Deliverance: A Justice Belstrang Mystery

by John Pilkington

  He was pale and haggard, so that I berated myself silently for intending to leave him. But his mind was clear, despite the distressing news he had been obliged to hear: that his own son had not only betrayed him by trading illicitly, but had bespoken the death of John Mountford. It would have been hard for any man to bear. Now he sat in silence; he ate nothing, only taking sustenance from a hot posset that had been brought. Matters had been aired between us, almost to the point of exhaustion; the truth was not pretty, but at least it was out.

  Seeing that he should take charge, the High Sheriff spoke up with his natural authority.

  ‘I had word some days ago from Justice March, in Gloucester,’ he said. ‘He acted rightly and promptly – as have you, Belstrang. Even if your innate recklessness got you into trouble, once again.’

  He paused to drink, then eyed Sir Richard. ‘In God’s name, sir, I heartily wish you spoken to me of your suspicions, however vague. Now a nest of vipers has been uncovered – these Concord Men.’ He shook his head, and turned to me.

  ‘The list of names is long – and some of those on it confound me. Papists I might have expected, in view of the unfolding business on the Continent. But others are noblemen, merchants, men I trusted… some of them known to you. The late Giles Cobbett was among them.’

  At that I showed my surprise: Cobbett, whose vile abuse and slaying of his own daughter I had helped uncover the year before… the greedy landowner, whose wealth was never enough.

  ‘You know all of them, then?’ I asked. ‘The names?’

  Sandys nodded. ‘Your son has turned tell-tale, now that all is up,’ he said to Sir Richard. ‘Though I would be dishonest, were I to say that there’s any hope of him cheating the gallows. It’s a very grave matter. I can but offer you my sympathy, and my heartfelt condolences.’

  I glanced at Sir Richard, and was saddened: he looked a beaten man. He was holding his mug as if to warm his hands… and I saw them shake. He made no answer, but gazed down at the table. We were all silent for a while. I knew Francis had been confined to his chamber soon after Sandys’ arrival, and had been questioned at length. In the end he had babbled to try and save his own skin, which did not surprise me.

  ‘Your daughter-in-law… Mistress Maria,’ I ventured, at which Sir Richard looked up; the lady, I should add, was conspicuous by her absence, and had retired to her rooms. ‘I know she is not blameless, yet she tried to aid me,’ I said. ‘She has been foolish, perhaps…’

  But I trailed off as my friend shook his head.

  ‘Nay, Robert - I pray you, don’t excuse her. She chose to wed my son, knowing what sort of a man he was… he promised her riches, and made good on his promise.’ He let out a great sigh. ‘The foundries always paid well… we were productive and respected by all, including the King. Why in heaven’s name could Francis not have been content with that?’

  There was no answer. Turning the matter over, I found myself pitying Maria Mountford, as I pictured her trying in vain to pull the ruffian William away from me. That one’s fate was already sealed: he was in irons under guard, and would be taken to the prison at Worcester. He was a wanted man, it transpired, and would pay the highest price.

  I emerged from my reverie, for Sandys was speaking. ‘In truth, I have no cause to take your kinswoman into custody, Sir Richard,’ he said. ‘You will make your own choices. It may be that you will be called as a witness in time, but-’

  He broke off, as on a sudden Sir Richard banged a hand down on the table. And I was heartened at once, for I detected a spark in his eye. He was not yet himself, but somehow he would rise from this mire… I saw it, and rejoiced.

  ‘In God’s name, I’m just beginning to see how much I must do,’ he said fiercely. ‘I have been a fool and a milksop. I let Francis take decisions - I even allowed that damned physician to advise me. As for Maria and that companion of hers, they shall be separated. I never trusted the woman. Indeed, I believe I will have to look afresh at every one of my servants, and see whom I wish to keep.’

  ‘The stable-lad,’ I murmured, after a moment. ‘He too tried to aid me… he is courageous.’

  Sir Richard met my eye, and to my relief gave a nod. I found my mind drifting to Katherine, and her startling night-time visit to my bedside; yet I found no sympathy for her.

