Another silence fell, as the echo of his words died away. Cobbett allowed his eyes to range over the men who had come to take him. He remained calm… too calm, I thought, and on a sudden I found myself speaking.
‘There’s also the murder of your servant, Dowling,’ I said, with a sideways look at Lisle. ‘Even if she claims she begged you to do it.’
‘Well, so she did.’ Cobbett nodded. ‘She was destined to die an old maid, childless and miserable. It was an act of mercy-’
‘That’s enough speech-making, sir.’ His voice cold as steel, the sergeant took a step nearer to the man. ‘You must put yourself in my charge, and let us convey you from here.’
He turned briefly to his men, who moved to obey, but at once a warning rang in my head – and even as I cried out, I was aware of a rapid movement from Cobbett. Whirling round, he knocked candles aside, spilling molten wax on to the altar cloth. At once flames sprang up, causing Lisle to lurch forward. But as he did so, Cobbett darted to the side of the altar – and in a moment, a sword appeared in his hand. It was shiny with blood: the blood of Eliza Dowling.
‘Well now…’ breathing fast, his eyes wild with a kind of delight, the master of Ebbfield faced his would-be captors. ‘Let’s see you take me into your charge now, shall we?’
Following that, everything happened with speed: a tableau lit by the eerie glow of flames and guttering candles. There was the deafening roar of a pistol-shot, which missed its mark as Cobbett skipped aside. Lifting his rapier, he lunged, stabbing at the air. Then, seeing the sergeant’s hand fly to his sword-hilt, he jabbed… and a muffled cry came from Lisle’s mouth. The blade had pierced his side, causing blood to well…
‘Get back, sir!’
Lockyer was at my side, shoving me away. Taking hold of Lisle, who was swaying on his feet, he thrust him aside too, one eye on the crazed figure of the sword-wielding assailant. But even as he squared up to the man, there came another explosion from close by, as the other constable fired.
Half-deafened by the pistol’s roar, I watched as gore splattered from the forehead of Giles Cobbett. His sword landed on the floor with a clang; his arm dropped, his body loose and lifeless as he fell on his back and lay still.
It was over.
But the altar burned fiercely, charred scraps of broidered cloth falling about the dead man. Already the wooden panelling was catching fire. Somewhat dazed, I saw figures hurry past me. Then Lockyer was bustling me out, one constable was helping Lisle towards the door while the other went forward to seize Cobbett’s feet by the bootheels. As smoke began to fill the chapel, he dragged the man along the blood-stained floor, coughing and wheezing. Whereupon, coming to my senses at last, I found myself looking down at another corpse: that of Eliza Dowling, now slumped beside a pew with her eyes open, staring at nothing.
‘Bring her out,’ I ordered. And when Lockyer hesitated, I pointed. ‘Go on – I’m unhurt.’
He turned to obey, while I got myself to the doors which were wide open, letting in a breeze to fan the flames. Once outside, breathing fast, I found Lisle sitting on the ground, pressing a bloody hand to his side. Meeting my gaze, he managed a nod.
‘It’s but a shallow wound… I’ll staunch the flow.’
I was about to go to him when I heard running feet, and turned to see Elkins hurrying up with Matthew behind him. Seeing flames licking at the edges of the broken chapel window, the old man stopped in horror.
‘God help us,’ he cried, his face haggard. ‘Where’s the master?’
Nobody answered. Two bodies were being carried from the doomed building: those of Cobbett and his devoted servant, the woman who had hoped in vain to become his wife. The constables laid them together on the grassy patch, close to the grave of Susanna. Meanwhile my servants came to attend me, relieved that I had taken no harm. I mumbled words of reassurance, whereupon quite quickly a weariness came upon me: one of sheer relief.
‘He’s paid for his crimes,’ I said, drawing deep breaths. ‘Not in the way I hoped, but…’
I trailed off, allowing myself a last look at the man who had done such terrible deeds; even now, it chills me to think on the evil that went on in his house – and at last, in his chapel. That too was now destroyed: there was a well near the stables, but it was too late to save the building. Within a half-hour, by which time some order had been established, the arresting party could only watch as flames leaped through the roof, shooting skywards as the wind took them.
