Bootle stared at me with incredulity. “You lie, Cheswis,” he spat. “If you had told Rigby about this, he would have had me arrested.”
“That would have served no purpose,” I said. “We needed to find the tunnel and determine the whereabouts of Mrs Bootle. Only you could lead us to both.”
“We shall see in due course whether you are telling the truth,” said Jane Bootle, doubtfully. “In the meantime, you can begin by explaining how you knew I was still alive.”
“What alerted me to the fact that something was not right,” I said, “was the curious positioning of the body, head first in the fire, with one arm in the fire also. It was too precise. You hit Mary’s cadaver over the back of the head with the butt of your husband’s fowling gun, but, truthfully, if she had been alive when you had done that, it is very unlikely that she would have fallen in such a precise manner. The only explanation was that the body was placed that way for a reason, namely to burn her face beyond recognition and to disguise the fact that Mary had lost some of her fingers under torture.
“To begin with, I was confused by the fact that the body was not yet stiff, which made me think at first that it was only a few hours old. But then I remembered that the state of rigor mortis does not last for long. By the time Mary’s body was exhumed, her limbs would no longer have been stiff.”
“That is very perceptive,” said Jane Bootle, “but how did you realise it was Mary’s body?”
“I did not know for sure, but I guessed. To begin with, the grave is very close to the back of your house, making it relatively easy to access without disturbing anybody, but more specifically, Old Isaac saw you digging the body up. Of course, he was far too drunk to realise what was happening, so you frightened him away by standing on the gravestone and raising your hand to him. He thought he was looking at Mary’s ghost.”
“Very impressive,” said William Bootle, sitting down on one of the wooden chairs. “Nothing much gets past you, Cheswis, I will grant you that. But how did you work out that I was involved in this?”
“There were a number of clues,” I said, “but it all begins with Mrs Bootle, I think. She was the instigator of this whole series of events, am I right?” Jane Bootle said nothing, but continued to stare at me through furrowed eyebrows. “Very well,” I said, “then let me explain how everything happened. It all began when Marc Le Croix turned up at your house out of the blue. Like William Seaman, you were not aware of Marc’s existence, but he carried supporting documentation from Henry Oulton requesting you to give him accommodation and sustenance, which, as a good cousin, you naturally agreed to do. At some point, however, Marc explained to you that he was the sole heir to Oulton’s fortune and that Oulton did not have long to live.
“It was at this point that you cooked up the scheme to inherit Oulton’s money yourself. It involved eliminating all the other four people in front of you in the list of potential heirs, namely, and in order, Marc Le Croix, William Seaman, his son Lawrence, and Katherine Seaman. You told your husband, John, about this in the hope of soliciting his help, but he was justly horrified and promptly told Katherine, who happened to be staying with you at the time, thereby sealing both their fates. Katherine returned, still horrified, to Chester, her mind in turmoil as to whether to tell her brother, William Seaman, or not. John presumably thought little more of the matter and got on with his life. At this point you needed another collaborator, so you approached your brother-in-law, William Bootle.
“It took me a while to work out that William was the collaborator in question, but then I remembered Old Isaac telling me that your brother-in-law had long held a torch for you. Who better to choose as a partner in crime than someone who thought he stood to gain your undying love if he helped you?”
“Thought he stood-?” cut in William Bootle, shuffling uncomfortably on his chair. “I can assure you that Jane and I-“
“I cannot speak for you and Mrs Bootle,” I said. “All I can say is that you were tempted by the offer of untold riches and the love of a woman you had long lusted after.”
Bootle said nothing, but gave me a surly stare and sat back onto his chair.
“Please carry on, Mr Cheswis,” said Jane Bootle. “You amuse me greatly.”
“Very well,” I said. “The first task was to remove Marc Le Croix from the scene. His body has not been found, so my guess is that the original idea was not to murder him, but to kidnap him in the hope that you might be able to frame him for the various murders you were about to commit. Since then, of course, William Seaman has aided you immeasurably in this regard by getting himself arrested, thereby fulfilling that role.
“Marc was drugged one night in the tavern. He knew what was happening to him because he asked Isaac for help. However, he was ushered away from the tavern by your brother-in-law. Unfortunately, Isaac was, once again, very drunk, and across the crowded tap-room mistook your brother-in-law for your husband. Having access to a disused mill due to your brother-in-law’s connection with Reverend Rutter proved to be most opportune here. I am not sure what exactly has happened to Marc Le Croix, but I suspect if we were to inspect the cellars of this place, we might find out.”
