Astounded, I leapt from my hiding place and sprinted over to where Bootle had vanished into the earth and inspected the ground closely. No wonder I had not been able to find the tunnel before. On the face of it, the trapdoor was completely invisible. However, close inspection revealed a small metal ring lying in an indent between two of the flagstones. I lifted the ring and saw that it was attached to the adjacent stone. Hooking my fingers through the ring, I pulled hard, and, sure enough, the trapdoor sprung open. It was narrow, no more than two feet square, but heavy nonetheless, for stone had been laid on top of the wooden trapdoor, underneath which were two iron grips to open and close it, depending upon whether you were entering or leaving the tunnel.
I glanced quickly down into the hole and noticed there was perhaps a three foot drop, from where steps led downwards into near-darkness. I caught the sight of a faint light receding down the tunnel. Above ground, I looked into the distance and saw that Lawrence was still a hundred yards away. I had a decision to make. I had no lantern, so if I waited for Lawrence, then Bootle would be out of my sight and therefore out of my reach. On the other hand, if I entered the tunnel, I would be too far down it for Lawrence and Alexander to follow me, especially as I would have to close the trapdoor, lest Bootle turn around and realise he was being followed.
I contemplated my options for a moment, and then I lowered myself carefully down the hatch, closed the trapdoor over my head, and headed off down the stairs towards the fading and flickering glow of Bootle’s lantern.
***
Although the trapdoor itself was narrow, the stone steps were much more accommodating, wide enough, in fact, for two people to sit side by side. I slid down the staircase on my posterior until I was able to stand, and, after twenty steps or so, I emerged into a long tunnel, perhaps six feet wide. Unused and decaying sconces hung from alternate walls, suggesting that the tunnel had been much more widely used in the past. It was also absolutely straight, which was just as well, for Bootle was marching at a fair pace, and his light was already little more than a pin prick in the distance. Squinting heavily as I tried to become accustomed to the darkness, I set off as fast as I could in an attempt to close the gap. I had lost all sense of direction, and it occurred to me that, if there were any bends in the tunnel, I would be pitched into complete blackness.
We seemed to be walking for ages, which was unsurprising, for Burscough Priory was over a mile from Lathom House. I marvelled at the feat of engineering it must have taken to construct the tunnel. Browne, I mused, would have been most impressed.
I tried to stay about fifty yards behind Bootle, not least because it was proving difficult to remain absolutely silent. At one point, after I had tripped over a stone, Bootle stopped and swung round, holding his lantern in the air and peering directly towards me. Fortunately, I realised he could see nothing more than ten yards ahead of him, and I breathed a sigh of relief as he turned round and continued on his way.
Eventually, the small point of light stopped bobbing to and fro, and after a few seconds it started moving slowly upwards. I strained my eyes and realised that Bootle had reached the end of the tunnel. Turning round to face me, he pushed himself slowly up the steps, holding one of his hands above his head to feel for the metal handle that would allow him to open the trapdoor. I felt a pang of fear dart through my chest as I realised the tunnel was about to be flooded with light, and pressed my body hard against the wall of the tunnel.
Bootle must have heard something, for he stopped his shuffling and held the lantern up to his face, staring in my direction and moving the light from side to side.
Eventually, he lowered the lantern once more, placed it on the ground, and pressed upwards with both hands, sending the trapdoor flying open. I exhaled in apprehension, but, fortunately, the light entering the tunnel was relatively dim and Bootle stood up without looking any further in my direction. Instead, he grunted and heaved himself through the trapdoor before closing it again and transforming my world into pitch blackness.
It was precisely at this point that I realised my eagerness in chasing my quarry had led me to make a serious error of judgement.
I had, it occurred to me, left myself with only three courses of action. I could attempt to walk over a mile back down the tunnel in absolute darkness, I could sit in the tunnel until Bootle returned, or I could open the trapdoor myself and see where it emerged.
The second option, I considered, was pointless, for I would surely be discovered as soon as Bootle opened the hatch. Option one was possible in theory, although having come this far, the idea of walking all the way back down the tunnel without having achieved anything did not appeal to me. Not only that; my senses, I realised, were already beginning to play tricks with me, and I was concerned that I would eventually become confused as to which way was which.
As for option three, the dangers were obvious, but at least I would be doing something. It struck me that the area above the trapdoor was dark and hence probably not located in an area of the house heavily frequented by those who might take an interest in my presence.
I therefore started to shuffle my way tentatively in the direction of the trapdoor, running one hand along the wall and holding out the other in front of me. Of course, this did not stop me from stubbing my toe on the bottom step when I reached it. However, I then felt for the third step to sit on and started moving my way upwards a step at a time, feeling above my head for the trapdoor handles.
Once I was directly under the trapdoor, I listened carefully to see if I could ascertain any sounds from above, but I could hear nothing other than a deathly silence. Taking a deep breath, I pushed upwards slowly and found myself staring into a dark underground chamber.
“Of course, the crypt of Lathom House’s chapel,” I thought to myself. “Where else would a tunnel from Burscough Priory lead to?”
