“You’ll find her in the drawing room next to the Great Hall,” said Rutter. “She is with Mr Farrington.”
Rutter trotted down the stone steps and crossed the inner courtyard, passing by the entrance to the Eagle Tower, the imposing stone structure which dominated Lathom. Adjacent to it stood the striking brick building with plaster and lathe upper stories which formed the main house, holding the Great Hall, the Banqueting Hall, and Lady Charlotte’s own living quarters, as well as those of her main guests and the garrison officers. As he entered the main building, Rutter paused to acknowledge the presence of the six men descending the steps, who he knew would be entrusted with the defence of the house and therefore everyone’s lives. Six captains in all, they were led by the Major of the House, William Farmer, a ruddy-faced Scotsman with many years’ experience in the low countries, who saluted Rutter as he passed him. Following him were the other five captains: Ogle, Ratcliffe, Rawsthorne, Fox, and Chisnall, the latter having just returned from attending his lordship, the Earl of Derby, in Chester.
The other five officers ignored the cleric, but he could tell from their demeanour that they too had just met with Lady Charlotte and had been left in no doubt where their duties lay.
The drawing room next to the Great Hall was a bright east-facing chamber, which caught the morning sun. With its wooden cross-beamed ceiling and oak wall panelling, it was one of the best-appointed rooms in the house. The Stanley coat of arms was positioned prominently above the fireplace, and a tapestry displaying the eagle and child legend of the earl’s family hung from the wall. It was not surprising that Lady Derby lost no opportunity to use the room as a means of reminding friends and foes alike of the status of her husband’s family.
It was just as well that she did, mused Rutter, for much of Lathom House was beginning to show its age. The huge complex was far too large to be run efficiently, and the many disused parts of the house, much of which was affected by damp, no longer provided comfortable accommodation. The days were long gone when the house was able to receive ‘two kings, their trains and all,’ as the old ballad went. The earl and Lady Derby, he knew, preferred their residences at Knowsley and on the Isle of Man, but Lathom offered the one thing these could not offer: a defensible position that was worthy of any castle.
Rutter found Lady Derby standing by the window, alongside a slim, distinguished-looking gentleman in his fifties. Lady Derby appeared in a pensive mood, contemplating the scene in the inner courtyard, where Captain Rawsthorne was distributing powder and shot in advance of a change of watch on the battlements and towers. The sun highlighted the countess’s large eyes and full, almost fleshy features, making light of her thick eyebrows and making her look younger than her forty-four years. Recognising his presence, she gave Rutter a contemplative smile and bade him take a seat on one of two ornate oak settles arranged around a low table in the middle of the room.
“Gamekeepers and fowlers,” she said, turning to again watch Rawsthorne’s group of marksmen, as they made their way, one by one, to their positions. “You know, Samuel, sometimes I wonder whether I have the right to demand that these brave men risk their lives for this place, but I cannot allow my husband’s birthright to be surrendered without a fight.”
“Do not doubt yourself, my lady,” said William Farrington of Worden, the man standing by her side. “This place has been under siege for nine months already. You have been confined to your house and gardens, but that abominable churl Rigby is no closer to achieving his aims. Have faith, my lady. Just because Fairfax and Holland have decreed that you must surrender Lathom, it does not mean that anything will change. We must stand firm.”
Rutter nodded enthusiastically in agreement. Farrington knew what he was talking about. Having served as High Sheriff of Lancashire only eight years previously, and more recently as one of the King’s Commissioners of Array, the grey-haired and moustachioed Farrington was held in high regard by the countess. He had come to Lathom House seeking a source of refuge from parliamentary action and was now, alongside Rutter himself, Lady Derby’s key advisor in tactical matters.
“Mr Farrington is right, my lady,” affirmed Rutter. “Rigby and his men have been busy digging holes in the ground these past days. It does not take a genius to work out what is being planned out there. I cannot be certain, but I would hazard a guess that Fairfax has decided upon a siege. We should thank the Lord for that. May I ask what it is that concerns your ladyship?”
