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

She looked down, patting the neck of her grey mare. ‘I’ll take my leave,’ she said. ‘If you have news of Howell, I beg you to pass it in secret to our old servant – Matthew, that is, with the white hair. Do you know him?’

I assured her that I did. And though I would have put further questions, clearly this was not the time. She gripped the rein and turned her horse, to face the way she had come. Then, after favouring me with a faint smile, she rode away. I watched her urge her mount to a canter and disappear from sight.

It fell to Boyd to break my reverie. ‘So, you mean to go down to Clevelode and seek this young shepherd?’ he enquired. ‘For you appear to have promised it.’

‘I have,’ I admitted. ‘Tomorrow’s the sabbath… like everyone else he’ll be at church. I believe I’ll find him.’

Boyd made no reply, merely shook his reins. Thereafter we rode back to Worcester, my mind busy with the events of the past hour. From seeking to find ways to aid Agnes Mason, I thought, I now found myself on a path which was likely to prove at best a distraction, at worst troublesome. I was still pondering the matter as we entered the city, where we parted, Boyd to his duties and I to return to Thirldon. At least, there I could collect my wits, even if I had to avoid Childers poking his nose in.

But there would be no peace that day.

No sooner had I left my parlour to go to supper, than I was called to the stable yard where I found some of the servants gathered. Childers was among them, as was my groom Elkins, who seemed to be the centre of attention. He made his bow when I approached, as did the others save Childers, who looked even gloomier than usual.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ I demanded. ‘I was about to dine…’ I paused, catching the grim look on Elkins’ face. ‘Now you make me uneasy,’ I said, with an attempt at levity. ‘Has the King fallen sick in Scotland, or just got drunk and fallen off his horse? Speak up.’

‘The King is well, Master Justice, as far as we know.’

It was Childers who answered. ‘But there is grave news,’ he added, ‘terrible news, from Newland. A rider passed on the road, and gave it to Elkins as he exercised the horses.’ He hesitated, then: ‘There’s been another drowning, at the Witching Pool. Worse, they say it’s another self-murder… a dreadful act.’

I stared at him - then heard Elkins pronounce words that froze me where I stood. ‘It’s a young lad… a shepherd from Clevedon way,’ the groom said. ‘Drowned himself last night, they say. He was found this morning…’

He fell silent, for I was no longer listening, but gazing down at the cobbles. Finally, I lifted my head and looked round at the faces of my trusted servants.

‘Who discovered him?’ I asked. ‘And how can they be certain what occurred?’

‘An old woodman found him, sir,’ Elkins answered. ‘One who’s often about there. I don’t know his name.’

Berritt… who else would it be?

‘Very well,’ I said, with an effort. ‘We must await further news. For now, I’ll leave you to your work.’

I glanced at Childers, intending to say something about our supper; then I realised I had lost my appetite.

TEN

On the following morning I rode into Worcester again, as church bells rang out for the Sabbath. Having found a boy to hold Leucippus, I went straight to Boyd’s house. I expected the doctor to be at church and was prepared to wait, but to my relief he had returned. Though surprised to see me again so soon, he quickly discerned my humour and proposed a walk in his small garden. There in the sunshine, strolling among his fruit trees, I told him of Howell Rhys’s death. But then with hindsight, I should have anticipated his response.

‘It’s not unknown,’ he said. ‘The youth could not face the future without his beloved, so chose to end it as she did, and in the same spot. Likely he thought their spirits would meet, and hence they would be together for eternity.’

I was thinking on what Jane Cobbett had said the day before; the explanation sounded plausible. And yet:

‘I’m not sure I believe that,’ I said.

Boyd lifted an eyebrow.

‘Though most would view it as you describe, I’m unconvinced. I think that someone like Rhys, who had the courage to swim the river by night and crouch under a window just to snatch a brief moment with his Jane - when he’s been told by her father that he’d slay him on sight - was made of sterner stuff.’

‘All men are fools when it comes to love,’ the doctor murmured.

‘But at the least,’ I returned, ‘such an incident merits a proper inquest, does it not?’ I had stopped walking, and stood amid the buzz and hum of insects. My friend turned to face me.

‘Unlike the one held for Susanna Cobbett, you mean?’

‘I do indeed.’

 He was silent for a moment, then: ‘There was an incident of a different kind, this morning in the city. During the night, it seems, someone nailed a paper to the doors of the Minster, accusing Agnes Mason. Calling her a servant of the evil one, a demon in woman’s shape… you’re familiar with the terms. And demanding her death by burning, no less. Many people saw it. If feelings were running high before, they will certainly increase now, when news spreads of a second self-murder.’

‘By heaven…’ I felt my heart sink. ‘Would they accuse her of bringing about this too?’

Boyd merely