It was then that I heard a slight movement from behind the raised trapdoor, and I spun round to find myself face to face with a pair of leather bucket-top boots. I looked upwards to see the barrel of a pistol, behind which lurked the grinning, triumphant features of Edward Chisnall. At his side, dressed entirely in black, stood Lady Derby’s chaplain, Samuel Rutter.
“Ah, Mr Cheswis,” said the cleric, his face betraying a hint of a smirk, “do come and join us. We were beginning to get worried. We were wondering whether you might have got lost in the dark.”
Chapter 37
Lathom House – Thursday April 25th – Friday April 26th, 1644
And so, for the second time in a little over a month, I found myself being led at gunpoint across the central courtyard of Lathom House.
From inside the extensive and forbidding outer walls of the house, the effects of Morgan’s cannon and mortar fire were much easier to appraise than from behind our own siege lines. There was a sizeable crater in the courtyard next to the damaged clock tower, behind which I could see several wooden outbuildings damaged beyond repair. In the main courtyard itself, holes were visible in the upper storeys of the main building, where cannon shot had sailed right through the fabric of the house. Even the damage to the Eagle Tower looked more shocking when viewed from close quarters.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Rutter, “and you are right in that we have sustained some damage from your artillery, but this is to be expected, and, believe me, we are well-prepared to defend this place. We have made our plans, and tonight you will have the opportunity to see what we are made of. Rigby has pushed us to a point where we are being forced to show our hand, and tonight that hand will smite him brutally.”
“You mean you plan to attack? Tonight?”
“Yes, of course. What do you expect? You have a new shipment of grenades, so we hear, so we have no option but to attack your positions and capture the mortar piece that has caused so much damage.”
“You intend to take our mortar? How do you propose to achieve that?”
“By stealth and good organisation,” smiled Rutter, “but also by making use of the a
rrogance of your commanding officer. He plans to rain fire and brimstone on us tomorrow, but I’ll wager he has made no particular plans for a counter attack by us. Am I right?”
I stared at Rutter, who studied me for a moment, and then chuckled.
“I thought so,” he said. “Rigby truly is an imbecile. Watching him flounder these past days has given her ladyship no little amusement, I can assure you. He is more interested in putting on a show for the public and his committee men than in securing the victory he seeks.”
It had not occurred to me before, but Rutter was absolutely right. Perhaps my own judgement had been clouded by Rigby’s triumphalism and showmanship. All of the colonel’s focus had been on the fact that he now had the grenades he needed to achieve his ambition of destroying Lathom House. There had been no preparations at all for the eventuality that Lady Derby would make a last, desperate roll of the dice and attempt an all-or-nothing assault on our positions. Rigby’s mind, it seemed, had been befuddled by his unexplained personal hatred for Lord Derby. I began to wonder whether I might actually be safer that night imprisoned somewhere inside Lathom House rather than having to defend the trenches against a highly motivated attack by the men of the garrison.
Whilst I was contemplating this, Rutter and Chisnall marched me directly to the foot of the Eagle Tower, where we were met by a group of six soldiers, one of whom I noticed was Edward Halsall, the young ensign whose life I had spared during the night attack several weeks previously. The young officer, his arm now fully healed, looked at me quizzically, but said nothing.
“Lock him up,” ordered Rutter. “Keep him secure in one of the rooms at the top of the tower. I will be back for him later.”
I was marched up a staircase, which wound its way around the perimeter of the tower, past the exposed section which looked out towards Morgan’s gun position, and up to a sparsely furnished room almost at the top of the tower, which appeared to serve as a kind of rest chamber for those soldiers manning the battlements. It had six chairs and a table, on which stood a couple of tankards, an empty trencher, and somebody’s Montero cap. There was also a small window, which looked out towards the north-west. In the foreground I could see the small chapel from where I had first spotted Jenny Reade’s dog and, beyond that, in the distance, the buildings of Burscough, the ruins of the priory standing out against the green of the trees, and the darker stone of the mill. I wondered whether Alexander and Lawrence were still waiting for me there, or whether they had returned to the encampment to raise the alarm.
I was pushed unceremoniously into the room, and the tankards and trenchers were removed, although for some reason I was left the Montero cap. The door was then locked behind me, and I was left to my own devices.
I remained locked in the room for hours. Shortly after dark, I was attended by a self-important-looking man, who introduced himself as Broome, the head steward. His sole purpose, it seemed, was to feed me with a hunk of stale bread, some cheese, and a tankard of weak ale with the words, “Never let it be said that the Countess of Derby does not show hospitality to those who stay in her house, even if they are her enemies.”
I ate the food and drank the ale gratefully, but then, as it seemed I was there for the night, I curled up on the floor and tried my best to sleep.
I was eventually woken sometime in the middle of the night by the sound of the key turning in the lock. Seconds later, Samuel Rutter was standing in the doorway bearing a lantern and a large bunch of keys.
“Good morning, Mr Cheswis,” he said. “I trust you slept well. Please come with me. There is something I would like you to see.”
“What time is it?” I demanded, trying to wipe the tiredness from my eyes.
“It is three-thirty in the morning. A time when most good men are in bed. But tonight there is work to be done. Please,” he added, stepping to one side and gesturing to the open doorway. “After you. Up the stairs, if you please.”
