Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery

by John Pilkington

  ‘I understand,’ I said. ‘You have my thanks, now and always. Moreover, I shall try to arrange some reward for what you’ve done.’ But as the other took in the words, I looked away; a different sort of burden was upon me. Once ashore and alone, I wondered, how was I to deal with my would-be assassin – let alone question him?

  Yet question him I must: for here, I suspected, I would at last find some answers to the conundrum that gnawed at me. It was a sobering thought – then as I turned it about, a solution arose that lifted my spirits.

  ‘Captain,’ I said, turning to him. ‘Supposing I had a proposition for you? A business one, I mean.’ And ignoring the frown that appeared, I ploughed on. ‘What if I prevailed upon you to take me a deal further upriver – past Purton, all the way to Gloucester. You make the voyage often, do you not? There you can discharge your present cargo - the prisoner, that is – into my keeping. In the meantime, I will swear out a warrant for his arrest. I’m acquainted with the Justice there - Thomas March, a good man. Hence you’ll have performed a public service, and will be paid for it. What do you say?’

  And I waited in trepidation while the other merely stared… before relief arrived, along with his sigh of acceptance.

  ‘By the Lord,’ Darrett groaned. ‘I knew there was some doom hovering about, before I even left Purton. Now I’m conveying a man to the gallows… and there’s rain on the way too. By the time we get to Gloucester we’ll be swamped.’

  But I was smiling, for I could not help it. And my smile merely widened when the man got stiffly to his feet, thrust aside the sheeting and gestured vaguely to the heavens.

  ‘That whoreson comet’s brought naught but trouble to the world,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll be glad to see the back of that, too.’

  NINE

  Two days later, on a wet Monday afternoon, the Last Hope sailed into Gloucester.

  The rain, as Darrett predicted, had begun the previous day – a very gloomy Sabbath. By the time we drifted up the narrowing river and past the tiny island that divides it, everyone on board was wet to the bone. Though it barely troubled captain and crew, who were accustomed to all weathers. Finally we struck sail and eased alongside the city quay, where men stood to catch the thrown ropes. A short while later I was stepping on to solid ground, relieved that this part of my adventure, at least, was ended. When I finally returned to Lydney, I resolved it would be on horseback.

  But for now, there was work ahead – chiefly with regard to my prisoner, his hands bound tightly behind him, who was being escorted off the boat by Darrett’s crewmen. Having asked them to stay a moment, I quickly found a boy and paid him to fetch a constable. After he had scurried off, I turned to take farewell of the captain. As we shook hands, watched by curious onlookers, he jerked his head towards the sullen-faced Yakup.

  ‘I’m curious to know what you find out about him – if he ever speaks,’ he said. ‘I marvel at his boldness, to do what he did. Likely he meant to knock you out cold with the billet and heave you overboard. Come morning, who could say what had happened, you being a clumsy landsman and all? And no spring chicken either - I’ll wager he never expected you’d put up a fight.’

  I gave him a wry smile. ‘True enough. I thank you most heartily - and I will seek you out when I return to Lydney. But for now, here’s the reckoning for my passage, with a little for the crew on top.’

  I opened my purse and proffered the shillings, which Darrett took with a nod. As he turned to go back to his vessel, he paused. ‘See now, will you not need witnesses to what occurred? Or is the word of an ex-Justice enough?’

  ‘I believe it will be, in this case,’ I answered, after a moment’s thought. ‘Once he’s confessed who ordered him to put an end to my life – likely for poking about where I wasn’t wanted. In that matter, I’m as curious as you are.’

  Now, there was no more to be said. I watched the gloomy trow-master step away to speak briefly to his men. Then he was walking the gangplank on to his vessel, to disappear from sight. And a short while later, when the constable came puffing on to the quayside, I took farewell of the crew of the Last Hope, who delivered the prisoner into his hands and followed their captain back on board.

  By now a small crowd had gathered, staring at the oddly-dressed captive who was seated on the wet ground with eyes lowered. Mercifully, the rain was easing off. The constable, meanwhile, having checked the prisoner’s bonds, drew close and addressed me.

