Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery

by John Pilkington

  In silence, tired and saddle-weary, we at last entered Gloucester. On arrival I went with Parry to deliver Peter Willett to the castle, into the hands of Daniel Gwynne. It was a brief meeting: I had no desire to converse with that man, saying only that I would hand my report to the Justice. After the sergeant had supplied Gwynne with the bare details of Willett’s offence, he accompanied me outside to make his farewell.

  ‘I pray you, don’t berate yourself too harshly,’ I said to him. ‘Though I cannot condone what you did, you might have lost your own life upon the salt-marsh, or even at the Willetts’ house. More, the men we went to apprehend were, at the final throw, but small fish in the pond. Your prize – the murderer of John Mountford – is worth a deal more. He may yet be the key to the cracking open of a conspiracy, greater than either of us had imagined.’

  Alas, the man was inconsolable. His task now was to take the bodies of two of his trusted men to their families. He even spoke of quitting his post thereafter. In the end we parted with a brief handshake, before I got myself mounted again and rode the short distance to Thomas March’s house.

  And it was there that matters took a somewhat unexpected turn, which I am eager to relate.

  ***

  After supper, mighty glad to feel rested and clean, I spoke at length with my host about the whole affair. He had by now read my complete report, and was confounded by it.

  ‘Treason,’ he muttered, for the third or fourth time. ‘The most heinous of crimes – and committed by supposedly loyal Englishmen. In truth I have my suspicions, yet we only know one name for certain: that of Francis Mountford. Clearly he is the one to be confronted, to discover who else makes up this villainous cohort – these so-called Concord Men.’ He paused, before favouring me with a wry smile. ‘However, since we last met, I have not been idle.’

  He went on to tell me that he had written to the High Sheriff of Gloucester as well as the Chief Justice in London, who had the ear of the King. His Majesty, in fact, was now returning from his summer progress, and Whitehall was abuzz. In short, unbeknown to me, things had begun to move. And as for the unfolding crisis in Europe…

  ‘Frow what I hear, it’s true enough that a war is building, Robert,’ March said with a sigh. ‘Spain is sending money to support the Archduke’s troops in Bohemia. You may be aware that a number of the landowners in the Forest of Dean are papists – recusants, like old Sir Edward Wintour. He’s related by marriage to the Marquis of Worcester, of Raglan Castle – and his oldest son will inherit his ironworks. Men like those may indeed be bold enough to aid the forces of the Emperor, as your Spanish informant admitted – and they’re well placed to supply ordnance. But they would have to do it secretly, through lesser men like Mountford, who are prepared to take great risks for substantial reward.’

  ‘And behind the back of his own father,’ I said, with some bitterness. In my mind’s eye I saw again the handsome, cool-headed man who had spoken gravely of Sir Richard’s frailty, and what pains Francis and his wife took to avoid distressing him; how I would enjoy the sight of him being put in chains.

  ‘So, it’s more than a matter of mere profit for those landowners,’ I said. ‘They run risks themselves, but for the old cause: that of advancing Popery across Europe.’

  ‘Indeed,’ March replied. ‘And many now believe this war could prove one of the gravest Europe has seen. But the Concord Men are the worst offenders here: they may not all be Papists themselves, as Mountford is not. Pure greed is their spur… a familiar enough motive, to men like you and me.’

  ‘It’s true enough,’ I sighed, turning the matter over. ‘And it seems imperative that someone questions Francis Mountford soon, to force him to name his fellow Hombres de la Concordia, as our Spanish captive called them.’ I was frowning. ‘At times like these, one might even think to call on the skills of a man like Daniel Gwynne.’

  ‘Except for the fact that the Mountford seat is at Foxhill by Upton, in your home county of Worcestershire,’ March said. ‘It’s outside my bailiwick, let alone Gwynne’s.’

  He was looking pointedly at me – whereupon I at once divined his meaning.

  ‘What? How could I rack him?’ I demanded, with some heat. ‘I’m no longer a Justice – and he’s a powerful man, who could refuse to be questioned. The High Sheriff himself needs to take the reins – I speak of Sir Samuel Sandys.’