I slowly struggled to my feet and brushed myself down. Rutter, I noticed, had changed out of his cassock, but was still soberly dressed all in black. If it had not been for the circumstances, he could, I realised, have easily been mistaken for being of Puritan inclination.
At the cleric’s bidding, I climbed a couple of flights of stairs until our way was blocked by a solid oak door. Rutter produced a large metal key from the bunch dangling from his waist, inserted it into the lock, and pushed the door open.
I stepped through the doorway, and suddenly we were outside, at the very top of the Eagle Tower, looking out over the whole of Lathom House and the fields and villages of Lancashire beyond. It was a clear, moonlit night, and so I was able to make out our siege works clearly. On the walls and towers, musketeers, gamekeepers, and fowlers stood ready with their weapons, whilst below in the main courtyard foot soldiers and servants alike stood ready for action. A similarly large detachment of men also stood waiting in a small courtyard next to the postern gate. What struck me above all, though, was the absolute silence of it all. Every one of these men understood the value of surprise and had assumed their positions quietly, efficiently, and with the minimum of fuss. I could not help but be impressed by their resolve.
Rutter stood behind me and let me take in the view. “A magnificent sight, Mr Cheswis,” he said, the pride unmistakeable in his voice. “The silence lends a certain grandeur to the proceedings, does it not?”
I nodded slowly, for I could not disagree. “Perhaps, Reverend, you would care to explain exactly what is happening here,” I said. “I presume that is why you have brought me to this viewpoint.”
“Indeed,” said Rutter. “You will notice that the majority of our regular soldiers are positioned inside the postern gate to the north-east of the house. There you will find Captain Chisnall, who you already know. His task is to capture the fort where your cannon and culverin are housed. With Chisnall is Captain Fox, who has the most important task today. His role is to attack the trenches to the east and then work his way around to the south-west of the house, in order to attack and capture the sconce that houses the mortar.
“The other men you see are essentially playing support roles. Captain Ogle is in command of the main guard at the south gate. He will secure the retreat through that gate, Captain Rawsthorne is standing guard at the postern gate, and Captain Ratcliffe is in charge of the musketeers and other marksmen on the walls. Last but not least, Captain Farmer is positioned in the main courtyard and will stand in reserve to support anyone who needs help.”
“And the servants?” I asked, looking down into the courtyard at the mixture of footmen, grooms, and stewards armed with clubs, buckets, spades, and a large flat contraption, the purpose of which was unclear.
Rutter smiled. “They’re not there to fight,” he said. “Their task will become evident in due course.”
“You and Lady Derby appear to have it all planned out, Reverend,” I said. “Her ladyship is showing herself to be a soldier of some substance, but tell me, why are you showing me all this?”
The cleric sighed and sat down on a ledge behind one of the crenellations. “That,” he said, “is a very good question, and one which I cannot definitively answer. Perhaps I perceive something within you with which I sympathise. I have the feeling perhaps that you are a person of middling social standing like me, who has caught the eye of his patrons. But, like me, I feel you are not, by instinct, a man of war, rather a man of peace and insight, who has been dragged into this conflict by circumstances rather than by will. Does that strike a chord with you?”
You are very perceptive, Reverend,” I said, sitting down next to the cleric and determining to make best use of this unexpected turn of events. “What is your story, may I ask?”
“My family,” said Rutter, “as I am sure you have already ascertained, are owners of the mill at Burscough. It is now only in intermittent use and semi-derelict, but in its day it was a successful enterprise, and my parents were comfortably well off. However, I am, when all is said and done, only a mill ow
ner’s son and my future would undoubtedly have been in that trade, were it not for his lordship, the sixth earl.”
“How so?” I asked.
“As luck would have it, I am the same age as the present earl, and when we were small we had some contact with each other. His lordship must have seen some aptitude in me, for he took a shine to me and was generous enough to sponsor my education. His patronage allowed me to attend Westminster School and Christ Church College in Oxford. You see, I have much to thank the earl for.
“As it happened, my ordination coincided with the earl’s decision to step back from the day-to-day management of the estate, and so the current earl immediately employed me as his personal chaplain. As you see, though, I fulfil other roles besides.”
“So I have noticed,” I replied. “Then you truly have a reason for your loyalty to the earl and the countess.”
“And for your part, Mr Cheswis, how is it that a man like you ends up as an intelligencer serving the likes of Rigby?”
“Rigby?” I exclaimed. “In that respect, you have me wrong, Reverend. I have no allegiance to Rigby. I serve under the command of Sir William Brereton of Handforth, and, as you rightly guessed, I am not here by choice.”
Rutter looked at me with surprise and scratched his head. “Brereton?” he said. “He is in charge of the forces in Cheshire. So what are you doing here?”
And so against my better judgement, I told Rutter about how I had ended up at Lathom. I told him the story of the murders I had solved in Nantwich, about my wich house, my cheese business and about my betrothal to Elizabeth. I told him about Brereton’s identification of myself as a potential intelligencer and finally I told him about Brereton’s offer to arrange for me to be released from my duties as a constable should I undertake to help identify the spy in Rigby’s inner circle.
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