“Only that I have received no news from our secret friend. There has been no sign of him for the past week.” The countess spoke with the flowery yet nasal tones of her French homeland. Although it was eighteen years since she had married James Stanley, the then Lord Strange, she had not lost the accent which Rutter felt defined much of her being; haughty and not averse to using self-dramatisation to get her way, yet stubbornly proud and loyal to those who were loyal to her.
“I think he will contact us when he has more news to impart,” said Rutter, carefully. “It is safest if we do not attempt to contact him directly. His identity is best protected if only your ladyship, Mr Farrington, and I are aware of his recruitment to our cause. In any case, he is probably too busy digging with the rest of them.”
A hint of a smile touched the corner of Farrington’s mouth, causing his moustache to twitch slightly. “It appears that your efforts to deceive that rebel captain, Ashurst, have succeeded, Reverend. You are to be congratulated.”
“Indeed. A stroke of genius, Samuel,” added the countess.
Rutter allowed himself a private smile of self-congratulation, although, in truth, he realised he had benefitted largely from sheer good fortune. Captain John Ashurst was from Dalton, only two miles away from Lathom House, and Rutter could scarcely believe his luck when his old school friend had been among the parliamentarian party sent to negotiate with Lady Derby the previous Saturday. During the negotiations, Rutter had managed to secure some time alone with Ashurst, who had been impressed by the show of strength the countess had put on for their benefit. The garrison had lined the walls of the house and the towers, showing their full strength, whilst Lady Derby had given a guard of honour in the courtyard and the Great Hall to the two parliamentarian colonels, Assheton and Rigby, who had been charged with carrying out the negotiations. The two colonels had left that day with nothing more than an agreement that the countess would present a series of counter-proposals.
Rutter, however, had made sure that Ashurst had departed with something that he would remember. Blinded by the pomp, ceremony, and military strength of the countess, Ashurst had been completely taken in by Rutter’s claim that a shortage of victuals meant that a siege was what Lady Derby feared most. Rutter had seen from the besieging forces’ preparatory work that his ruse had worked.
“This was but a small service,” said the chaplain, trying hard to sound humble. “The real success has been your ladyship’s success these past days in playing for time.”
“This is certainly true,” agreed Farrington. “It is nigh on two weeks since the Manchester Committee ordered that the house be reduced by force and fully nine days since Fairfax sent your ladyship a request to listen to his proposals. You have negotiated most skilfully, if I may say so, although I have to admit it is fortunate that Fairfax appears incapable of dealing severely with women who stand up to him. I cannot imagine him being quite so indulgent with the earl, if he had been here.”
“Hush, William,” said the countess, the faint hint of a warning in her voice. “Sir Thomas is on the wrong side, but he is a gentleman for all that. It is the quality of men he sends here that marks him out for failure. Ralph Assheton is a competent officer, who has shown the necessary level of respect, but I would not have that insolent snake Rigby sully these halls again, and as for the arrogant Welsh dwarf Fairfax sent in his stead-”
Rutter laughed and rocked back on the settle. The countess was referring to an artillery officer named Morgan, who had been sent to the house the previous Sunday with Fairf
ax’s final list of demands, but who had been so peremptory in his manner that Lady Derby had sent him packing with the words that she was ready to receive the parliamentarians’ “utmost violence, trusting in God both for protection and deliverance.”
“You are right, my lady,” said Rutter. “Many of Sir Thomas’s men are incorrigible churls, but that does not mean they must not be taken seriously. We will hear from our secret friend soon enough, but, in the meantime, we must prepare to fight, for sooner or later there will be a reckoning here, and we must be ready for it.”
Chapter 12
Chester – Thursday March 7th, 1644
As those who know me well will readily testify, being confined within the stinking privy of a Chester whorehouse, whilst trying to prevent myself from being smothered by the breasts of one of the establishment’s half-dressed strumpets, is not the kind of situation with which I feel particularly comfortable, nor is it one to which I am accustomed.