  ‘That’s so,’ March agreed. ‘As is happens, I’ve written to him too.’

  With mounting unease, I frowned at him. ‘That was somewhat bold of you, sir,’ I said. ‘You have no warrant beyond the shire of Gloucester, while I have none at all. I’m even on bad terms with our own Justice Standish, back in Worcester.’

  With gloom threatening to descend, I took a good pull from my cup of sack before setting it down heavily.

  ‘By heaven -I wish I’d never seen Richard Mountford’s letter, let alone gone to try and lift his spirits,’ I said. ‘For now I’m in sore need of someone to lift my own.’

  At that, March couldn’t help a smile appearing. ‘Come now, Master ex-Justice,’ he said. ‘You talk as if all’s lost. Your reputation has long exceeded the bounds of your county, did you not know it? I speak not of small indiscretions like keeping a common-law wife – or of your falling foul of the worthies of Worcester with your notorious stubbornness. Can you not take heart from my words?’

  ‘And yet, just now I fail to see what more I can do.’

  ‘But isn’t it obvious?’ Came the brisk reply. ‘You should ride to Upton and challenge Francis Mountford to a duel. Give him the lie, so that as a gentleman he’ll have no choice but to accept. Then, once he’s at your mercy, you can demand he confesses all.’

  I blinked – then caught the spark in the man’s eye, and let out a breath. ‘In God’s name, sir… I would have thought this was not a time for jests - even from you!’

  And yet, despite everything, a surge of laughter was threatening to bubble up inside me. To my chagrin, it occurred to me that I had not laughed aloud since that evening, almost three weeks back, when my servants Henry and Lockyer had waylaid me with their request to attend the play in Worcester. It was a relief… and hence, what could I do but embrace it?

  ‘Enough, Master Justice,’ I said at last, dabbing my eyes with a napkin. ‘You cheer me, even though my predicament – and yours too, perhaps - yet remains: how to break this fearful plot and expose the Concord Men. I see no solution… do you?’

  A moment passed, as we both grew solemn again. But after a moment’s thought, March spoke up. ‘You need to find out Francis Mountford’s weakness, then play upon it for all your worth. All men have one, do they not?’

  I paused… whereupon one of those notions of mine flew up. ‘Well indeed, they often do,’ I replied. ‘And in truth, I might just know what that man’s is.’

  And when March raised his brows, I told him.

  ‘I’m speaking of his wife.’

  SIXTEEN

  When I left Gloucester the following day to ride back upriver to Upton, I carried a number of papers that afforded me a degree of comfort, if not of real authority. One of them was a letter from Justice March, a copy of the one he had sent to Sir Samuel Sandys, the High Sheriff of Worcester. Another was a signed confession from a Spanish prisoner in custody at Gloucester Castle, admitting to overseeing quantities of ordnance being shipped to Hamburg for conveyance to Austria. And the third was a confession from one Peter Willett of Lydney, a hired assassin who had admitted to the slaying of John Mountford, gentleman.

  The confessions of course were fabrications, concocted by Daniel Gwynne. I dislike the word ‘forgery’, but on this occasion the cause was desperate. In truth, I knew, neither prisoner had confessed to anything, much to the impatience of their keeper. Yet, as March had assured me, those men were no longer my concern. Both would face the gallows in time, and I confess I had little sympathy for either. And when all is said, there was justice in the notion that Yakup, as I still thought of him, and Willett too, co
uld play a role in bringing their paymasters to book. Just now, I had a far weightier matter on my mind: how to confront Francis Mountford, and get him to condemn himself.

  On the long ride I had ample time to consider. The fact was, the man was guilty of treason. He had betrayed and cheated the King, as had his fellow Concord Men; and knowing what I did of James Stuart, his wrath would be sated only by seeing the harshest of penalties dealt out. The previous night, March and I had agreed on a strategy of sorts, though the outcome was in some doubt. Among other things, I feared for Sir Richard when he learned what wickedness had been done in his name, if without his knowledge – indeed, on that score, it was quite likely he may not even be believed.

