The Witching Pool: A Justice Belstrang Mystery (Justice Belstrang Mysteries Book 2) by John Pilkington (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📕

pictured Burton’s smirking features. My anger must have shown, for Agnes lifted a hand. ‘I pray you, let’s not speak of him. I’m eager for any news you bring – do you know aught of Edward and Isabel?’

‘They are well,’ I answered, hoping it was not an untruth. I hesitated, then added: ‘I fear my other news is not pleasant.’

‘And yet I would hear it,’ she said. ‘It’s unlikely to be worse than any I have imagined, here in this place.’

Seeing her somewhat dispirited, I let my gaze wander the grimy chamber. ‘If only we could sit,’ I said absently.

‘Well, why should we not?’ Agnes replied. ‘The bed’s none too clean, but it’s better than cold stone.’

Whereupon, somewhat to my embarrassment, she sat herself down on the pallet, in the corner of the cell. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she looked up. Will you join me, sir?’

I did so - most clumsily, I should add. A man of my station is unused to such a posture, and given my years… but no matter. The two of us sat side by side, which could have put certain thoughts in my head, had my news not been so grim. For I felt obliged to acquaint Agnes with all that had passed since our last meeting: In primis, Boyd’s report of the inquest, and secundus, my own account of the funeral. I made no effort to sugar the tale, for there was little to gain by it. After I had finished, I leaned back against the rough cell wall and let her ponder the matter in all its starkness.

‘Well, I should thank you,’ she said after a moment. ‘Even if my fate appears sealed. Might I ask you sir, as a man of the law, what your advice would be? To await trial and try to gather some defence? Or to keep silent, putting my faith in the hands of the Lord?’ She paused, her eyes on the floor. ‘Either way, I fear the result will be the same.’

I failed to summon a ready reply, whereupon she added: ‘Or might there be another way? You carry a poniard… perhaps you could mislay it, when you rise to take your leave? Or would you deny me the chance to cheat the gallows, while I may?’

I turned sharply, uncertain if she was in earnest. But I could divine little from her expression, and a chill stole over my heart.

It was a feeling I knew would not lift, unless I could find some means to save this woman’s life.

SIX

My remedy, on this occasion, was not to fall back on a pious-sounding attempt to dissuade Agnes from such a desperate act as she had hinted at. Nor did I assume my lawyer’s manner and speak of her defence at trial – a defence, I knew, which would carry little weight against the testimony of Giles Cobbett, let alone public opinion. Instead I put rank aside and spoke as I would to any friend in need.

‘I’ll pretend I never heard that,’ I told her, in a severe voice. ‘And I resent having my time wasted with foolish talk. I wish to help you, but I cannot do so unless you help me. I need to hear something new – anything you can think of, which may be of use.’ And thinking fast, I seized the first notion that came to mind.

‘Cobbett’s tale of your cursing him, for instance - telling him his firstborn would perish. I know it’s a lie, but in the absence of witnesses, if he swears to it-’

‘My word is worthless,’ Agnes broke in.

‘Well then, the gold,’ I persisted. ‘The so-called Offa’s gold. Are others aware of his desire for it? Or of his notion to have you divine its place, by conjuration?’

She thought for a moment. ‘It’s likely Humphreys would know,’ she said finally. ‘They’re close, those two… more than is common between landlord and tenant.’

I frowned as the memory arose of Cobbett and Humphreys, exchanging smiles at the graveside. ‘Will you say more?’

‘You have seen him, and his wife, you say… that poor woman. To my mind she’s never viewed him as he truly is, being blind from childhood. Some still wonder why he wed her, for there’s precious little warmth in the marriage. They say he visits women of the town… in some ways, I might say Sarah Humphreys is as much a prisoner as I am.’

I pictured the man, as he had walked by Hester and I: his wife in tears, while he betrayed no emotion.

‘The pool,’ I resumed. ‘Your son spoke of the old rumours. It’s not somewhere I intended to visit again, but is there aught I might find if I did? Those birds, hung in trees – do you think they were placed to scare intruders? If Cobbett believed the gold was hidden nearby…’

I broke off, for Agnes was nodding. ‘You might ask Ned Berritt about those,’ she said.

I recalled the name, as I recalled Edward Mason describing the man. ‘How so?’ I asked.

‘I cannot be sure,’ Agnes answered. ‘But Ned’s sharp-eyed, and wiser than many would credit. I’d not call him a friend, but nor is he our enemy. He has no affection for Cobbett, or Humphreys either. Humphreys caught him rabbiting on his land once, and offered him a choice: either he would report him, or he could take a beating then and there. Being Ned, he took the beating, which Humphreys enjoyed dealing out, so he swore. It meant bruises and a cracked rib, but it spared him from being arrested.’

I pondered her words. It might pay me to visit Humphreys on his farm, I thought, and try to probe the man for some clue to this conundrum. For so it was become, the more I learned of the matter. ‘I should go soon,’ I said