And yet that is precisely the position in which Alexander Clowes and I now found ourselves. The effect of fear on the human mind is a curious thing, for as we hid from the hue and cry that had been instigated to track us, I could think of little but the delicious blanc manger that my housekeeper Mrs Padgett had cooked for me the previous week.
Fortunately, the sight of Annie and her ample bosom succeeded not only in taking my mind off the increasingly likely prospect of both Alexander and I being hanged for spying, but also in masking the unremittingly baleful stench that was emanating from the pit below my nether regions; for hanging between Annie’s cleavage was a vial of perfume: a small glass bottle encased in metal, carrying the crest of an eagle carrying a child. I smelled rose water, orange flowers, and jasmine, but I was more interested in the motif.
“The House of Stanley!” I breathed.
Annie put her hand across my mouth. “Quiet, you jolt-head,” she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger. “You’ll get us all killed.”
Alexander, for his part, stood motionless, his considerable frame pressed against the wattle and daub of the privy walls, great globules of sweat visible under his tousled sandy hair. My friend nodded to me and put his outstretched finger to his lips, reinforcing Annie’s words.
As I sat there, I contemplated the chain of events that had brought us to The Boot Inn and wondered how it had come to pass that a lowly town constable, wich house owner, and part-time cheese vendor could find himself embroiled in such a web of subterfuge and danger. What on Earth could have possessed me to carry out such an ill-advised mission into the very heart of the royalist cause in Cheshire?
Just as I was contemplating this, heavy footsteps approached from across the courtyard, and the door rattled violently.
“Open up!” came a gruff voice from outside. “Who’s in there?” It was a voice I knew well and one which filled me with no small amount of trepidation.
I caught a flicker of a smile touch the corner of Annie’s lips and realised that she too had recognised the voice. “Jem Bressy,” she growled. “Piss off, you pribbling, ill-bred lout. Can’t a woman have a shit in peace?”
I sensed hesitation from behind the door and held my breath, expecting the door to be smashed down at any second. Bressy was not a man you would expect to tolerate being spoken to in such a way. Annie, however, as I was later to discover, was full of surprises.
“Oh, it’s you, Annie,” said Bressy, eventually. “Alright...I’ll be back in five minutes, mind. There’ll be a guard waiting just by the steps.”
All three of us exhaled simultaneously as the footsteps retreated back across the yard and up the stairs towards the first of the bedrooms. I shot Annie a questioning look, but she responded with a nonchalant shrug.
“I’m a whore in a garrison town,” she whispered. “What do you expect?”
She had a point, of course, but why she had gone to such risk to protect Alexander and I was beyond me. Outside, I could hear the landlord, Thomas Corbett, being arrested. The sound of splintering wood suggested that Bressy intended for him to pay with more than just his freedom. Annie, I realised, could expect little better. She was a pretty girl, her doe-eyed, freckled face framed by straight brown locks, giving one the impression of her being much more innocent than she was. I shuddered to think what that face would look like once Bressy and his thugs had finished with her.
“You are risking a great deal for us,” I whispered, “but I fear it will be all in vain.”
“Maybe,” she said, pushing herself from my lap, “but that will not be decided today. In a town like this you always need a second plan...and we have plenty. Look behind you.”
As I wriggled my body round, a conspiratorial grin spread across her face. A panel in the back wall of the privy slid to one side, and the friendly face of Charles Corbett appeared.
Chapter 13
Chester – Thursday March 7th, 1644
It had not occurred to me to question why Thomas Corbett had built a privy against the side of his house in an enclosed courtyard, rather than in the yard to the rear of the building, where it would have been more accessible to the gong farmers. But now, as I watched his son beckoning me to crawl through the breach in the back of the privy wall, the reason became clear.
“Not a word,” whispered Annie. “Just go. I will keep Bressy at bay as long as I can.” I would have nodded my thanks had I been able to do so without burying my nose into Annie’s bosom. Instead I just smiled weakly, and, extricating myself from between her and the seat, stumbled through the gap into the room beyond, closely followed by Alexander.
