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

‘He went as a Turk named Yakup,’ I said, cutting him short. ‘He sailed with Captain Spry… the one who brought your uncle’s corpse home. I might add that Spry has since fled, seeing that justice would soon be upon him. As to Yakup: after he was prevented from taking my life, I was present at his interrogation. Justice March knew a Spaniard when he saw one.’

This produced a frown, but it was quickly suppressed.

‘Moreover, I spoke earlier of Tobias Russell, your foundry-master,’ I continued. ‘I might have said that his was not the only death that occurred down in Lydney. A man named Peck died too - also slain by Willett. But before he died, he told me something of interest. I speak now of the Concord Men.’

There, it was said. I had not intended to speak those words just yet, but I was growing weary of the discourse. Sitting back, I took a sip of wine and watched my adversary closely.

‘Ah… now I see.’ Francis had taken up his own cup, which he set down carefully. He was a difficult man to read, I had decided… and I was somewhat unprepared for what followed.

‘You name Justice March,’ he said, seemingly pondering the matter. ‘And you too, of course, are a former Justice. But now, I think I see why you come here alone. For surely you did not intend to arrest me?’

I made no answer, but continued to watch him.

‘After all, the motives of those wretches in the prison – Willett, and the Turk-who’s-really-a-Spaniard - are unlikely to come under close scrutiny when they face trial, are they? Since as you say, both men have confessed already?’

‘Perhaps you don’t know Thomas March,’ I replied. ‘Like me, he’s an old-fashioned sort who believes in retribution. He’ll spare no effort in having the matter aired.’

‘Provided both men come to trial,’ Mountford said then. And when I tensed, he added: ‘As I recall, Gloucester Castle’s little more than a tumbledown ruin. All the prisoners crowded into one cell… it’s not uncommon for some to perish of sickness, or even from a brawl. You understand me, I think.’

I made no reply, whereupon the man at last unsheathed the first of what his wife had called his weapons.

‘Yet, in case you do not,’ he added, ‘I will make matters clear. At a word from me, both of those men would die. Hence, Justice March would have no trial to preside over - and those sworn confessions you claim to have would be worthless. Provided, that is, they were genuine in the first place.’

I had no answer to that. I might say that, throughout my life, I have rarely under-estimated a man’s intellect, but this occasion could have been one of them. All through the meal Mountford had been calculating, and among his conclusions was that the confessions I carried were probably bogus. For he knew his hired men: the brutal Russell, the stone-hearted Yakup, and Peter Willett. Having made his opening play, he eyed me shrewdly.

‘So, Belstrang,’ he said at last. ‘You begin to see what sort of ground you’re treading, I think. As I said, you come here alone - and no doubt you value your life as much as I do mine. This… this marsh you seem to have wandered into - like the one down at Lydney - can prove to be deadly to a man who does not know the paths. Yet here you are, enjoying my table… as you will enjoy a night in the chamber that is being prepared for you. And in the morning…’

He broke off, took up a jug and refilled my cup to the brim, before topping up his own. Then he lifted it, and with a sardonic look, made a salute.

‘In the morning we’ll trade, shall we? Your health and prosperity, sir - and may they both last.’

But I did not join him in the toast. And when at last I went to bed in that well-appointed chamber at Foxhill, I was prey to a confusion of thoughts as to how I might proceed on the morrow.

On the landing, guided by a servant bearing a candle, I passed the door to Sir Richard’s room - but any thoughts I might have harboured about venturing in were dashed. Outside the door sat a heavy-built fellow, eying me deliberately. He wore a close-fitting hood of dark leather that covered his ears, and carried a poniard at his belt.

Inside the chamber, I sat down on the fine four-poster bed and gave way to weariness.

SEVENTEEN

That night I had a dream, that distressed me greatly. I was at Thirldon - but I seemed to view it from a distance, from beyond the gates. As I watched, flames began to engulf the house, leaping up to the roof. Soon figures appeared at the windows, waving desperately - I recognised Childers, and Hester, and my daughter Anne. I called out in terror, but no-one seemed to hear me - then the roof began to fall in, with a terrible roaring and crashing of timbers. Unable to move, I shouted and gesticulated, knowing all was lost… whereupon I awoke in darkness, in a sweat and a panic.

Mercifully, it was no vision. Gathering my senses, I turned on my back – only to start in alarm when a voice spoke nearby.

‘Peace, sir… you were but dreaming.’

It was soft and feminine, and it came from but a few feet away… was it a creak of floorboards that had awoken me? As I roused myself there came a scraping sound, a flame spurted, and in its feeble light a figure appeared, wearing what looked like a ghostly shroud. Then the flame was put to a