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

instead threw a baleful look at Childers and I, facing him across his table. Lockyer had remained outside with the horses, but Mistress Humphreys was seated across the room. She had insisted on being present: an angry, silent figure, fists clenched in her lap.

‘The young shepherd, Rhys,’ I said, leaning forward abruptly. ‘Did you kill him, or have someone else do it?’

Humphreys blinked in that owlish way of his, but gave no answer.

‘Or what about Ned Berritt?’ I continued. ‘You once beat him severely, so I heard. Did you kill him too?’

There was a stir from across the room, as Sarah Humphreys shifted on her stool. Her husband had gone pale, but still said nothing.

‘See now, I can take all day if need be,’ I lied, fixing him with my blandest look. ‘But I mean to have answers, which I can take to my friend Justice Standish in Worcester. Did I mention that he’s most interested in the case, as are others?’

‘What case?’ Humphreys demanded then. ‘I don’t understand why you’re here, charging me with these crimes-’

‘I’ve laid no charges,’ I broke in. ‘I merely want to hear what you know of those deaths.’ I paused, allowing a trace of anger to show. ‘You see, I made a promise to the father of Howell Rhys, that I would try to find his son’s killer. He doesn’t believe Howell took his own life – and nor do I.’

‘By God…’ Humphreys swallowed, looking round for something to drink, but the table was unladen. Meeting my eye briefly, he drew a breath, then: ‘I swear on my father’s grave, I did not kill him.’

‘But you know who did,’ I said, taking a gamble.

He said nothing; across the room, his wife sat motionless.

‘Let’s say it was Giles Cobbett who had him slain,’ I suggested. ‘After all, he’d threatened to do it. Though after his daughter’s death, one might wonder at his motives - unless, that is, the youth knew things Cobbett didn’t want spread abroad. I think you know what I speak of.’

Having said that, I sat back. I had touched on the topic of Cobbett’s and Humphreys’ treatment of Susanna sooner than intended, and was in danger of allowing my anger to burst forth. Catching Childers’ eye, I saw that he thought the same.

‘But I don’t,’ Humphreys said, shaking his head. ‘Know what you speak of, I mean…’

‘Please don’t take me for a fool,’ I retorted. ‘Matters have come to light, concerning your frequent forays across the river to Ebbfield. Did you not know that the missing Cobbett girls have been found, and are being most helpful?’

The silence that fell then was deadly. I glanced briefly at the man’s wife, who was still as a statue. Facing Humphreys again, I raised my eyebrows and waited.

‘What is it you mean to do?’ He asked, somewhat hoarsely. ‘Were I to speak, I…’ he gulped, and swallowed noisily. He was afraid now, as well he might be. ‘I might have done things I regret,’ he added, avoiding my eye. ‘But murder is not one of them. I knew nothing of Rhys’s death until he was found-’

‘Tell him about Berritt!’

Sarah Humphreys’ voice cut him short like a whipcrack. Startled, the three of us turned to see her on her feet, pointing a shaky finger at her husband. For his part Humphreys let out a moan, then slumped, his head in his hands.

‘Damn you to hell,’ he muttered. I looked from him to his wife, who at last gave vent to her feelings.

‘You vile wretch - you worm!’ She cried, taking a step forward. ‘Do you think you can lie your way out of this, as you’ve lied all your miserable life? Make confession like a man, if you can remember how to behave as one!’

Trembling with rage, she jabbed her finger at him. Years of hatred and resentment, I realised, were spilling out – and all the while Humphreys remained still, his face hidden.

‘Well now…’ Taking a breath, I bent forward and seized the man’s wrist, causing him to start. ‘Will you not do as your wife bids, and tell me about Ned Berritt? I would prefer to see your lips move when you do.’

He lowered his hands, revealing a face haggard with fear.

‘Or should I let her speak for you?’ I enquired.

‘No – let him condemn himself!’

Once again, Mistress Humphreys cried out. She took another step, until she was close to the table – and I swear her husband flinched, as if he believed she would strike him. It occurred to me that it might not be the first time that had happened… but she lowered her arm, and turned to me.

‘He’ll tell you what he did,’ she said, breathing fast. ‘For if he does not, he knows that I will.’ Whereupon she waited as did we all, Childers and I looking hard at Humphreys… until at last, he made confession.

‘I killed Berritt,’ he admitted, in a voice so low he could barely be heard. ‘I had to, or…’

‘Or what?’ I demanded.

He shook his head. ‘I hired him to rid the farm of rats. He would never turn down the chance of a few pennies. He came in the afternoon… we cornered him in the barn, once he’d laid down that whoreson bow of his. It was easy enough.’

‘Who’s we?’

‘My labourer and me. He knocked Berritt senseless, then we trussed him and took him upriver, after dark…’

‘And threw him in, to drown,’ I finished.

I met his eye, forcing him to look away. But I had my confession now, and I meaned to draw every last scrap of intelligence from him.

‘His body was supposed to wash downstream, was it not?’ I persisted. ‘Save that the water’s somewhat low, so it got caught in an eddy and fetched up in the reeds. Which