  ‘Will you tell me what’s occurred, sir?’ He was a heavy-built man of middle years, perspiring heavily. ‘And do you have a warrant against this man?’

  Indeed I did, I told him, producing the scrap of paper I had managed to scrawl out aboard the Last Hope, with an old quill loaned by Darrett. As I handed it over I made my explanation in brief, prompting a frown from the officer.

  ‘The charge is attempted murder?’ He looked up from the paper and eyed the prisoner. ‘Who is he?’

  I told him what little I knew.

  ‘Then I must convey him to the castle, into the hands of Master Gwynne. Will you come too, and tell him what you’ve told me?’

  ‘I will,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Then I’ll get out of these sodden clothes. I intend to seek out Thomas March – I assume he is still Justice here?’

  ‘He is, sir,’ the other answered. ‘Do you know him?’

  I nodded, impatient to be moving. Sensing my humour, the constable drew a truncheon from his belt and stepped towards Yakup, who tensed visibly. His gaze flew about, and for a moment I feared he would try and make some attempt at escape. But it was impossible: from all sides people regarded him with suspicion, if not hostility. The next moment he was hauled to his feet, stumbling as he stood up. And the silver charm at his belt swayed with him: the hand of Fatima, which was supposed to bring good luck to the wearer.

  But Yakup’s luck, seemingly, had run out.

  ***

  The old castle at Gloucester, long fallen into disrepair, is now used solely as a prison. It is close to the riverside, which meant that our walk was short. The prisoner was marched up to the gate, where a turnkey admitted us. Then we were entering the stone keep and tramping a dark passage until our charge was placed in a cell along with other men: there was no other choice, I learned. With no small relief to be rid of him, I then followed the constable to the keeper’s chamber, where a low fire burned despite the mild weather.

  Here I made myself known to Master Daniel Gwynne. I was facing a cold, sallow-faced man, who somehow put me in mind of a lizard. Yet he was a gentleman of sorts, in passable clothes and a small if ill-fitting ruff about his long neck, who greeted me formally before gesturing me to a stool. As I sat down, I realised how long it was since I had set my rump on anything padded… that at least, was some comfort.

  ‘Belstrang?’ The keeper peered at me across his table. ‘I seem to recall the name, sir… will you enlighten me?’

  I gave my former station at Worcester, and mentioned my acquaintance with Justice March, which produced a curt nod. Still in my damp clothes, I then provided the man with a concise account of events since my leaving Lydney, precisely a week before. Having ended the tale with Yakup’s attempt on my life, I awaited his response.

  ‘A Turk, you say?’ Gwynne was frowning. ‘Sent by the Sultan, to oversee a secret shipment of cannons. I confess I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘So did I,’ I answered. ‘And there’s a deal more to say about it, too.’ I was thinking of the Dutch merchantman in Bristol and what the wharfman had told me, about the vessel being bound for Hamburg. In my weariness I allowed these thoughts to distract me, before realising that the keeper was now regarding me suspiciously.

  ‘Yet such trade is not against the law, is it?’ He enquired. ‘With Constantinople, I mean. As far as I’m aware, we are not at war with the Grand Turk.’

  I reminded him that the Mountford Foundries were in the service of the King, and as far as I knew, all their ordnance was supposed to be sent to the Royal Armouries at the Towe
r. I was on the point of telling him about the Waarheid’s destination too, but for some reason I did not.

  ‘Well, it’s a weighty business,’ the keeper allowed. ‘But you may count on me. I’ll question your Turk, and then decide on my best course.’

  ‘I would like to attend the interrogation,’ I said. ‘I want to know why – or rather, on whose orders – the man tried to kill me.’

  But the other was displeased by that. ‘It’s my place, sir,’ he murmured, his reptilian eyes fixed on mine. ‘I have my means, which are private.’

  At that, I stiffened. ‘Do you mean you’ll put him to hard question? I would remind you that torture is illegal in this country, without license from the King.’

  ‘Thank you, Master Belstrang,’ came the sardonic reply. ‘I believe I too know the law.’

  With that, he sat back and waited; the meeting was over, and I was expected to withdraw. And yet, with true Belstrang stubbornness, I remained seated.

