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

‘I will make request of you,’ I said. ‘Might I be permitted to offer support in the arrest of Giles Cobbett, when the party sets out for Ebbfield? As a former Justice myself I deem it a public duty… can we agree on that, at least?’

I waited, allowing him to read my gaze in any way he liked, until at last came the answer I sought.

‘Go, then - ride with Lisle,’ Standish said, in a voice of weariness. ‘It’s clear you mean to do so anyway, as you have striven to wear me down from the moment you arrived here. Indeed…’ he paused, nodding slowly. ‘I think in your heart you intend to take revenge on me too, by any means you can. In which case, Belstrang, you will find me equal to the match – whether it be at sword-point, or in a court of law. For now, I have business to conduct – are you content?’

My answer was a polite nod, and soon afterwards Boyd and I left his house.

It would be some time before I was in Standish’s company again. But the burr that chafed me remained, and doubtless it chafed him too. There would be a reckoning between us, some day; it was but a matter of where, and when.

TWENTY-TWO

The arrest of Giles Cobbett was set for the following day, on another breezy morning, about nine of the clock.

The party was led by Sergeant Lisle for the Crown, on a warrant from Justice Standish. He was accompanied by three constables armed with horse pistols. I had brought Elkins and Lockyer with me, for my own reassurance more than anything else. That made the party seven in number, well-mounted and determined. Having spent a restless night, I was taut with apprehension, not least because Cobbett’s daughters were still under my roof, and were fearful of what the day might bring. I had been obliged to tell them their father was to be taken to Worcester prison, which brought little comfort.

We rode in silence along the south road, attracting stares from people travelling to the city. Lisle and I had exchanged a few words on setting out, but he was in no mood to talk. On a few occasions I caught him glancing my way, as if he was uneasy about my presence. Yet the journey was short, and without incident. We passed Tait’s Crossing, where the boat had been pulled up on the riverbank. The ferryman, as so often, was not to be seen. And a short while later we were approaching Ebbfield, where the first surprise awaited us: the narrow bridge across the moat had been blocked with bundles of cordage, boards and logs.

The party reined in warily, but there was no-one in sight. Walking Leucippus forward, I halted beside Lisle.

‘Well, Master Justice,’ he said. ‘You know Cobbett better than most here, I’d wager. What think you of this?’

‘I’m unsure,’ I answered. ‘It almost looks as if he expects a siege. One might think we’re back in the time of the Wars of the Roses, moat and all…’ I indicated the water, which was foul and weed-choked. ‘Though, since a man could wade across, it’s not much of a defence.’

‘Nor is that barricade,’ Lisle said. ‘Will your servants lend a hand to demolish it?’

The operation was soon in train. As the constables, along with Elkins and Lockyer, pulled apart the crude barrier and threw most of it into the water, it occurred to me that this was some delaying tactic on the part of Cobbett. It made me wary: the man had now been informed of the whereabouts of his daughters, yet had made no effort to bring them home. Was he planning something?

If he was, we would soon discover its nature. Within a short time the party was mounted again, clattering over the bridge and under the gatehouse arch into the cobbled courtyard which, as I had somehow expected, was deserted.

We halted and sat our mounts, but no-one appeared. After a moment Lisle got down, signalling to his men to do the same. My own servants eased their mounts close to mine.

‘I don’t like this, sir,’ Lockyer said.

‘Nor do I,’ I told him. ‘But we’d best wait and watch.’

Lisle was walking to the door of the manor, the constables behind him. There was no sign of life at the windows; nor, I realised, was there smoke from any chimneys. In fact, the manor appeared abandoned. I had a notion to check the stables, but turned as Lisle reached the door and proceeded to knock hard upon it.

‘Giles Cobbett!’ He called loudly. ‘You are to accompany me to Worcester, to be lawfully questioned on a charge of murder. Open in the name of the Crown!’

Nothing happened. I looked about, scanning the windows on the upper floors, but saw no movement.

‘Open!’ Lisle repeated. ‘Or I will force an entry.’

Again, silence - then came a sound, at which every man stirred. But it was not at the main door: instead, all eyes turned to see a shambling figure appear from a side entrance to the house: Matthew, Cobbett’s old servant. He took a few paces forward, saw me and halted.

‘Master Justice… thanks be to God.’

His voice shook, whether from fear or some other cause, I did not know. As the party watched, he sagged as if ready to drop, then made an effort to walk towards me. I dismounted quickly.

‘Matthew? What on earth has happened…’ I began – then stopped as he broke into tears.

‘God save you, sir…’ Head bowed, he wiped his nose with a sleeve, and only then appeared to be aware of Lisle and the other men. Whereupon he lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness, and let them fall.

‘All is