“This will not be a full-time engagement, Master Cheswis,” he said. “You will only be required from time to time, as the need arises. Join us and I will make sure that a new constable is found forthwith.”
I was left with little option. The implication was clear. Refuse and Sir William would make sure I was burdened with the role for as long as he saw fit. I sighed and nodded almost imperceptibly, but Brereton had already moved on to Simon, strolling slowly round the table and laying his hand on his shoulder.
“As for you, young man,” he said. “I suspect you will be less difficult to persuade than your brother, but I have an incentive that may suit you nevertheless. I understand that you are a follower of ‘Freeborn’ John Lilburne; that you have some sympathies with his political views.”
Simon looked up, puzzled. “I have read his works, sir,” he said.
“Quite so,” said Brereton. “Lilburne is currently a major in Colonel King’s regiment over at Newark. How would it be if, after a suitable period of time, I was to arrange for you to be transferred to Major Lilburne’s command?”
Simon sat bolt upright. “You can do that, sir?”
Brereton patted Simon gently on the shoulder. “Of course I can,” he said. “Think about it.”
“That needs little thought, sir,” said Simon. “I accept, of course. But what about Alexander? He is a family man. The life of an intelligencer will not be for him.”
“That will be for him to decide,” said Brereton. “I do, of course, have something for our taciturn bellman too. Mr Marbury, if you please…”
At the prompt, William Marbury, a tall, lank gentleman with an unsmiling, narrow mouth and a pointed chin, got to his feet and retrieved a small candle from the mantelpiece above the fireplace, placing it in the centre of the table. At the same time, the man who had introduced himself as Bromhall produced a taper and lit it from one of the sconces before lighting the candle on the table.
“One of yours, Mr Clowes?” asked Brereton, with an air of fake nonchalance.
“I-I imagine so, Sir William,” replied Alexander, his eyebrows arching upwards in surprise. “There are but two chandlers in Nantwich. There is a fair chance that this was made by me.”
“Just so. And I imagine that you would prefer to keep it this way?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
Brereton leaned across the table and gave Alexander a hard look. “It’s just that I have received a petition from a young chandler from Chester, a godly young man, who has been driven from his home town for his beliefs. He would settle here, but I have explained to him there is little room for another chandler and that he would be better served by relocating himself and his family to Manchester. I have asked Colonel Holland, the Governor of Manchester, who is in Nantwich this week, to secure a permit for him to trade there.”
Alexander bit his bottom lip thoughtfully and cleared his throat. “Then I have to thank you, sir,” he said, “but I am also the town bellman. How am I to fulfil my duties to the town, if I am serving you?”
Brereton waved his hand in dismissal. “I have thought of that,” he replied. “Mr Marbury has a young sergeant from Whitchurch in his troop who comes from a family of bellringers. I have it on good authority that the young man in question would relish the opportunity to become the bellman here.”
Alexander stiffened, the colour draining slowly from his face. “But, Sir William,” he implored. “Do not do this to me. My family has held the position of bellman for generations.”
“And so it shall remain, Mr Clowes,” said Brereton, in placatory tones. “I have made it clear to Mr Marbury that his man will serve as interim bellman only in the event of your absence. You need not concern yourself.” There followed a few seconds silence while Brereton allowed the implications of what he had said to sink in. It was Thomas Croxton who broke the spell.
“Well, I think that concludes our business, gentlemen,” he proclaimed. “It’s all settled, then. You shall be hearing from me in due course. Is there anything else that you require from us?”
There were many times in the following months when I bitterly regretted what I said next, that I should have kept my counsel. However, an idea occurred to me that offered the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.