“It is a pity you will not get that opportunity,” said William Bootle, acidly.
I ignored the captain and continued. “The next task,” I said, “was to dispose of Katherine Seaman. The plan was to have poor John Gibbons blamed for the murder, as Katherine had already told you about his obsession for her. You persuaded your new collaborator to carry out this killing and sent him to Chester. The intention was to arrange a meeting with Katherine and strangle her with a stolen cheese wire, but first Captain Bootle had to purloin such an item from Seaman’s shop. To his horror, however, when he arrived there, not only was Katherine Seaman in the shop, but so too was Edward Chisnall, who also knew him, so he had to disappear quietly into the crowds. Although, even now, he probably does not realise it, I was also in the shop at that time, and I noticed the horrified look on Katherine Seaman’s face, although, at the time, I mistook this for surprise on her part at the presence of Chisnall.
“Captain Bootle returned to the shop sometime later and talked to William Seaman, who he did not know. He managed to distract him and steal one of the cheese wires used in the shop. He also somehow managed to make contact with Katherine and persuaded her to meet him in the courtyard later that evening. From her he perhaps learned of the intention for the Seamans to host a dinner that evening, which meant that Gibbons would be on duty. He couldn’t believe his luck.
“The captain returned later that evening after Katherine had excused herself from dinner. Katherine let him into the courtyard via the rear gate and, once he had ascertained that she had not yet told William Seaman about the plan, garrotted her with the cheese wire and made good his escape by climbing the gate.
“It took me a while to work out all the connections here because I was confused by the presence of Edward Chisnall and Robert Whitby, as well as by William Seaman’s apparent calmness when faced with the murder of his sister. At first I thought Chisnall might be responsible for Katherine’s murder because he left shortly before she died, but despite the connection between him and your brother-in-law, Chisnall had nothing to do with the murders. The same applies to Robert Whitby and Francis Gamull, who, despite having an interest in Henry Oulton’s business, had no involvement in this wickedness either. As for Seaman, I eventually began to realise that his lack of emotion was simply his own way of reacting to the shock of finding Katherine murdered in such a brutal manner.”
“Most impressive, Mr Cheswis,” said Jane Bootle. “Pray continue. So what happened next?”
“Captain Bootle,” I said, “returned to Lathom in order to carry out the next stage of the plan, which was to kill Lawrence Seaman. That would no doubt have been successful, had he been a little more accurate with his brother’s fowling gun, but he missed, almost killing me in the process. If he’d succeeded, of course, it would have been John Bootle, as owner of
the gun, who would have been the prime suspect for the murder.
“Failing to kill Lawrence was a setback, but you figured, with him serving in the trenches, it would be easy enough to arrange for an accident when the time was right. That time might have been yesterday, had we not decided to come here and find you instead. In any case, dealing with Lawrence had to be put on hold when the opportunity arose to dispose of your husband and simultaneously make yourself temporarily disappear, by which I refer to the death of Mary Reade.
“You hatched a plot to make it look as though your husband had gone mad, murdered you, and then committed suicide. You used the henbane that grows against the wall at the back of the churchyard and used it in a pottage, which you fed to your husband. The effect was his strange behaviour on the morning of the murder and accounts for the smell in your kitchen when I found the bodies. The henbane eventually did its work, and when your husband had fallen into a stupor on his chair, you procured the help of William here, who helped you move Mary Reade’s body. You then positioned your husband’s fowling gun between his legs and shot him through the throat. Once this was completed, you immediately made for this place, where you have remained ever since.”
Jane Bootle stared at me for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Congratulations,” she said, “you most certainly have a singular talent for unravelling puzzles of this kind. It is a pity that it must go to waste, for you realise that we cannot afford to let you live. William will now depart, and when he is far enough away, I will dispose of the three of you. I know of a perfectly good tunnel not far from here, where your bodies can be easily disposed of. If someone from the garrison discovers them when leaving the house, it will be assumed that William came across these three interlopers and was forced to kill them to protect the integrity of the tunnel. Then, once my brother has been convicted and hung for the murder of my husband, we will present ourselves to Henry Oulton in Bolton and claim my inheritance.”