When we made our way back to the courtyard to arrange our departure, only Matthew remained with head bowed, weeping silently at the chapel’s destruction, and the end of the once-noble house of Cobbett.
Since the man left no sons, his name would die with it.
* * *
It was a sombre group which eventually made its way out of the courtyard and rumbled over the bridge, to take the road to Worcester. A cart had been found, and two ageing horses to draw it: the last ones left in the Ebbfield stables. Cobbett’s fine hunting horse was gone, likely stolen by one of his grooms. In the cart were the covered bodies of Cobbett and Eliza Dowling. Lisle, against advice, insisted on riding, his body bound tightly with cloths taken from the house. In fact, once some of the men ventured inside, they had found the place stripped of almost everything of value, from plate and hangings to candlesticks. The manor had a forlorn air, as if life had departed - which in truth, it had.
I rode behind the cart with Elkins and Lockyer. We had said little since watching the chapel burn, but I now took occasion to praise them for their actions. Without their aid, I realised, matters might have taken an even darker turn.
‘Cobbett meant to die, sir,’ Lockyer said, after a while. ‘I’ve seen men make their last stand, when they know there’s no other way out.’
‘Yet, it was a coward’s way,’ Elkins muttered, with a shake of his head. ‘He couldn’t face up to what he’d done, so chose to cheat justice as he’s cheated the hangman.’
I said nothing: on a sudden, I thought of Boyd and his views on self-murder. Did Cobbett’s final acts amount to such, I wondered - suicide by the action of constables? Doubtless it would serve for a topic of debate, one day.
‘What do you mean to do with him, sir?’
Lockyer nodded towards Matthew, who was sitting in the cart with the bodies: a shrivelled figure, his arms wrapped about him.
‘I mean to offer him a place in my service,’ I replied. ‘He’s honest and loyal, even if his master was unworthy of him.’ I found a wry smile forming. ‘Though heaven knows what Childers will say.’
The other two exchanged looks, but made no reply.
And by the afternoon we were riding through my gates, all duties discharged, content to let the peace of Thirldon envelop us one again.
TWENTY-FOUR
May was over, and June came in with clear skies. King James, we heard, was still riding about Scotland, destined to end his sojourn in Glasgow and then return south by way of Carlisle. Childers wondered if he would pass through Worcester, which turned out not to be the case. But see now, I digress.
There was much to be done in the days following the death of Giles Cobbett. I spent time in my chamber, penning a report of what had occurred along with letters to various parties, Boyd among them. I was uncertain as to what would happen now that Cobbett was gone; but in the end, matters seemed to arrange themselves.
The first news to bring comfort was that the charge of murder against Agnes Mason was to be withdrawn. The surprise was that the tidings came to me from Standish himself, brought to Thirldon by his clerk.
‘The Justice is most troubled by these events, Master Belstrang,’ the man said stiffly, as we stood in the courtyard that morning. ‘He intends to conduct further investigations, but I can tell you that the ferryman and the farmer, Humphreys, have been put to question and have confirmed your testimony. They will face trial soon, the likely outcome of which you may anticipate.’
He paused, noting my evident relief, then continued
: ‘The Justice also wishes me to convey his heartfelt thanks for your diligent efforts in uncovering these matters…’
‘When will Mason be released?’ I broke in. ‘And what arrangements will be made to convey her out of the city?’
The clerk frowned. ‘I have no knowledge of that, sir. My understanding is that she is yet confined at the Guildhall.’ Having said what he came to say, he proffered a sealed letter, which I accepted. But as he remounted his horse, I stayed him.
‘Pray tell the Justice that I’m grateful for his courtesy,’ I said. ‘I’ll write to him soon, with a small request that I’m certain he will be willing to grant.’
If he was surprised by my apparent confidence, the man gave no sign. He signalled assent, whereupon I watched him ride out of the gates just as Childers emerged from the house.
‘Mistress Jane and Mistress Alison wish to speak with you,’ he said. I turned to him, wondering why he appeared so cheerful this morning.
‘It seems their preparations are almost complete,’ he added. ‘Their mother’s sister awaits them at Gloucester, where they will be made welcome.’