The previous Sunday, I had kept my promise to Thomas Steele, the Chester cheese merchant and erstwhile Governor of Beeston Castle. There was little I could do to prevent his execution the following day for his perceived cowardice in surrendering the castle he had held to Thomas Sandford’s small band of firelocks without a fight, but I could, at least, offer the man some words of comfort. I did not reveal the treachery of his brother-in-law, Hugh Furnival, for I did not want to burden Steele with feelings of hatred in his final hours. Instead, we talked about the previous week’s battle and eventually about our mutual interest in the cheese business. It was then that Steele gave me the name of one William Seaman, a merchant from Chester, who would, he said, help me achieve my ambition of introducing the wonders of Cheshire cheese to the people of London. If I could only get access to Chester, I would not only have the opportunity to speak to Seaman, but would also be free to seek out James Skinner, with a view to working out a way to return him to his family.
“Can you get me a permit to visit Chester?” I asked. “I have some business I wish to carry out there.” I knew as soon as I opened my mouth that I had made a mistake, because Brereton’s eyes opened wide, and he looked at me with renewed interest.
“Chester?” he said. “There may be something you can do for me there. It may take a little while for our people in Chester to secure a trader’s pass for you, but I will see what I can arrange.”
And with that, we were ushered out into the street.
On reflection, I was pleased that I would get the opportunity to keep my pledge to the Skinner brothers, but I slept uneasily that night. I realised that my career as an intelligencer was not over. On the contrary. It had only just begun.
Chapter 4
Nantwich – Monday March 4th, 1644
Once Brereton had departed for London, life in Nantwich gradually began to return to normal. Although we had been immensely grateful for their intervention, the soldiers from Lancashire were threatening to overburden the town, and so it was with no little relief that we watched them march off in the direction of Manchester with Sir Thomas Fairfax at their head, his personal cornet fluttering in the breeze.
In the meantime, the mood of the townsfolk began to lighten as people became aware that Byron’s army was well and truly on the back foot. Crewe Hall and Doddington Hall were both retaken by Colonel Booth and his garrison forces in early February, making the surrounding countryside significantly safer, so much so, in fact, that I was able to ride out to Hunsterson to retrieve the cheese and broken cart that I had been forced to abandon after Skinner and I had been attacked by Hugh Furnival’s thugs six weeks previously. The market also began to return to normal as farmers and traders from the nearby villages once more began to throng our narrow streets. Arthur Sawyer and I were kept busy, as were the town’s ale-tasters and leave-lookers, whilst the gaunt, hollow-cheeked figure of Andrew Hopwood, the town bailiff, was a regular sight, feeding a steady stream of drunkards and vagrants through the gaol on Pillory Street. Even the weather slowly improved, bitter snow and ice eventually giving way to the blustery showers of early spring.
One evening in mid-February, I was disturbed from my dinner by the arrival of a lone rider from Shrewsbury, who presented himself at my house on Pepper Street. The man, dressed unostentatiously in servants’ attire, rode a tired-looking black gelding, which had the appearance of an animal rented for the purpose of the ride. However, I was more interested in the bay mare being led alongside him, which whickered in recognition as I emerged into the street.
I was overjoyed. I had wondered whether I would ever see my beloved Demeter again. I had missed her greatly since lending her to Alice Furnival for the purpose of escaping the clutches of those who would imprison
her for treachery, but Alice, true to her word, had sent her back.
“I kept her fed and looked after proper, just as my mistress ordered,” said the rider, a muscular man in his middle years with greying hair and protruding teeth, who introduced himself as a groom in Alice’s household. “She’s a proper mare, that one, sir, if you don’t mind me saying so. You’re lucky to have her.”
“You’re in the right of it, for sure,” I agreed, as Demeter nuzzled my neck. I was somewhat taken aback, as I had not realised that the Furnivals had done so well for themselves as to be able to afford a stables of their own, but I thanked the groom and invited him inside for some food and ale. I was generally loath to share Mrs Padgett’s veal and ham pie with anyone, but it would have been churlish to send the man on his way hungry.
“How fares your mistress?” I asked, once the groom was settled.
“Fair to middling, sir,” replied the groom. “She misses my master, that is clear, but she busies herself with the care of her children. She asked me to give you this,” he added. Reaching inside a leather bag, he pulled out a small pouch full of coin and a sealed letter.