To my surprise, I found we were in a ground floor room that had been converted into a bed chamber. A heavy oak blanket chest had been pulled away from in front of the hole in the wall, above which hung a tapestry, displaying three women walking through a wood. On the other side of the room stood a joined oak bedstead, in which lay an indignant-looking old lady, who was staring at me as though I had just robbed her. I turned to Charles Corbett, who was busy trying to manoeuvre the blanket chest back into place.
“My grandmother,” he grunted, by way of explanation. “Don’t mind her. It’s just that they’re less likely to want to search the chamber of a bedridden old lady.”
“But why go to the trouble of hiding us in the privy?” I asked. “Why not bring us straight here?”
“Sometimes they send people round the back of the building and search our private quarters as well as the tavern,” said Charles. “I needed to make sure that didn’t happen. Now please make haste, sirs,” he urged. “There’s no time to lose. We must get you out of here before they raise hue and cry and close all the exits to the city.”
Alexander and I helped Charles replace the wall panel and blanket chest before following him along a corridor, through a small kitchen area, and into the scullery, which I could see was located by the back door. I realised that this was not the first time that Charles Corbett had carried out such an exercise, and I marvelled at the young man’s courage.
“How do you propose we make our escape?” I asked. “Surely the Eastgate will be too risky?”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Charles, reassuringly. “I have an alternative method.” With that, he reached under one of the worktops and dragged out a wicker basket, from which he pulled two long black robes.
Alexander took one of the garments from Corbett and stared at him in disbelief. “Cassocks?” he said, incredulously. “What are we supposed to do with these?”
“I’ll explain on the way,” replied Charles, a hint of impatience entering his voice. “Just put them on. We haven’t got much time.” We quickly donned the plain black garments over the top of our clothes, and, when he was satisfied, Charles opened the door to the small alleyway which led between the rows from Eastgate Street to the front of the cathedral. Once in front of the magnificent red sandstone building, we skirted to the left, past the south tower and cathedral entrance, until we reached the monastic buildings on the northern side of the church.
&nbs
p; “We should stay away from the city walls as much as we can,” explained Charles. “You will be less conspicuous that way. And stop looking so ill-at-ease,” he added, sensing our discomfort. “If anyone asks, you are the new vicar and curate at Plemstall, a village just north of here. I am taking you now to one of our collaborators, a lecturer in divinity here, who will make sure you get out of the city. You will be safe with him, for the church here is a hotbed of royalist support, and he will not attract suspicion, especially as he retains the trust of Bishop Bridgeman himself.”
“That does not surprise me,” I said. “Sir William Brereton seems to have eyes and ears everywhere.”
Corbett ignored my comment and began to lead us through the cloister adjoining the northern part of the nave. “Once you are out of the city,” he continued, “you must walk to Mickle Trafford, a small village but three miles from here. Ask for Samuel Challinor. He is a blacksmith and farrier. I will arrange for your horses to be delivered there.”
“And what about my brother?” I asked. “We have not seen him since he disappeared into Gloverstone.”
“If he shows up at The Boot, we will help him, of course, but, if he has any sense, he will lie low for a while or try to escape across the river to Handbridge or along the banks of the Dee. In truth, he is on his own.”
I nodded in resignation and allowed Corbett to lead us across the cloister garth to an imposing building which proved to be the refectory.
“You must wait here,” he said. “I will leave you now, but our man will be with you shortly.” With that, he disappeared through the door of the refectory, closing it silently behind him. I kept my eyes fixed on the entrance, expecting him to reappear at any moment, so I was somewhat taken aback when I heard a gentle cough from behind me. I wheeled round to find myself face-to-face with a kindly-looking man dressed in a black coat with a white collar. He was almost completely bald but had a look of serenity and calmness about him that immediately put me at my ease.
A Soldier of Substance Page 9