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

‘I have my orders, Master Justice,’ Sergeant Lisle told me, the two of us standing by the stairhead. ‘And this time, I fear I cannot make exception. The woman is to be left alone until she comes to trial.’ He paused, then added in a low voice: ‘It’s feared she will bewitch anyone who goes near. There’s even been a rumour that she might call on demons, to whisk her away.’

‘God in heaven…’ I raised my eyes. ‘Cannot I even speak to her through the door?’

In his customary stolid fashion, Lisle shook his head.

I considered, wondering if I might take this man whom I trusted into my confidence, in part at least. Instead, I asked him how Agnes appeared.

‘In truth, sir, she is restless,’ he answered. ‘I fear that, by the time she comes to trial, she will be in a sorry state.’

I faced him squarely. ‘It may be that matters will turn out otherwise,’ I said. ‘I have evidence that I intend to put before Justice Standish.’

But when the man raised his brows, I reined in my impulse to say more. With a heavy heart, I left him and got myself out into the street. Only then did I observe a small knot of people gathered near the doors, eying me suspiciously. Doubtless they had been there when I arrived… was I so intent on seeing Agnes again that I had failed to notice them? One or two eyed me in belligerent fashion – and on a sudden I halted.

‘I know you, do I not?’ I said.

The man I was looking at returned my gaze – whereupon recognition dawned on him, too. Before me stood one of the two who had stopped me at the Witching Pool that day. One, I now knew, was William Mount, who had disappeared after testifying at the inquest into Howell Rhys… and here was the other.

‘I think not, sir,’ he said, rather quickly.

‘Indeed?’ I moved closer, which caused the others – idlers, for the most part – to step back. ‘Let me refresh your memory. It was at the Witching Pool, where you kept guard. You serve Giles Cobbett, do you not?’

At that there was a stir from the other men, several of them wearing puzzled looks. But the one I addressed shook his head.

‘Nay sir, I do not.’ And he would have walked off, had I not placed hand on sword and summoned my best authority.

‘Wait,’ I ordered.

He stopped, glanced at his companions who were beginning to move away, then eyed me warily.

‘See now, I’ve a mind to have you arrested,’ I told him, finding myself exhilarated at having someone to punish. ‘I’m a private citizen, of course, and I’m unsure of the charge as yet, but I’ll think of something.’

He stiffened, then by instinct his hand went to the poniard at his belt.

‘That will serve,’ I said at once. ‘Threatening a gentleman and former Justice.’ For good measure I drew my sword part-way, leaving a few inches in the scabbard.

‘Nay, I…’ the man swallowed. ‘I do not threaten, sir…’

He stopped, finding himself suddenly alone. A few bystanders had gathered out of curiosity, but kept their distance. Seizing the moment, I drew close enough to make him start.

‘Give me some answers – truthful ones - and I’ll forget I saw you,’ I said, speaking low. ‘First, do you serve Cobbett or do you not?’

He hesitated, then managed a slight nod.

‘In that case, what do you do in Worcester?’ I demanded. ‘Let me guess: your master told you stir up trouble. To gather a few loafers, buy them a drink, then lead them to the Guildhall to cry out against Agnes Mason. Am I near the mark?’

He gulped, but it was answer enough – whereupon another thought struck me. ‘By the Christ – was it you who tacked that paper to the minster doors, calling for her death?’

The man caught his breath and made no answer, but it made little difference. Matters were clear in my mind now - as they had been, I realised, for a good while. I even broke into a smile of triumph, which seemed to alarm my victim even more.

‘I’m but a servant, sir,’ he blurted, ‘and can do no other than what I’m ordered.’ He was beginning to blabber, which for me had always been a token of guilt. ‘Everyone fears the witch - do not you? And if my master’s eager to bring about her end, what man wouldn’t be, when she caused the death of his daughter? I swear, I’d hang her myself if I could-’

That was as far as he got before I lost all restraint. Thrusting my sword back into the scabbard, I seized the varlet by the throat. ‘Shut your foul mouth,’ I breathed. ‘Were you not such a dolt, I’d wring your neck where you stand. As for your master…’ I caught my breath. ‘Your master’s a murderous tyrant, who will end his days on a scaffold. Now get out of my sight – leave Worcester, and take yourself back to Ebbfield. More, take my advice and leave there before the manor falls into other hands – for you may find you’ve no place left.’

With a shove I sent him reeling backwards, causing a muttering from the watchers. I had caused a stir, which was the last thing I needed just then. And yet, I took some satisfaction in seeing Cobbett’s man turn and make haste to lose himself, head lowered. I watched him disappear around the nearest corner, then let out a breath.

There was some time yet before I was due to return to Boyd’s house, which suited me well enough. I needed a drink; or perhaps, with the prospect of confronting Standish ahead of me, more than one might be better.

***

An hour later