“Enough to cover the rental for your mare for a month,” he explained, through a mouthful of pie. I had not expected to be paid for the loan of Demeter, but I was more interested in the letter. I tore open the seal and began to read;
Dear Daniel,
There are no words I can write which can sufficiently express the sorrow I feel and the guilt which I bear for my part in the events of these past weeks. I do not deserve the forgiveness and understanding which you have shown to me despite the hurt I have caused. Please accept my heartfelt thanks for all your help.
Yours in friendship,
Alice
And that was it. Nothing else. I don’t know what else I expected, if the truth be told. Certainly not a belated declaration of love, nor was I anticipating a grovelling apology, even after nearly ending up being killed on her account, for I knew that her loyalty to her king and her husband would always far outweigh any vestige of feeling she once held for me.
Pursing my lips, I folded the letter and placed it on the mantelpiece. Once the groom left, I would toss it on the fire, but not until then, of course. Suddenly, as if he were intentionally trying to make things worse, the groom spoke again.
“I don’t know what happened between you and Mistress Furnival, sir, but she holds you in great regard. You must have been a great friend of my master.”
“Aye,” I said, smiling ruefully. “I suppose you could say we shared a common interest.”
***
Although the visit of Alice’s groom was unsettling, it did carry the benefit of drawing a firm line under my relationship with my first love, and, when placed against the other positive things happening in my life at that time, the episode soon faded into insignificance.
One of the most gratifying changes was the gradually improving health of Jack Wade, the young soldier who had lost his leg helping Alexander and myself chase Hugh and Alice Furnival across the Cheshire countryside. Overcome by guilt, I had taken him into my household to allow him to recuperate, and offered him a position as an apprentice once his wounds were healed. Although the constant sound of his flat Birmingham vowels made me wish for peace and quiet occasionally, his good-natured exchanges with Mrs Padgett, with whom he got on famously, added to the atmosphere of the house, lightening the mood and adding a certain vibrancy to everyone’s step…except his own, of course. Despite the loss of his leg, Jack was showing remarkable resilience. Within a couple of weeks of January’s battle, he had already been clumping around the house on crutches and lending a hand with the market stall on Saturdays. Once his stump began to be less painful, we paid a visit to a carpenter, who fashioned a wooden leg for him, held in place by leather straps.
By the end of February, he was able to help with the scheduled kindling in my wich house on Great Wood Street. Although he was in no fit state to manoeuvre the heavy barrows of salt around the storeroom, he proved himself to be an eager student of the walling process, spending the whole four days of the kindling with Gilbert Robinson, my head waller, learning how to mix the correct portions of cows’ blood, egg-white, and ale with the brine in each of the six leads at the different stages of the process. John and Ann Davenport also helped with the kindling, as did their daughter Martha, all three refusing any kind of consideration for their help; their way, I imagined, of showing gratitude for my help in clearing John’s name the previous month.
The biggest change in my life, however, was Elizabeth Brett, the young widow with whom I had fallen in love and to whom I had pledged my future. Having solved the murder of her husband, Ralph, I had expected little more from her than her thanks. I had certainly not thought it possible that I would once again be able to feel the otherworldly sense of euphoria that I had experienced with Alice all those years ago in the fields around Barthomley, but there was something about the honey-coloured lustre of Elizabeth’s hair, the tone of her voice, and the line of that strange scar on her forehead that had the power to reduce me to a feckless halfwit. More than once during these curiously peaceful February days, Alexander was forced to tell me to remove the stupid grin from my face, for fear of being taken for an imbecile.
Mrs Padgett, once she realised Elizabeth posed no threat to her livelihood, also appeared to approve of the relationship, and, as February wore on, Elizabeth began to spend more time during the day at my house on Pepper Street. It was a rare pleasure to return home at lunchtime to find all three of the women in my life waiting for me; including Amy, Mrs Padgett’s granddaughter, who had taken an immediate shine to young Ralph, Elizabeth’s son, parading him around town as if he were a new toy.