‘I know that already,’ I said, eying him suspiciously.
It was common knowledge at Thirldon that the sisters had been in correspondence with their aunt. While grateful for the shelter they had enjoyed under my protection, they were ready to depart. The tragic events at Ebbfield had affected them deeply, but in the end their emotions were tempered with relief. A nightmare was ended, Jane had said; her hopes were for a new beginning.
I went indoors and sent word to both girls to come to my parlour. They arrived soon after with Hester, and after a few pleasantries I broached the matter of their leaving.
‘With your approval, it will be tomorrow, Master Justice,’ Jane said.
‘Have you informed your aunt?’ I enquired, taken aback.
‘I have,’ she replied, somewhat quickly.
‘I told them it would be acceptable,’ Hester said, her eyes upon mine. ‘It’s but a matter of someone driving the coach.’
‘The coach?’ I echoed. ‘It hasn’t been used in years… it would have to be repaired.’
‘I’ve asked the men to look it over,’ Hester said. And when I began to look displeased: ‘You’ve had so much to do of late, we thought it best not to trouble you. Elkins will drive the coach to Gloucester, if you can spare him from his duties. Surely you would not expect daughters of good breeding to travel by the same manner in which they arrived here – I mean in a plain farm-cart?’
In some consternation I looked to Jane and Alison, who sat silent and erect. Their meekness, however, appeared a show: I even suspected here was a hint of a smile beneath Jane’s expression. In truth, I thought, my authority nowadays was become a shadow of what it had been. I was about to form some reply, when Alison spoke.
‘We have a request to make of you, sir,’ she said. ‘That our servant Matthew be permitted to come with us.’
So that was it. ‘Is he not content here?’ I asked. ‘I understood he…’
I stopped myself: now I saw why Childers was in such good humour. It was no secret that he disliked having Matthew about the house: a forlorn figure who had aged even further since the violent demise of his old life, and who forgot an order within minutes of it being given.
‘Very well…’ I let out a sigh, which seemed to bring general relief. ‘Indeed, I would never prevent him… he is of your household, after all.’
‘He was, sir,’ Jane said. ‘There is no household now. But Matthew has been faithful all our lives… it is only fitting that he be allowed to spend what time he has left with us.’
I gave a nod; on a sudden, there seemed little more to be said. The burials, which I had helped arrange, were over, the sisters’ wish to be spared attendance being honoured. As for Cobbett’s property, that was another matter; I envisaged suits, claims and counter-claims from relatives and creditors which would keep the lawyers busy for years. Thankfully that was not the concern of a former magistrate, who was anticipating a quiet summer of cards and fishing.
And so we parted, the sisters expressing thanks before returning to their arrangements. A maid had been ordered to help them with the packing. Shortly after Cobbett’s death, I had sent men to Ebbfield to recover the sisters’ possessions from their chambers, though it seemed there was little left to be retrieved. But no matter, Jane said: their old life was gone, and should be put behind them.
On the morrow, Hester and I bade them farewell.
It was a sad occasion, because we had come to see them not merely as guests of Thirldon, but as friends. They were close to tears as they got into the old coach, barely used since my father’s time but seemingly serviceable. Matthew held the door open, before closing it and climbing up onto the driver’s seat with difficulty, to seat himself beside Elkins. My groom was content, being in possession of a sum for expenses: the journey would take a whole day, which would entail his spending the night at Gloucester. As he shook the reins and urged the horses forward, Jane and Alison waved from the open windows. Then they were gone: the last of their family to dwell in this shire, perhaps for ever.
But there was a matter of importance yet remaining, which I approached with a mixture of feelings. The opportunity came two days later, when I received the letter I had hoped for from Standish. By the evening I was in Worcester, making my way up the steps of the Guildhall, where to my surprise I was soon facing Sergeant Lisle once again. I had not seen him since the debacle at Ebbfield, but was pleased to find him restored to his stolid self.
‘The wound is healing, Master Justice,’ he said. ‘Though I’m a mite sore in the mornings.’ He regarded me with his shrewd look. ‘You are in health, I trust?’