  ‘Indeed, we all have much to do,’ Sandys said, growing brisk. ‘Warrants have gone out for the conspirators – I use the term advisedly – to be taken and confined. As for the shipments of ordnance…’

  ‘In that matter, Sir Samuel, I beg you to give me leave to act,’ Sir Richard broke in. ‘As soon as I may, I will ride down to Dean and begin to set matters to rights. When the foundry reopens, it will be under a master I can trust.’

  He hesitated, then: ‘Somehow, I will have to make amends to the King for what’s occurred. If he considers me to blame, then I must answer the charges.’

  ‘Well, I’ll do what I can in that regard,’ Sandys told him. ‘My report will soon be in the hands of the Chief Justice. Yours, Belstrang’ - this with an approving glance at me – ‘I have already read, as you know. In truth, I would not be surprised if some acknowledgement comes your way in time, for what you did. I will not say reward… doubtless you are aware of the King’s partial manner in bestowing favours.’

  But despite the warmth of his tone, at that a gloom fell upon me. In the turmoil of recent days, I had managed to put aside my fears about losing Thirldon. On a sudden, I was most eager to return.

  ‘May I ride back to Worcester with you in the morning, sir?’ I asked. ‘I have urgent business at home, and have been away too long.’

  ‘Of course.’ The High Sheriff was eying me, as if turning some matter over. Finally, he said: ‘There is a name on the list of Concord Men that will be of interest to you. In truth, it came as a shock to me… a man I had considered a friend. You will know whom I speak of: he holds the post of Justice of the Peace, as well as acting coroner.’

  I stiffened, drawing a quick breath… and in an instant, a jumble of thoughts fell into place.

  Standish… of course.

  A memory sprang up, of Francis Mountford telling me how the coroner was a friend of his, who would direct a jury to give a verdict of misadventure upon my demise… I met the High Sheriff’s eye, but remained silent.

  ‘We’ll speak of it on the journey homewards,’ he said, with a nod. Facing Sir Richard, he added: ‘We must prevail on your hospitality this night, before taking our leave early. It’s not far, but time is short. In truth, I fear that certain of those men - the Concord Men, to use their own name - may be planning to escape. If indeed, they have not done so already.’

  It was another sobering thought… whereupon, still collecting my wits, I seized upon a notion. ‘Might I beg a favour of you, Sir Samuel?’ I asked. ‘That I be present when you send men to Justice Standish? I have some personal matters to see to-’

  ‘No, sir.’ The riposte was sharp, cutting me short. ‘I’ll not be a party to the settling of old scores. Half of Worcestershire knows of your feud with Standish. He’ll get his deserts, but in the proper manner.’

  I made no reply. In truth, despite everything the thought of Matthew Standish ending his days on the end of a hangman’s rope was not something I relished. I took a drink, and found Sir Richard’s gaze upon me.

  ‘I have much to thank you for, Robert,’ he said with a sigh. ‘In truth, had I known what I asked, I should never have begged your intervention in the matter of John’s death. Though you have brought some small relief: to know that his body was not ruined by any explosion is a comfort. We will hold a service for him in the church in Upton… I may even raise a monument.’

  He thought for a moment, then: ‘As for those rogues down at Lydney – Russell’s death is no more than he deserved. Though in truth I used to trust him, as I did Spry and others…’ he lowered his gaze. ‘What a cauldron of wickedness was brewed. I will forever blame myself for letting John – a man as trusting as he was uprigh
t and fair – go down there on my behalf. He uncovered the treachery, but perished for it.’

  Silence fell again, and this time it was not broken. Having said all that he wished for the present, Sandys rose, saying he had matters to attend to before retiring. His men – guards from the county militia - were being fed in the Foxhill kitchens before going to their billets in the outbuildings.

  Just then, the manor was become a garrison.

  I watched the High Sheriff go, then stood up myself… and to my surprise, I swayed a little. It was a timely reminder of my age, and of the fact that engaging in tussles with armed ruffians was something I should hence refrain from, forever. Had I not made some similar resolve already, back on the salt-marshes at Lydney? My memory was vague on the matter. I only knew that I ached in several places, not least my jaw. Recovering myself, I murmured something about a touch of vertigo, and told Sir Richard I would go to take my rest.