For appearance’s sake, I decided not to move into Elizabeth’s more substantial house on Beam Street, at least not immediately, for it was too soon after Ralph Brett’s untimely death for such a liaison to be deemed right and proper. But it did not stop us from making plans for the future. We talked of a summer wedding, of setting up home in Beam Street but retaining Mrs Padgett as our housekeeper. Jack Wade and Mrs Padgett would be allowed to continue living in the Pepper Street house, which I wished to retain, not least because it came with the best possible pitch on market day.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth sold the mercer’s business she had inherited to Gilbert Kinshaw. The overweight merchant, like all predators, did not waste time in securing his prey, and the transaction was completed within a couple of weeks, which was just as well, because neither Elizabeth nor I knew where to start with regards to sorting out her husband’s affairs. There was a stock of fabric and numerous books detailing purchases and sales, but, as Elizabeth had already agreed a price with Kinshaw, she just left him to it. I felt sure Elizabeth was being fleeced, but I had neither the knowledge nor inclination to prove it. After all, the money Elizabeth received for the business was still a tidy sum by any standards.
Elizabeth offered to buy a new horse for me to replace my dead carthorse, Goodwyn, and expressed an interest in learning to make cheese, so as to boost the amount of cheese available to sell. She even suggested that once we were married, we should use her money to buy a herd of milking cows and add them to my brother George’s herd in Barthomley, but I stopped short of accepting that and told Elizabeth to save her money until times were more secure.
Of course, during this time, my joy at how things were turning out was constantly tempered by the knowledge that I could, at any time, be called upon by Croxton to serve Parliament’s cause in some as yet unexplained capacity. As you might expect, when I finally got round to telling Elizabeth about it, she was somewhat less than pleased. At first, I thought I had got away with it, for when I broached the subject, Elizabeth said nothing. However, when I returned home from patrolling the earthworks the following evening, I realised that a reckoning was due, for perched in front of my fireplace were Marjery Clowes and Rose Bailey, while their respective partners, Alexander and Simon, sat behind them on the stairs,
both wearing worried frowns. I saw immediately that neither man had got around to telling their partners about our meeting with Brereton either.
Elizabeth was stood by the kitchen door, with her arms wrapped protectively around her waist, and when she saw me her face crumpled. I saw from the streaks on her face that she had been crying.
“How could you do this to me, Daniel?” she sobbed. “I have just got used to losing one husband. I have no wish to lose another. Do you think so little of me? I had held you to be a better man than that.”
“And what do you suppose gives you the right to involve Alexander?” spat Marjery, her voice shaking with anger. “He has responsibilities, you know. We have two children to consider. You almost got my husband killed at Dorfold Hall, and now you plan to swan off together in the name of this cursed parliament, running the risk of being marked out as traitors.”
“We have no choice, Elizabeth,” I said. I explained the ultimatum that Brereton had given us. “It’s for our future. One task, that is all, I swear,” I said, but even as I opened my mouth I realised I could make no such promise.
Meanwhile, Rose Bailey merely sat morosely, wrapping strands of auburn hair around her fingers, saying nothing. It was clear that she already knew that Simon would not be able to resist the temptation to go to Newark, regardless of the conditions set by Brereton.
I turned myself back to Elizabeth and saw the hurt in her face. “What is it you wish us to do?” I asked, addressing all three of them.
“There is little you can do,” conceded Elizabeth. “You have made your pledge to Brereton, but one thing is certain. There will be no wedding until this obligation has been fulfilled and you are free from any debt to Brereton. After that, if you are still alive, your commitment is to Ralph and me, do I make myself understood?”
I swallowed and nodded meekly. “Perfectly,” I said. I would have done anything for Elizabeth at that moment. I would not have blamed her if she had returned to Beam Street that day and shut me out of her life forever, but she had chosen me, and at that moment I realised that my life belonged irrevocably to her.
A Soldier of Substance Page 3