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

I summoned a defiant expression, but there was no further argument. Both wore looks of resignation, mingled with relief.

***

There was a wind blowing up the Severn the following morning, somewhat damp for May and bringing clouds. Having passed once again through Powick village I rode southwards, but instead of veering off as before I continued along the lane to Abel Humphreys’ farm, which stretched to the river’s bank. Passing through fields, I slowed Leucippus to a walk. I had no wish to frighten the dozen or so cows, of our red-and-white Midlands breed, which grazed nearby. Soon the farm came in sight, at the end of the track.

Riding into the yard, which was muddy and cluttered, I reined in and looked about. It was quiet, thought there was a labourer slouching in the barn doorway observing me. I was about to hail him when the door of the farmhouse was thrown open, and the portly figure of Humphreys himself appeared.

‘Good morning, sir,’ he called. ‘Are you looking for me?’

‘I am.’ Leaning forward in the saddle, I nodded a greeting. ‘May I dismount?’

‘But of course!’ With an eagerness that took me by surprise, the man came forward. He wore a plain jerkin and heavy boots, though there was no dirt on them. ‘I knew you at once… you were at Ebbfield. I pray you, come inside and take refreshment.’

Not having expected such a welcome, I hesitated before getting down. Breezily, Humphreys called to his man to take good care of Leucippus. Then we were walking to the house, my host speaking rapidly.

‘I confess I did not know you, on that sad morning – I beg your pardon. Cobbett set me aright later… as if I’d not heard of Justice Belstrang! It was kind of you and your servant to attend. Neighbours should stand together – and we’re neighbours, are we not? Give or take a few miles…’ he chuckled. ‘But let me bring you to my dear wife, who will be honoured to receive you - as are we both.’

Still talking, or I might say chattering, the man ushered me inside. I found myself in a bare, sparsely-furnished parlour with the remains of breakfast on a table in the window. The farmers I knew were all up by sunrise, and out in the fields by now… I turned to Humphreys, to find him still smiling.

‘I pray you, sir, forgive the clutter… we are at present without a house-servant. My wife is obliged to attend to everything as best she can. You, er, you might have noticed her condition, when you last saw us…’

‘I did,’ I said. ‘And I have no wish to trouble her. I marked her grief at the burial.’ I paused, then ventured: ‘It affects people in different ways, does it not? Grief, I mean.’

I was keen to note the other’s reaction. But nothing seemed to shift Humphreys’ grin; and naturally enough I recalled the smile he and Cobbett had exchanged, only two days earlier.

‘That it does, sir… but let’s not speak of sad things. I have a jug of good ale…’ this with a wave of his hand towards the table. ‘Or would you care for a cup of sweet sack?’ He was still smiling, but raised an eyebrow when I shook my head.

‘In truth, I’ve not come to pay a neighbourly call. If you’ll spare me a little time, I would like to ask you some questions.’

‘Why, of course, if you wish.’ Humphreys scarcely blinked. ‘Will you sit yourself down?’ He moved to the table, waited until I had taken a stool, then sat across from me.

‘Your wife,’ I said in a casual tone. ‘Will she come, or…?’

‘Presently, sir, presently… she’s about some trifling matter,’ came the reply. ‘Now, I confess I’m intrigued by these questions of which you speak – how can I aid you?’

I was about to fall into lawyerly mode, but delayed it. I was beginning to find Humphreys’ smile somewhat annoying, and had a mind to disarm him. ‘Do you have children, to help you work the farm?’ I enquired, to which the other quickly shook his head.

‘I fear the Lord has not blessed us in that regard, sir. But we have our health, and our wits. A man must be grateful for his portion.’

To startle him I changed the topic. ‘You’ll have heard of one Howell Rhys? A young man from the Welsh border country? I gather he was in the habit of venturing out by night, to swim across the river. The shallowest place I can think of is on your land, is it not? But a short way from Tait’s Crossing?’

My response, however, was a look of puzzlement. ‘Rhys, you say? Nay, Master Belstrang, I’ve not heard the name. Has he done some crime, or…?’

‘He was, I’m given to understand, the lover of Susanna Cobbett,’ I replied. ‘He would meet her in secret… perhaps because her father forbade her to see him?’

‘Indeed?’ Humphreys appeared shocked. ‘Well, I know naught of that, but if Sir Giles ever took such action, I’m certain he only had his daughter’s interests at heart.’ The man’s smile had slipped briefly. ‘He is – was, a devoted father to poor Susanna,’ he added. ‘And if it please you, I prefer not to speak of that business… such a tragedy.’

‘It was,’ I agreed. ‘Yet it’s my belief the matter is far from over. You might say, the ripples in the pool have not ceased.’

Humphreys blinked owlishly, but his recovery was swift. I knew that the man’s cheerful bonhomie was a mask, though I was in ignorance of what might lie beneath it. I decided to leave the matter of Howell Rhys.

‘You mentioned crime,’ I said, assuming my bland look. ‘And there might well be crimes yet to be uncovered. Sending an innocent woman to the gallows, for