  ‘When a little time is passed, I beg you will return,’ he said, making the effort to rise himself. ‘You and your family are forever welcome. Yet I will understand if you choose not to accept the invitation.’

  But I met his eye, and nodded. ‘Of course I’ll visit. Hester and I would be glad of it.’

  ‘God bless you, Robert,’ was all he said. Whereupon I managed a tired smile and left him at his table. The knight and loyal subject of the crown had quitted his chamber of confinement, and was master of his estate once again.

  But he would have no heir to succeed him: the bitterest pill a man may swallow.

  ***

  I did not see Sir Richard again for a long while, and I need not speak of it now. Nor did I see Mistress Maria, or her companion. Along with Sir Samuel and his eight or nine men, I took my leave of Foxhill early in the morning as a mist rose from the Severn. Summer was passing, and the air was chill. The last person I spoke with was the young stable lad: another of my rescuers. It gave me pleasure to put money in his hand, and to observe his pride when I commended his courage.

  Thereafter, I mounted Leucippus and at last rode out of the stable yard, across the courtyard to the manor gates. Behind Sandys and myself rode a tight-knit party with two prisoners in their midst: William, dull-eyed, with head hanging… and Francis Mountford, staring ahead as if unconcerned at his plight. But I had caught his eye when he was brought from the house, and knew him for the dissembler he was. He suffered - and to his chagrin, he saw that I knew it.

  His wife, as I had told him in anger, would indeed make a pretty widow.

  Two hours of steady riding, and we reached Worcester – and seldom have I been so glad to pass through the Sudbury Gate and enter the old city. It was a Thursday, the streets were a-bustle and the cries of hawkers assailed me. I would have taken time to drink it all in before taking a welcome mug at the Old Talbot, but an urgency was upon me. Thirldon awaited, as did Hester and Childers… what news might also await me, I tried not to think upon.

  Around mid-day, with the Minster bells clanging, I at last took leave of Sir Samuel. The High Sheriff’s home was at Ombersley, north of the city, but he had much to do here. Having seen William taken off to the Castle prison, he sat his horse and faced me. Francis Mountford remained mounted nearby, guarded closely but unbound. He was still a nobleman, and would be found suitable accommodation in the house of some city worthy before he came to trial.

  ‘At the final turn, Belstrang, I find myself short of words,’ Sir Samuel said at last. ‘I would commend you, but it seems inadequate. Rest assured that The Chief Justice – and His Majesty too – will hear the whole of what has been done. I will write to Justice March too, in Gloucester; a choleric gentleman, I always thought - as impetuous as you. But his heart is true, as is his passion for justice… you are rare beasts, the two of you.’

  Whereupon he offered his hand, which I took readily. And we parted, wheeling our mounts: Sandys for the Guildhall and I for the West Gate, to take the road to my treasured estate. It was but weeks since I had left, yet it seemed like a year.

  I shook the reins, felt Leucippus respond - then on a sudden impulse I halted, causing him to blow his nostrils in irritation. The notion had flown to my mind again, as it had the evening before at Sir Richard’s table. For a moment, I sat in the saddle while the people of Worcester surged about me… then I made my decision.

  Was it rash, foolish, or merely sentimental? To this day, I do not know. All I can say is that I turned Leucippus and urged him away in the opposite direction. A few minutes later I had ridden to the door of Matthew Standish’s fine house, where I dismounted. I looked about for a boy to hold my horse, but saw only a ragged, barefoot girl, eying me impertinently. With a sigh, I made my request and held out the coin, which she accepted with a ready smile.

  And yet I did not return it; my heart was aflutter with mingled anger, anticipation and… what, fear? No matter: in a moment I had ascended the steps and knocked firmly on the door. From habit – for so it had become of late - I put my hand on my sword, feeling the reassuring coldness of its steel hilt. I had spared no effort to retrieve it, back at Foxhill.

  The door soon opened, and the familiar face of Standish’s servant appeared. At sight of me he blinked in surprise, then put on an apologetic look.

  ‘The Justice is at dinner, sir,’ he murmured. ‘Though if you care to wait a while, I’ll inform him of your coming.’

  ‘Do so,’ I said. ‘As for my waiting, I expect there will be no need. Tell him I’m come from the Forest of Dean, on a matter of great importance.’