  It was one of the gravest predicaments I have faced. And by late afternoon, having broken my journey at Tewkesbury, I was in turmoil when I at last reached Upton and crossed the river. I could only hope I had judged aright, and that Maria Mountford might provide me with a means of getting the truth out of her husband. I see now that it was a somewhat tawdry strategy, yet I saw no other. For if Francis learned what had occurred down in the Forest of Dean, I expected that he would flee at once; what choice had he, when his life would be forfeit?

  Moreover, I wondered, might he have had news already?

  Troubled by these thoughts, I rode a tired Leucippus through the gates of Foxhill and drew rein in the courtyard, to find that all was tranquil. Men were at work in the nearby rose garden, a maid was gathering clean sheets from a hedge, and a lively young stable boy soon appeared to attend to my mount. I then walked heavily towards the doors of the manor, to be greeted by Mountford’s servant. A short time later I was escorted to a pleasant chamber overlooking the nearby woods, where Maria Mountford herself stood up to greet me. She had been sitting with a companion, who rose and made her curtsey.

  ‘Master Belstrang… what an unexpected pleasure.’

  Mistress Mountford’s voice was languid as ever… indeed, she appeared somewhat heavy-lidded and slow in her movements. With an effort I made my greetings, before asking how she fared.

  ‘We are all well, sir… though I regret I cannot say the same for Sir Richard.’ And when I tensed, she added: ‘He’s taken a turn for the worse, since you were last here… alas, we fear the end will not be long.’

  ‘That’s grave news,’ I managed to say. ‘Might I be permitted to see him?’

  She appeared to consider, while avoiding my gaze. I glanced briefly at the servant: a very pretty young woman, standing with eyes downcast. A moment passed, before her mistress turned to her.

  ‘Katherine, will you take word to my husband that a guest is come?’

  As Katherine went off to obey, the lady faced me and invited me to sit close by her. Striving to appear at ease, I did so, then asked after Francis, which produced a sigh.

  ‘Much weighed down with business, sir. The foundrymen are troublesome down in Dean. It pains me to see him so occupied.’

  ‘Cannot Sir Richard advise him?’ I asked, somewhat abruptly. ‘Surely his knowledge and experience would be invaluable.’

  ‘As I said, sir, my father-in-law is unwell,’ came the reply. Was there an edge to her voice? I murmured some words of condolence.

  ‘Very kind… now, Master Belstrang, might I enquire what brings you here? Though you are of course most welcome… was it fishing, or hunting we spoke of last time? I forget.’

  My mind busy, I sought to compose an answer. Meanwhile Mistress Mountford allowed a yawn to escape, before stifling it without much effort – whereupon I blinked: I had caught the whiff of strong spirits on the woman’s breath. Just then, however, footsteps sounded from the hallway, and Francis walked in. He wore a perfunctory smile of welcome… but at sight of me, it faded quickly.

  ‘Belstrang… why, you take me by surprise, sir. I thought… but no matter.’ Turning to the mistress of the house, he added quickly: ‘Katherine spoke of a guest, without providing me with a name. Somewhat remiss of you, was it not?’

  ‘Was it?’ his wife answered vaguely. ‘Your pardon, sir… what a silly girl I am become.’

  At once there was tension in the room, which caused me some embarrassment. And yet, I thought, might this not afford me an opening, sooner than expected? Having risen at Francis’s arrival, I followed him in sitting again, girding myself for some verbal sparring. To the man’s polite enquiry, which echoed his wife’s, I made a reply that startled both of them.

  ‘In truth, I come to bring news,’ I said. ‘But first, a confession: I did not ride here today from my estate by Worcester. I came up from Gloucester, and before that I was down in the Forest of Dean.’

  The result was a silence, and a look of alarm on both faces, though Francis quickly mastered his.

  ‘I went down there at the request of your father, sir,’ I added, eying the man without expression. ‘He asked me, as an old friend, to make enquiries into the death of his brother.’

  ‘He did what?’ With a frown, Francis Mountford sat bolt upright. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will,’ I replied. ‘Indeed, I’m somewhat surprised that word has not yet reached you from Lydney. Are you not aware that Cricklepit Foundry has been deserted, and that production of ordnance has ceased?’

