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

‘It is. I worked at the Cricklepit Foundry for nigh on ten years – that’s Mountford’s, under Tobias Russell. Not any longer, though.’

‘Might I know your name?’

‘Willett, sir. Jonas Willett.’

‘Well, Master Willett…’ I glanced from him to the other men, who were listening attentively. ‘I might pay a visit to that foundry tomorrow, and seek out your old master.’ I made no mention of the fact that I already knew the name of Tobias Russell, from my talk with Sir Richard back at Foxhill. ‘In the meantime, will you and your friends take a mug with me?’ Whereupon I called the host, drew shillings from my purse and handed them over, bidding him serve everyone forthwith.

It was rather un-Belstrang-like, to treat the entire company in such a manner. But I suspected it might prove a good investment.

The next day, however, I would find my initial impression had been a false dawn, with a somewhat rude awakening to follow.

***

I did not take Leucippus from the stable, but decided to walk the short distance upstream to the Cricklepit Foundry. The day was cloudy, with a breeze coming up the Severn. In the distance, a woodman’s axe rang out as I ventured up the track; the sound would be repeated often, as I walked through the woods. At last, ascending the rushing stream, I reached the mill: a solid, oaken structure with a huge waterwheel. And some distance away stood the foundry: brick-built, with steam issuing from its chimneys. The noise of hammering had been growing louder for the past few minutes, and here was its source: a busy workplace, with men moving about. There were cabins too, and a pen for horses, and nearby a great heap of coarse iron ore.

I stood for a while, taking in the sights and sounds of the foundry, the likes of which I had never seen. Then I remembered why I was here, and grew alert: if this was where the explosion had taken place in which John Mountford had been killed, would there not be some signs of it?

I began to walk towards the main building: the furnace-house, I guessed, from its distinctive shape. Soon I began to feel its heat, and recalled what Francis had said about the process needing a lot of charcoal. Glancing about, I saw one or two men had paused at their work and were eying me curiously. I was about to approach them, when I was challenged abruptly.

‘That’s far enough, if you please.’

The speaker was a stout man in a thick leather apron. I checked my stride, allowing him to draw near, then assumed a smile.

‘Good morning to you… am I addressing Master Russell?’

He halted, looking me over with undisguised suspicion. Finally, having noted my rank, he managed a curt nod.

‘You are, sir. But I must ask you to turn about and retrace your steps. The foundry is in the King’s service, and not to be visited.’

‘Indeed?’ I maintained my smile. ‘That’s unfortunate. I’m acquainted with the owner, Sir Richard Mountford… I have an interest in iron.’

But the other was impassive. ‘Even so, you cannot stay. You might apply to the office of the King’s Founders of Ordnance.’

‘But I’ve already done so,’ I lied, replacing my smile with a look of pained indignation. ‘Has no instruction reached you?’ And when no answer was returned, I added: ‘I am William Pride, from London. I have a share in an iron works in Kent, and am considering investments hereabouts. In truth, I expected a better welcome than this.’

At that, Tobias Russell took a step closer. ‘No-one’s said anything to me,’ he muttered.

‘Well, these things take time,’ I told him. ‘And your habitat is somewhat remote… but there it is. If you insist on turning me away, I’ll have to report to my fellow-investors in the city - as well as informing Francis Mountford.’

To my satisfaction, the bluff appeared to work.

‘See now, that’s not necessary,’ Russell said, after a moment. ‘If your desire is but to view our workings…’ He glanced aside, to where men were still watching, and waved a hand to assure them that all was well. As they went off to their business, he faced me again.

‘Investment, you say, sir? Does that mean you intend to establish a new build here, for the casting of iron? The mines are already working to capacity, and the river’s power is taxed. You would need to harness another stream.’

For a while I said nothing. Falling into old ways, I met his eye and tried to look behind the gaze… and a notion sprang up.

‘It’s cannons I’m concerned with,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘I have customers waiting – and I do not mean the King. Such trade, as you will know, is most profitable - do I make myself understood?’

But I had erred: I saw it at once, and regretted my words. Instead of approval, I was rebuffed.

‘I haven’t the least idea what you mean – sir,’ Russell answered, his expression hardening. ‘And on reflection I’ll ask again that you quit this place, and leave me to my work.’

Whereupon he folded his arms and stood, a solid bulk of a man. And William Pride, unscrupulous investor, was obliged to turn about and walk away.

FOUR

I did not go directly back to the village.

Instead I wandered up the Lyd valley for half a mile or so, and thence up a branching stream - the Newerne, it is called. Here I was surprised to find another iron works almost hidden among the trees, a good deal smaller than Cricklepit. Having drawn close, I found the place occupied by just two men, labouring by a glowing furnace which was visible through the open doors. Half-prepared to