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

‘You are too late,’ she said, her voice faint.

She lifted a hand feebly, placed it on the end of the nearest pew and tried to raise herself. But it was impossible; with a release of breath, she sank down again. Blood pooled upon the tiles, spreading outwards. Vaguely she looked down, as if unsure that it was hers. A trail of it led behind, showing how she had crawled towards the doors.

‘I implored him to do it,’ she said at last. ‘There was no other way… the temple shall fall about Samson’s ears, by his own volition.’

I looked beyond her, to the far end of the chapel. Others did the same, with muttered exclamations. Before the altar with his back to us, a figure was kneeling with head bowed, clad in only a shirt and breeches: Giles Cobbett, apparently indifferent to our presence. Candles burned upon the altar and in niches, giving the scene every appearance of calm and tranquillity – even of a kind of holiness.

‘Will one of you stay with her?’

Lisle’s voice brought us to order, as he gestured towards Eliza Dowling. One more glance at the woman was enough to convince me that she was close to death.

‘Shall I fetch the old servant, sir?’ Elkins spoke up. ‘He might offer some comfort.’

I looked at Lisle, who nodded, whereupon Elkins went out at once. The rest of us – the sergeant and myself, my servant Lockyer and two constables – regarded the kneeling figure of the master of Ebbfield warily. With a last look at the dying woman, the sergeant stepped past her and started along the aisle… whereupon there was a sudden movement. Cobbett looked round, then got to his feet.

‘Ah, nemesis!’ He cried, his voice resounding off the walls. ‘Welcome, one and all.’

There was a moment, then Lisle went forward with a hand on his sword. The others held back, but I could not. Walking up behind the sergeant, I halted beside him to face Cobbett… and was greeted with a bleak smile.

‘Naturally you’re here, Belstrang,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t have missed it, would you? You and your sword of justice…’ his gaze flickered to my rapier in its scabbard. ‘And now you have satisfaction…’

He broke off, as if surprised to see pistols pointing in his direction. He himself was unarmed, his shirt creased and sweat-stained, his hair untidy; he looked as if he had not slept in days. The difference between this cornered wolf, and the man I had last seen in hunting attire mounted on a fine horse, was stark. I drew breath, and was somewhat relieved when Lisle’s voice broke the silence.

‘Giles Cobbett, I arrest you for the murder of your daughter Susanna Cobbett and her unborn child,’ he announced, keeping his voice clear of emotion. ‘You are to accompany me to Worcester, there to await trial at the Midsummer Assizes.’

Another silence fell, as the echo of his words died away. Cobbett allowed his eyes to range over the men who had come to take him. He remained calm… too calm, I thought, and on a sudden I found myself speaking.

‘There’s also the murder of your servant, Dowling,’ I said, with a sideways look at Lisle. ‘Even if she claims she begged you to do it.’

‘Well, so she did.’ Cobbett nodded. ‘She was destined to die an old maid, childless and miserable. It was an act of mercy-’

‘That’s enough speech-making, sir.’ His voice cold as steel, the sergeant took a step nearer to the man. ‘You must put yourself in my charge, and let us convey you from here.’

He turned briefly to his men, who moved to obey, but at once a warning rang in my head – and even as I cried out, I was aware of a rapid movement from Cobbett. Whirling round, he knocked candles aside, spilling molten wax on to the altar cloth. At once flames sprang up, causing Lisle to lurch forward. But as he did so, Cobbett darted to the side of the altar – and in a moment, a sword appeared in his hand. It was shiny with blood: the blood of Eliza Dowling.

‘Well now…’ breathing fast, his eyes wild with a kind of delight, the master of Ebbfield faced his would-be captors. ‘Let’s see you take me into your charge now, shall we?’

Following that, everything happened with speed: a tableau lit by the eerie glow of flames and guttering candles. There was the deafening roar of a pistol-shot, which missed its mark as Cobbett skipped aside. Lifting his rapier, he lunged, stabbing at the air. Then, seeing the sergeant’s hand fly to his sword-hilt, he jabbed… and a muffled cry came from Lisle’s mouth. The blade had pierced his side, causing blood to well…

‘Get back, sir!’

Lockyer was at my side, shoving me away. Taking hold of Lisle, who was swaying on his feet, he thrust him aside too, one eye on the crazed figure of the sword-wielding assailant. But even as he squared up to the man, there came another explosion from close by, as the other constable fired.

Half-deafened by the pistol’s roar, I watched as gore splattered from the forehead of Giles Cobbett. His sword landed on the floor with a clang; his arm dropped, his body loose and lifeless as he fell on his back and lay still.

It was over.

But the altar burned fiercely, charred scraps of broidered cloth falling about the dead man. Already the wooden panelling was catching fire. Somewhat dazed, I saw figures hurry past me. Then Lockyer was bustling me out, one constable was helping Lisle towards the door while the other went forward to seize Cobbett’s feet by the bootheels. As smoke began to fill the chapel, he dragged the man