  ‘I insist on being present when the prisoner is questioned,’ I said. ‘I need to get to the nub of this matter, for the sake of Sir Richard Mountford as well as for my own peace of mind. If necessary, I will seek leave from another authority.’

  ‘Do you mean Justice March?’ The other enquired coolly.

  I signalled assent, then added that besides, I had been told Yakup spoke hardly any English. As a traveller, likely he used some other tongue, like Italian. I had some knowledge of it…

  ‘Very well, if you insist upon it so forcefully.’ Gwynne gave an impatient snort. ‘I’ll let him stew in the cell for the night, then begin the interrogation tomorrow at ten of the clock. Are you content now?’

  To which I nodded, and rose to take my leave. As I reached the door, I glanced back to see the man busying himself with some papers. He did not look up.

  Whereupon this bedraggled ex-magistrate got himself outside, asked directions to the house of the Justice, and trudged through the bustling city in search of some better company. And within the half hour, to my immense satisfaction I was made welcome – and more, there was no need to find an inn. For a while at least I was to be the guest of Thomas March, in whom I found an ally and a fellow-sceptic.

  ***

  March was shrewd, and generally known for his rough humour, but he could also be a man of hot temper: a former officer, who had seen hard service in the Low Countries. I had not seen him in years, yet he was unchanged: a hotspur, who was inclined to mete out harsh sentences to miscreants. When I told him my tale that evening over a good supper, he was both intrigued and indignant. With him, I had spared no details - and by the time I was done, he was looking outraged.

  ‘But this is treasonous,’ he exclaimed. ‘Mountford’s people are supplying ordnance to a foreign power without the King’s knowledge, let alone his license. Men are hung for less!’

  I made no reply, for it was true. We were sitting at March’s large table, about which his brood of children had once crowded. Now they were grown and gone, while his wife was away for the summer. Over a cup of Hippocras, we pondered the matter at length before my host spoke again.

  ‘Hamburg… you’re certain the Dutchman was bound for there?’ He asked. And when I told him I had no reason to doubt the man who informed me, a frown appeared.

  ‘But it makes no sense. From what that foundry-master told you – Russell, was it? – the ordnance goes to the Grand Turk. He swore you to secrecy, in your guise as Pride the speculator, on pain of death – so what are we to think? Since the King’s peace, we’re not at war with any nation on the continent - especially the German States.’

  ‘I know,’ I replied. ‘And there’s more to be uncovered – to whit the Concord Men, of whom Russell claimed ignorance. To my mind it sounds like a syndicate, diverting Mountford cannons from their rightful destination for private profit. I’d wager there are powerful men involved, who first put up the money - which means I could be on dangerous ground.’

  March sighed, took a drink and met my eye. ‘Men like you and I have rarely been short of enemies, have we?’

  ‘We have not,’ I agreed. ‘Even if I haven’t always been correct in distinguishing friend from foe.’ After a brief silence, I added: ‘Though there’s no difficulty when it comes to the prisoner Yakup. Indeed, I’m lucky to be alive.’

  At that, the other frowned. ‘You and I should question him together,’ he said. And before I could speak, he lifted a hand. ‘I don’t trust Gwynne, nor do I like his methods.’ He put on a grim smile. ‘They say I’m a hard man, but I’ve always tried to be a fair one. The keeper of the gaol is a bitter fellow, who feels he’s worthy of higher things. And he’s not above taking a bribe, I’ve heard. If your Turk serves these powerful men you speak of, then…’

  He broke off, his meaning plain. In truth, it had never occurred to me that Yakup was in a position to pose any sort of difficulty – but his orders clearly came from somewhere. Having turned the matter about, I gave a nod.

  ‘Well then, we must present ourselves at the castle by ten of the clock tomorrow, and face Master Gwynne together. Though I expect he’ll insist on being part of the interrogation.’

  ‘He can insist all he likes,’ March replied sharply. ‘But he knows I have the ear of the High Sheriff of Gloucestershire – Thomas Chester is a hawking man, like me.’ A grin appeared. ‘Whereas, if I recall correctly, fishing was always your sport. So – tomorrow we’ll do a little fishing, shall we?’

