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

that I turned the matter about, there was nothing to prevent me riding down to Upton to spend a day or two. I took up Mountford’s letter again and looked at the final paragraph… then gave a start as I read his parting words.

‘Good God.’ I raised my eyes to Hester’s. ‘The man fears that he too is dying, though he does not say why.’

‘Then that settles it,’ she replied. ‘You must go to him… he would value your presence.’

I dropped the letter on the table. ‘Yes… his troubles are far worse than mine. I suppose the two of us can get drunk, at least.’

***

I left Thirldon the following morning, riding Leucippus at a steady pace into Worcester, then southwards on the old Tewkesbury road. The day was fair, and as Hester had suggested, it was a relief to feel the breeze as I rode, and to clear my mind of worry for a while. The harvest was in train, men toiling in the fields as I passed. Striving to put aside thoughts of Thirldon and the King’s desire to take it from me, I began to recall Richard Mountford in the days when we were drinking companions in London, long before he had been knighted. He was good company, a jovial fellow who generally took things in his stride; the contrast between the man I remembered and the tone of his letter was stark. Then, grief may enfeeble the stoutest of hearts; like me he was a widower, and doubtless the loss of his brother, with whom he had always been close, was a severe blow. I hoped that his son, whom I had not seen since he was a boy, was of some comfort to him.

On that score, however, I was about to be disillusioned.

I arrived in Upton towards mid-day, having crossed the old stone bridge to the Severn’s west bank, where the village fronted the river. A mile or so of further riding brought me to the sprawling manor of Foxhill, set amid woods where deer browsed and fields where sheep grazed. It was a fine house, wide-fronted, gabled and imposing; Mountford had done well for himself. In the courtyard I was met by a servant in livery, who called a stable-boy to take care of Leucippus. Then I was escorted indoors - to be greeted not by my old friend, but by a tall, well-groomed man who announced himself as his son Francis.

‘I’m confounded, sir,’ I said, taking his hand. ‘The last time I saw you, you were a lad of thirteen or fourteen years.’

‘Is that so, sir? I confess I do not remember.’ Francis Mountford eyed me, somewhat coolly I thought, and dropped my hand. ‘A good deal of water has flowed under the bridge since then.’

I looked him over, noting a tautness in his manner. ‘That’s true. But pray, how does Sir Richard? I’m eager to see him.’

‘In truth, he’s unwell,’ Francis replied. ‘He sees few people at present. My wife and I have urged him to rest, given the dreadful blow he has suffered, with my uncle’s untimely death.’

‘Of course…’ I stiffened slightly. Instead of welcoming me as a friend of his father’s, who might offer some cheer, this man seemed almost to disapprove of my coming.

‘So, you are married?’ I made an effort to smile. ‘I’m eager to meet your good lady.’

‘And you shall, sir,’ the other said briskly. ‘Now, I understand you have been invited to stay with us, hence a chamber has been made ready. Would you like to make yourself comfortable, before joining us at dinner?’

‘Gladly,’ I answered. ‘But might I attend Sir Richard first?’

‘He is sleeping, sir.’

This time there was little doubt: Francis Mountford’s tone was forbidding, if not quite hostile. I met his eye until, with some effort, he assumed an easier manner.

‘I meant not to dissuade you,’ he said. ‘It’s better we wait until after our dinner, when he will be recovered. I will tell a servant to advise him of your arrival.’

‘Very well…’ I gave a nod, glancing about the well-appointed hall with its hangings and display of fine plate. Iron mines and timber, it seemed, had paid for all of this. I was still mulling over the matter as I was led upstairs to my chamber, with its eastward view towards the town. On the landing I had passed a number of doors, all closed. Behind one of them, it would appear, Sir Richard Mountford was sleeping - at mid-day. Was that, I wondered, the cause of the unease on my part?

I decided to put a few questions to his son over dinner.

It was a sumptuous meal, which far exceeded my appetite. Francis and his wife Maria were good hosts, clearly accustomed to entertaining on a grand scale. Attentive servants hovered, ready to refill my cup at any moment until I declined. Meanwhile I observed the couple, especially Mistress Mountford: a delicate, fair-haired young woman of pale complexion, with deep-set eyes.

‘I understand you have put aside the burdens of a magistrate, Master Belstrang,’ she said, peering at me over the rim of her silver chalice. ‘That must be a relief.’

‘Some years ago, Madam,’ I replied. ‘But that’s not how I view it. I believe I may yet be of service to our county.’

‘Is it so?’ The lady raised an eyebrow. ‘I would have thought that, as a man of similar age to my father-in-law, you would appreciate having the time to enjoy your estate.’

‘I do. But I also try to occupy myself when I can.’

Francis gave a perfunctory nod of approval. ‘Your sentiments do you justice, sir.’

‘And what of Sir Richard?’ I enquired, keen to change the topic. ‘Does he not enjoy life here at Foxhill? For he has clearly prospered. The timber trade must be proving fruitful.’

‘Not nearly so fruitful as the foundries,’ Maria Mountford