  With raised eyebrows, the servant nodded. Once admitted, I made my way into the wide hallway, stopping before the door to Standish’s private closet: the scene of a number of verbal debacles between him and I. While I waited, I took a moment to try to straighten my appearance. I was painfully aware of how scuffed and bedraggled I appeared, after recent adventures. And yet, why should it matter now? Soon I was scolding myself, and working up a degree of anger in the process. It did not abate as the Justice himself appeared - somewhat soon, to my satisfaction. Indeed, he was still wiping his mouth with a napkin as he came up, before stopping with a frown.

  ‘We have business, you and I,’ I said shortly. ‘And it will not wait… shall we go in?’

  TWENTY

  It took less time than I expected to lay the entire matter forth. By the time I had finished Standish was seated behind his cluttered table, gazing downwards. The meeting had begun with the two of us on our feet, but after the truth emerged in all its starkness, he had slumped down heavily.

  ‘There you have it – Master Justice,’ I said. ‘I suspect you have a very short time to settle your affairs… perhaps only an hour or two. I would advise alacrity.’

  He looked up then, and fixed me with a look of bafflement. ‘In God’s name, why do you do this?’ He said at last. ‘You and I are enemies… we’ve been at daggers drawn for years. I cannot divine your purpose.’

  ‘My purpose?’ I echoed. ‘In truth I haven’t thought on it much, beyond salving my own conscience. I may despise you – and a part of me would like to see you hauled away in irons – yet we go back a long way. As I recall, you were not always such an avaricious man… then, that was before you married.’

  I let that hang in the air, whereupon he looked away. A memory flew up, of Dorothy Standish and her foppish companion mocking me in the street, the day that Hester and I went to see the play of Faustus. I confess that it caused me no regret, to think of what might lie ahead for that woman.

  ‘Good Christ… I must think.’

  On a sudden Standish was on his feet, as if the urgency of the situation had only now struck home. An hour or two, I had said: the man’s agitation grew as I watched.

  ‘I… I know not what to say to you,’ he mumbled. His gaze wandered about the room: along the bookshelves where his fine library rested, to the portrait of his father who had also been a magistrate. I had never thought to pity this man but, thinking on what lay ahead of him, I almost did. At the least, my pent-up
anger was gone. Taking up my hat, I turned to go out, then paused.

  ‘What will you do?’ I asked. ‘Or rather, where will you go?’

  ‘My son… he has a small estate in Ireland,’ came the answer. ‘Meath… I hear it’s wild and bleak, but…’ he spoke absently, his mind elsewhere. Then he stiffened and looked up sharply. ‘I beg you to forget that. It’s only a notion… I must think.’

  ‘Perhaps you should,’ I replied.

  And I left him: an agitated figure, scarcely knowing which way to turn.

  I have said that, to this day, I do not know why I did what I did. I had allowed a man guilty of corruption to evade capture and certain execution. I had also taken revenge, of a sort. But in so doing I had torn off the burr that had chafed me for years, and felt relief. Standish faced an uncertain, nay a desperate future… if indeed he had a future at all.

  It would serve. I only hoped that no-one would suspect me of being the one who gave him the chance to take flight.

  As I left the house under the uncertain eyes of the servant, a voice floated from the main parlour. Dorothy Standish was still at dinner… what words she would utter when she heard what had to be done, I did not care to think on.

  In the street, I paid off my barefoot horse-holder and took up the reins; in her care, Leucippus appeared docile enough. I favoured the child with a smile before getting myself mounted, watched her walk away… and then the weight descended again: the one that had first settled on me that day at Thirldon, when George’s letter had brought such dismay.

  A half hour later, as the afternoon drew on, I at last rode through the gates and into the courtyard, where I saw my groom Elkins carrying a bale of hay from the stable. At sight of me he started, then dropped the bale and hurried forward.

  ‘By heaven, sir,’ he exclaimed. ‘We thought something bad had happened. Mistress Hester got a letter, said you were in some trouble…’

  ‘I’m perfectly well, Elkins,’ I lied. Dismounting stiffly, I handed him the reins. ‘This fellow needs a good rub down, a meal and a long rest. He’s had some hard usage of late. Will you do your utmost?’