I assured him I was, and spoke briefly of recent events: the departure of the Cobbett girls along with their servant. Yet he seemed unwilling to dwell on the matter. I believed I knew why, but it was only later, with the passage of time, that I gained a truer understanding: that Lisle saw the grim climax of events at Ebbfield as a failure on his part. To a man like him, duty was everything. His orders had been to arrest Giles Cobbett and bring him in to await trial, and he had fallen short.
‘Worcester is abuzz with the affair,’ he told me, with a wry look. ‘Cobbett will achieve a fame he never expected, if not for reasons he’d have wished.’ He gestured towards the stairhead. ‘Well now, shall we proceed?’
So, for the last time I followed him down to the gloomy cellars, but as we reached the lower floor I stayed him. ‘I heard she is in better spirits, is it so?’
‘Indeed, sir… her health is fair, given the weeks she’s spent here. And I’d wager today will bring the healing she needs.’ He paused, then: ‘The matter has been arranged as you requested, by permission of the Justice. Are you prepared?’
‘Most certainly,’ I answered - which was a lie. I was aflutter with doubt, at pains to keep it hidden. And as we walked to the end of the cellar, my unease arose as to whether I had done aright.
I would bring Agnes Mason away, out of Worcester with speed before the gates shut for the night. It was believed to be the best course of action, given feelings that still prevailed towards the supposed witch. The knowledge of Giles Cobbett’s deeds that had leaked out was piecemeal, and doubtless clouded with gossip and rumour. And though there was no crowd of angry townsfolk outside the Guildhall now, the need for caution was paramount.
Yet, I would not be alone to escort Agnes to freedom: my companion-in-arms, as I had requested as a favour from Standish, was now standing before me by the door of her cell: her jailer, grim-faced and silent.
‘Now, Master Burton,’ I said, with forced cheerfulness. ‘Are you ready for our little journey?’
He barely grunted, but under Lisle’s eye was forced to do his office. Wordlessly, he took the bundle of keys from his belt and fitted one to the lock. As the door swung open he stood back, his eyes on the floor.
‘Mistress Mason?’ I took a step inside, peerin
g about in the gloom; it seemed an age since I was last here. I was rewarded with a rustling of straw - and at once, she was before me.
‘Master Justice.’
She met my gaze, causing me to draw a sharp breath. I’m uncertain what I had expected to find: a figure emaciated and shrunken, perhaps, hair matted with neglect – but I was wrong. She appeared unchanged, standing calm and erect in a different frock to the one I remembered… whereupon she guessed my thoughts, and reminded me.
‘It’s the one you sent,’ she murmured; she even managed a faint smile. ‘Whoever wore it must have been close to me in size. It’s somewhat grand, yet I’m most beholden to her – and to you.’
‘Are you ready to go?’ I asked, somewhat briskly. ‘I have horses…’
She gave a shrug. ‘I have nothing to take with me, save the lice.’
I turned and got myself outside, so abruptly that Burton took an involuntary step back. As Agnes too left the cell he stiffened, scowling at his boots. But nothing was said as the four of us, led by Lisle, walked to the stairs and began to climb. Up in the hall people stared at the ex-prisoner, some in unfriendly fashion; not everyone was pleased to see the one they called Mother Blackcat walk free.
But we passed to the doors without challenge, to emerge in the gathering dusk. Here atop the steps, the sergeant-at-arms and I said our brief farewell. As he went back inside he threw me a warm look, that spoke of both friendship and respect.
Standing close to Agnes, I realised that this was her first moment outdoors in more than a month. I turned to see her with eyes closed, breathing deeply in the eventide air. ‘It’s but a short while now,’ I said. ‘Once we’re clear of the city, you will be with your family within the hour.’
I turned to Burton, who stood like a post, his lips tight-shut. He was armed with pistol and poniard, and wore a coat that, I now realised, had a hood.
‘Are you afraid someone will recognise you?’ I said, keeping my face blank.
‘No more than you are – sir,’ he answered. ‘But I’m under orders to be guided by you… can we go?’
The Witching Pool: A Justice Belstrang Mystery (Justice Belstrang Mysteries Book 2) Page 18