  With that he raised his cup, and we drank together.

  ***

  The morning dawned cloudy and windy, but Robert Belstrang had slept like a lamb: my first good night’s rest since leaving The Comfort at Lydney. In dry clothes, with a fresh shirt loaned by my host, I felt ready to face whatever the day brought – and more, for the first time I believed I might make some headway in this tangled affair. Having breakfasted, Justice March and I left the house and walked to the castle, prepared for a confrontation with the keeper. But on arrival, here was the first surprise of the day: the interrogation, it seemed, was already in progress – and had been for the best part of an hour.

  ‘What in God’s name do you mean, fellow?’

  March was staring belligerently at the hapless guard who stood in our way. We were outside the keeper’s chamber - the door of which was wide open, showing that the room was empty.

  ‘Your pardon, Master Justice,’ the man answered, with growing unease. ‘Master Gwynne is not to be disturbed when questioning a felon…’ but seeing March’s anger, he broke off.

  ‘I’ll decide who’s a felon and who isn’t!’ The Justice roared. ‘The interrogation was to be at ten of the clock – so my friend Justice Belstrang was told, and he is expected.’

  With a gulp, the guard glanced at me. ‘I know naught of that… I have my orders, and-’

  ‘And I’m giving you new orders,’ March broke in. ‘You will convey us to where the prisoner is being questioned without further delay, or answer for the consequences. Do you understand?’

  The man managed a nod. ‘Very well, sir… but we must leave the castle and walk some distance.’ Seeing we did not understand, he added: ‘Master Gwynne sometimes questions prisoners at his house nowadays, for privacy’s sake. It’s by St Michael’s - If you’d care to follow me…’

  But once again he was obliged to break off, as March gave an impatient sigh. ‘I know where he lives,’ he grunted. Turning to me, he said: ‘Let’s make haste, shall we?’

  And so we did, walking briskly through windswept streets, swords rattling and cloaks blowing in the best traditions of gentlemen in a hurry. Within a short time we had made our way to the other side of Gloucester, with the East Gate ahead. Here we stopped outside an imposing enough house, on the door of which March knocked loudly. Turning to me, he said:

  ‘Do you recall that devil Topcliffe, Queen Elizabeth’s interrogator?’ And when I nodded: ‘Kept a room in his own house, I heard, fitted out with irons and Christ-knows-what implements of torture. They say he enjoy
ed it – I’ve half a mind to think Daniel Gwynne is following his example.’

  I was about to make some rejoinder when the door was opened by a servant. Henceforth, after a few curt words from March, the two of were conveyed to a chamber at the rear. The lackey was on the point of knocking at the closed door, but to his alarm March pushed past him and threw it open. We entered - and stopped in our tracks.

  The room was bare, without windows or adornment, lit by candles and an iron brazier in which coals burned. Against one wall was a rough bench with a number of tools upon it: pincers, hammers and the like. While in the centre was a heavy chair to which the familiar figure of Yakup, now dishevelled and looking far less dangerous than when I had last seen him, was bound tightly, his legs shackled. As March and I entered, there came a muttered oath, and a man in shirt sleeves whirled about.

  But it was not Gwynne. Instead we saw a hard-faced man with the look of an ex-soldier, his long hair tied back. He would have spoken, but at sight of our garb he hesitated - whereupon another voice sounded from close by.

  ‘Master Justice… and Master ex-Justice. What an honour.’

  I looked round sharply to see Gwynne himself, seated on a stool and regarding the two of us with his lizard’s gaze. As we faced him, he rose and gestured vaguely towards the man who was now his helpless victim.

  ‘You’re somewhat late… did I not say that I would begin work at nine of the clock?’

  ‘You know perfectly well you did not,’ I returned, my own indignation growing. ‘Nor did you inform me that you meant to remove the prisoner from the castle and bring him here. I demand an explanation-’

  ‘Save your breath, sir.’

  It was March, standing beside me, who cut me short. Casting a gaze from Gwynne to his interrogator and back, he held in his anger with an effort, then: