Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery by John Pilkington (books to read romance txt) 📕

‘You’ve played the innocent dupe long enough!’ he said to his father, every word thrown like a barb. ‘You knew what I did, or some of what I did. You cursed the Mountfords while you served them – and you serve them still! For you know in your heart whence came the money to set up the foundry… you knew I lied about the loan, for who would loan money to a family like ours? And if part of the bargain was my serving Francis in ways you wouldn’t like, you chose not to ask! By the Christ, you’re as guilty as me!’

With that he fell silent, his mouth a hard line. It was confession enough… drawing a breath, I spoke up.

‘So you killed John Mountford, because he learned of his nephew’s secret business, and meaned to put an end to it,’ I said, as calmly as I could. ‘That’s why it was bruited that his body was so ruined, his brother should not view it, for it would cause him too much distress. And I’ll wager Captain Spry, who took the corpse upriver, knew what was done.’ I paused, then: ‘Did Mountford die as Peck did, from a mere blow to the skull?’

But Willett did not answer; indeed, he ignored me utterly. He had retreated into some part of himself, letting it be known that he would say nothing further. I turned to Parry, who was nodding.

‘It matters not how the victim died,’ he said. ‘We have his killer… and it seems his orders came not from Russell, but directly from Russell’s master: the foundry owner and paymaster, Francis Mountford himself.’

He thought for a moment, then: ‘In truth, sir, I’m glad the business of charging that gentleman is somewhat beyond my rank… a matter for you and Justice March, perhaps, when we get back to Gloucester.’ He eyed both Willetts: the silent son, his face a blank, and the grief-stricken father. ‘And I too will be glad to get clear of this place,’ he added. ‘It’s beginning to fill me with gloom.’

‘Wait…’ on impulse I lifted a hand, and looked down at Jonas. ‘What did you mean, when you said Peter should plead your condition?’ I asked. ‘Is there something yet untold? For I advise you to tell of it, if you harbour any hope not to share your son’s fate. Speak now!’

‘Share his fate?’ Jonas echoed bitterly. ‘Why, there’s precious little difference. It’s but a matter of which of us dies first, and in how much pain.’ Seeing neither Parry nor I understood, he tapped his head.

‘They say it’s a kind of a worm, in here. Though they cannot know what it’s like. It’s more like a scorpion - a malevolent creature, that eats at me. A chirurgeon told me, in Stroud - and charged me for the news, as if I should be grateful.’ He sighed, then: ‘It makes my head spin, does the scorpion… and it stings like the very devil. My only remedy against it is to pickle my brains - do you wonder at that?’

He fell silent as Parry and I gazed at him… and at last, I saw the whole picture. Since there was little more to be said, the sergeant got heavily to his feet. He left his constable to stand guard and walked to the door, and I followed.

Only when we got ourselves outside did I remember that I had not asked about the Concord Men. But I knew one name already: that of Francis Mountford.

The return to Gloucester, and then to Upton, loomed ahead; just then I was unsure whether I relished it or dreaded it. However, I had no urge to leave Lydney just yet. Two men had to be apprehended, both of whom I was eager to see caught: Tobias Russell and his trow-master, Captain Spry.

***

Night fell, and the parties returned empty-handed: Russell was still at large. But there was a different air about the village. For one thing the inn was busy, Henry Hawes and his daughter moving briskly among the drinkers. Parry and I sat in what had become my usual corner, along with one of his constables; the others guarded the Willetts’ house, where father and son remained prisoners. We had taken supper, but were dispirited. Our fear was that Russell was deep in the forest, where a man could search in vain for many days.

‘If he isn’t found, I can’t wait much longer,’ the sergeant said. ‘I have a murderer to escort to Gloucester, and that must satisfy Justice March. As for the father…’ he let out a sigh. ‘I’ve no stomach for dragging him with us – who would? He’s a dying man.’

I had no argument with that, yet I was filled with disappointment; I had an urge to see Russell face trial for his treachery. As for Captain Spry: he could deny all knowledge of the actions of my assailant Yakup. Yet I had witnessed his behaviour at Bristol, and knew he was aware of where the Mountford cannons were bound. In some ways, I was as eager to see him charged as I was Russell.

I was about to make some remark to Parry, when a figure pushed his way through the throng and stood before us. Looking up, I was surprised to meet the eye of Combes, the ruffian who had almost bought Leucippus.

‘I would speak with you,’ he muttered. ‘On business.’

Parry peered at the man, then turned to me with an enquiring look. ‘Someone else you know, sir?’

I nodded, not wanting to elaborate. ‘If you seek the gratuity I spoke of, for returning my horse,’ I began – but Combes shook his head.

‘Not that.’ He leaned forward like a stage conspirator, then spoke low: ‘I can take you to Russell.’

‘Can you, now?’ Parry frowned at him. ‘Why would you? Is it a reward you seek, or…?’