  My answer was another stunned silence. But I shifted my gaze to Maria Mountford, and saw a look of horror appear. Seizing my advantage, I pressed on.

  ‘Moreover, your foundry-master Tobias Russell is dead. He was slain while resisting arrest, on the Lydney marshes. Before he died, however, he made confession of his crimes.’

  That last item was pure invention on my part, but to my satisfaction it had a profound effect: Francis Mountford rose from his chair, facing me with suppressed anger.

  ‘You are bold, Belstrang,’ he said quietly. ‘Not to say, a man of surprises… is there anything more you wish to tell?’

  ‘As it happens there is,’ I answered, tapping my chest. ‘I have in my possession a sworn confession from a man named Peter Willett, which corroborates Russell’s admissions.’

  At that, I was startled. With a cry that was almost a yelp, Mistress Mountford got to her feet, her mouth agape.

  ‘By the Lord Jesus!’ she blurted, almost swaying where she stood. ‘It’s creeping out, sooner than I feared-’

  ‘Be silent!’ Her husband’s command rang out harshly, at which the lady fell back into her chair as if pushed. With an effort, Mountford faced me.

  ‘What does this mean, Belstrang?’ He demanded. ‘You’re not a Justice now… are you here at the behest of others? You carry confessions, you say - but by what authority?’

  ‘I’ll come to that,’ I said; on a sudden, I felt oddly calm. For good measure, I fumbled in my doublet and drew out one of the false statements. ‘I have here another sworn admission, from a Spaniard named Sebastien,’ I went on. ‘I was unfortunate enough to find myself at close quarters with him, in a trow on the river. We were returning from Bristol, where I observed the unloading of a consignment of your cannons. In short, he tried to kill me - but as you can see, he failed.’

  With that, I waited. From the corner of my eye, I saw Maria Mountford cast her eyes downwards in dismay. Her husband, however, appeared composed.

  ‘Well now… you have been most assiduous,’ he said, after a moment. ‘And all because my father, in his confusion, asked a favour of you? Perhaps it slipped your mind when I told you he was prone to fancies, so that we even fear for his sanity?’

  ‘Nothing has slipped my mind, sir,’ I replied. ‘And my journey proved most fruitful. In short, I now know that your uncle was not killed in an explosion at the foundry, for there was none. He was slain by Peter Willett, to stop his mouth after he uncovered the treachery that was being done.’

  ‘Indeed? How interesting.’ Mountford’s tone was icy now. ‘And by whose order do you imagine such a crime was done?’

  For answer, I merely returned the man’s gaze. A moment passed, whereupon he turned to his wife and, to my surprise, put out a han
d to her.

  ‘My dear, you are distressed,’ he said, with a concern that was blatantly false. ‘Belstrang has been precipitate in coming here with these allegations… more, he has insulted us both. I pray you, withdraw and let me deal with him.’

  And with that he drew her to her feet, doubtless expecting her to make some attempt at composure and leave. In that, however, he was thwarted.

  ‘Deal with him?’ His wife echoed, in a shrill voice. ‘Aye, so you shall, for you always do! What weapons will you deploy this time? Threats, bribery… a promise to drop a word in the right ear?’ And to my embarrassment she turned to me, her face now flushed with bitterness.

  ‘Have a care, Master Belstrang,’ she threw out. ‘You know not who you treat with. And if you accept an offer to stay here this night – as you will – then my advice is to sleep with a poniard under your pillow! That, or wield a very long spoon with which to eat your supper… God save you, sir, and good-night!’

  And having said her piece – a well-delivered parting speech, I must admit – the lady turned from her husband, tugging her sleeve from his grip. Thereafter she summoned what dignity remained to her, and walked to the door without swaying once.

  Yet, no sooner had she left the room than Francis Mountford faced me again, a cool smile now in place. ‘Your pardon,’ he said in a bland voice. ‘My wife is out of sorts today… likely some woman’s trouble. Yet as she intimated, I offer our hospitality - without condition. The evening draws in, and having ridden all he way from Gloucester, both you and your horse will require rest and sustenance. Dine with me, and let’s see how me may move forward from this… these matters you have uncovered. I trust you will accept?’