Crown!’
We waited, every man alert. After a moment I believed I heard a voice, and saw that others had heard it too. But no-one came to the door. With the first sign of frustration he had shown, the sergeant rattled the latch and thumped again.
‘It’s no sin to break it,’ the stocky constable remarked. ‘We’re on Crown business… a door can be repaired.’
I found myself glancing up at the stained-glass windows. I even wondered if some sense of remorse had come over Cobbett, in his predicament. Surely, with his daughters now free, he had guessed that all had been revealed? The thought raised my anger once again.
‘I’m with the constable,’ I said. ‘If you wish to break the door in, my servants will assist.’
There was a pause, each man looking at his fellow. At last Lisle nodded, and would have given the order – whereupon there came a sound that made us start: the crash of breaking glass.
Whirling about, I saw a figure emerging clumsily from a broken window at the side of the chapel, cursing roundly. Coloured glass was everywhere, shards falling from his clothing as he squeezed himself through to land in an untidy heap. At once he scrambled to his feet - but on doing so, he found himself surrounded by a group of armed men. With a whimper, he stared about like a frightened rabbit.
‘Tait?’ I peered at him. ‘What in God’s name…’
‘By the Christ, it’s you!’
Dan Tait, sweating, hatless and dishevelled, returned my gaze. ‘Are you come at me again? Why do you-’ He broke off, his eyes on a pistol being levelled at his head. As the constables closed in, his face fell.
‘Oh, Jesus… have mercy, masters,’ he moaned. Wincing suddenly, he looked down at his arm: his sleeve was torn, and blood ran freely. ‘Now what have I done…’
‘You’ve got yourself arrested, that’s what.’ Lisle was eying the man. ‘I call it resisting officers in their legal duty. Or perhaps, aiding a felon…’
‘I never!’ Tait cried. ‘I’m but a waterman – the Justice will tell you!’ In a forlorn appeal for aid, he indicated me.
‘Yet you built that foolish barricade, on the bridge,’ Lisle retorted. ‘Why?’
‘Because he told me to!’ Came the reply. ‘The way he was, how could I refuse? He drew a fucking sword on me – like you did!’ He glared at me, breathing hard, while blood continued to run down his arm and drip on to the path.
‘So - you serve Giles Cobbett still,’ I said. ‘I wonder what else he’s told you to do?’
He made no reply, but shook his head stubbornly.
‘He’s inside, then, your master?’ Lisle jerked his thumb towards the door. ‘Is he alone?’
For a moment the rogue looked as if he would refuse to answer again, but at last he shook his head. ‘She’s with him,’ he muttered in a sour tone. ‘Dowling… she always is.’ His brow creased as he clutched his blood-soaked sleeve. ‘See now, will you not fashion me a bandage? I could bleed to death!’
‘That’d be no great loss,’ one of the constables murmured, but received a disapproving look from the sergeant.
‘In good time,’ he said to Tait. ‘Just now, I want some answers. What were you doing in the chapel, for one?’
‘She begged me to go,’ Tait said, glaring at him. ‘She’s afeared he’ll do something rash, she said…’ On a sudden, he let out a bitter laugh. ‘I told her it was somewhat late to care about that, given all else he’s done…’
‘What do you mean?’ Lisle broke in. ‘That she fears Cobbett might take his own life?’
‘By the Christ, I wish he would!’ Tait threw back, his pain making him reckless. ‘I wish he’d done it long ago, and saved us all from looking over our shoulders…’ He turned a baleful eye on me. ‘Belstrang knows what I mean,’ he growled. ‘How Cobbett pays others to take the risks, dirtying their hands and their very souls, so he can keep himself free of blame!’
There was a short silence, with all eyes upon him: a sorry figure, when all was said and done. A boatman who could never make it pay, and had long ago turned his hand to other things, legal or otherwise. I thought of Berritt, who had wound up being dragged from the river by this man… and then, with a shock that chilled me from head to foot, I saw something else. I must have started, for every head was turned towards me.
‘Howell Rhys,’ I said, my hand going absently to my sword-hilt. ‘By heaven… it was you killed him.’
There was an intake of breath all round. Lisle frowned at me, while Elkins gasped.
But it was true.
I knew it, even as I saw Tait grow pale, shaking his head loosely… until with a sigh he dropped to one knee, nursing his wound.
‘She begged me to do that, too,’ he said at last, his resistance drained. ‘Dowling… she knew her master desired it. The boy could have accused him, so she badgered me, and-’
‘And paid you too,’ I finished. To which the ferryman looked down, and was silent.
I turned away from him. Now I could tell David ap Rhys who had murdered his son. But just then, it brought no relief.
TWENTY-THREE
It was all but over; the last throw of a misshapen dice in a desperate game. I sensed it then, as did the other men, as we prepared to force our way into the chapel.
Tait was gone, taken away with hands bound by one of the constables, to be conveyed to Worcester. There had been little need to question him further, for he had at last told the truth. He had been hired by Eliza Dowling, to remove an inconvenient witness for her master’s sake. She had even provided him with poison to force down Howell Rhys’s throat, after he had abducted the boy by night, beaten him and taken him to the Witching Pool.
With contempt, but with my anger dulled, I watched him disappear from sight, then joined the party at the chapel entrance. A crowbar had been found, and the stocky constable was forcing it between the doors. As the man put his weight to it, Lisle turned to me.
‘I’ll ask you to stay in the rear, Master Justice. I’ve no wish to see swords drawn.’
I gave a nod, my heart thudding a little; to be this close to seeing Cobbett brought to book for his crimes was exhilarating, and yet I was wary. I had no notion what to expect once we were inside… and soon, alarm rose anew. For as the lock began to break from the timbers, with much creaking and splintering, there came a sound from within: a woman’s scream, shrill and piercing.
‘It’s Dowling.’
I glanced at the sergeant, saw his mouth tighten. He urged the constable to push harder until, after some grunting and straining, the man succeeded. The door flew inwards on a sudden, sending him off balance. As he fell forward, the others pushed past him. I followed with my own servants… to stop in my tracks.
Only a few yards from us, Eliza Dowling lay sprawled on the tiled floor in the aisle of the chapel. Her face was pale as chalk, her gown soaked with blood. Seemingly in a daze, she looked up as the men bore down upon her.
‘You are too late,’ she said, her voice faint.
She lifted a hand feebly, placed it on the end of the nearest pew and tried to raise herself. But it was impossible; with a release of breath, she sank down again. Blood pooled upon the tiles, spreading outwards. Vaguely she looked down, as if unsure that it was hers. A trail of it led behind, showing how she had crawled towards the doors.
‘I implored him to do it,’ she said at last. ‘There was no other way… the temple shall fall about Samson’s ears, by his own volition.’
I looked beyond her, to the far end of the chapel. Others did the same, with muttered excl
amations. Before the altar with his back to us, a figure was kneeling with head bowed, clad in only a shirt and breeches: Giles Cobbett, apparently indifferent to our presence. Candles burned upon the altar and in niches, giving the scene every appearance of calm and tranquillity – even of a kind of holiness.
‘Will one of you stay with her?’
Lisle’s voice brought us to order, as he gestured towards Eliza Dowling. One more glance at the woman was enough to convince me that she was close to death.
‘Shall I fetch the old servant, sir?’ Elkins spoke up. ‘He might offer some comfort.’
I looked at Lisle, who nodded, whereupon Elkins went out at once. The rest of us – the sergeant and myself, my servant Lockyer and two constables – regarded the kneeling figure of the master of Ebbfield warily. With a last look at the dying woman, the sergeant stepped past her and started along the aisle… whereupon there was a sudden movement. Cobbett looked round, then got to his feet.
‘Ah, nemesis!’ He cried, his voice resounding off the walls. ‘Welcome, one and all.’
There was a moment, then Lisle went forward with a hand on his sword. The others held back, but I could not. Walking up behind the sergeant, I halted beside him to face Cobbett… and was greeted with a bleak smile.
‘Naturally you’re here, Belstrang,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t have missed it, would you? You and your sword of justice…’ his gaze flickered to my rapier in its scabbard. ‘And now you have satisfaction…’
He broke off, as if surprised to see pistols pointing in his direction. He himself was unarmed, his shirt creased and sweat-stained, his hair untidy; he looked as if he had not slept in days. The difference between this cornered wolf, and the man I had last seen in hunting attire mounted on a fine horse, was stark. I drew breath, and was somewhat relieved when Lisle’s voice broke the silence.
‘Giles Cobbett, I arrest you for the murder of your daughter Susanna Cobbett and her unborn child,’ he announced, keeping his voice clear of emotion. ‘You are to accompany me to Worcester, there to await trial at the Midsummer Assizes.’
The Witching Pool: A Justice Belstrang Mystery (Justice Belstrang Mysteries Book 2) Page 17