I looked at Jane Bootle in confusion. “That’s all very well,” I said, “but how will you account for the fact that the world thinks you are dead?”
“That is easy. I will claim that my husband had an affair and that I returned to Bolton to escape him. He then went mad and murdered his mistress and killed himself. The latter part of this story is already believed and there will be nobody left to contradict my account. And, by this time, my brother will already be dead.”
I nodded slowly. It all fitted in perfectly. “You are a clever woman, Jane Bootle, and an evil one. One day you will be held to account for this by a higher authority.”
“That may well be,” she smiled, “but come, I am growing weary of this. William, it is time you were on your way.”
Bootle nodded meekly and got to his feet, making me realise to what extent Jane Bootle was the key protagonist in these events. Bootle was merely her lackey, driven by lust.
I watched, sickened, as the two of them embraced. The captain then went back into the kitchen and closed the door behind him, with a view to leaving the building by the back door.
“We have spent enough time talking,” said Jane Bootle, a grim smile touching the corner of her mouth. “It is now time for you to meet your maker.” In perfect calm, she reached for the carbine and pointed it directly at my chest. In anticipation of the shot, I felt as though my heart was about to burst, so I closed my eyes and held my breath.
Suddenly, there was a loud crack and then nothing, save the sound of footsteps retreating at pace into the distance. I felt no pain. At first I thought I was dead, but I opened my eyes and realised I was still alive. Had she shot one of the others first? I looked to either side of me, but no. Both Alexander and Lawrence were staring ahead to where Jane Bootle was slumped backwards over her chair, a huge hole in her chest, from which pumped a river of dark, red blood.
I struggled onto my side and there, standing by the door, was the most beautiful sight I ever saw. Wearing a face betraying both hatred and grim determination, was Beatrice Le Croix. She was holding a matchlock musket, still smoking, the cord glowing red and angry in the light of the dawn.
Chapter 39
Lathom House – Saturday April 27th – Monday May 13th, 1644
Colonel Alexander Rigby’s shame was complete. The following afternoon at two o’clock, Colonel Holland and the rest of the Manchester Committee arrived at Lathom House expecting to view Lady Derby’s final surrender and Parliament’s triumphal march through the gates. Instead, all his superiors were able to view were scores of dead bodies and Morgan’s nailed-up ordnance. Brereton’s mortar had been lost to the enemy, as had three drums and numerous arms. If that were not enough, five prisoners had been taken, including one of Browne’s assistants, which meant that Lady Derby would have gained full knowledge of the engineer’s construction designs, including his, as yet, incomplete plans to drain the house’s water supplies.
There was no getting around it. It was a disaster of monumental proportions, and any chance that Rigby thought he might have had of persuading the committee to renew the tax that had paid for his grenades lay broken, twisted, and dismantled in the middle of the main courtyard of Lathom House.
The only thing which gave Rigby some grounds for cheer, and caused me some sadness, was that on the afternoon prior to the attack, one of the colonel’s musketeers shot dead Jenny Reade’s dog attempting one trip too many to the postern gate. Rigby never did discover who the dog belonged to, but I made a mental note to seek out Jenny and comfort her when the opportunity arose.
For my part, things could barely have gone any better. We found Marc Le Croix starved and emaciated in the cellars of Burscough Mill, or rather it was he who found us. After the timely arrival of Beatrice, we had heard a crashing sound emanating from the cellar, so we searched Jane Bootle’s body for the key and unlocked the door. As we did so, a whirling, screaming ball of wood and fists flew towards us, striking out in all directions. Fortunately for us, Marc chose Alexander as his initial target, and, as most people who know us are aware, items propelled in Alexander’s direction tend to bounce off him, rather than knock him over. In this instance, my friend merely grabbed Marc by the throat, put one foot behind his right leg and pushed, sending him flying onto his back. At the same time, Beatrice cried out several times in French and wrapped her arms around the now-floored prisoner.
“Beatrice?” said Marc, confused at the sight of Jane Bootle’s corpse as well as three people he didn’t know and the half-sister he hadn’t seen for years. There followed several minutes of hugging and earnest conversation in French as Beatrice calmed her brother down and explained what had transpired.
Of course, we told Rigby the same afternoon about Bootle, but by that time Lady Derby’s spy had long since made himself scarce. Browne and a team of labourers were immediately sent over to Burscough to block up the entrance to the tunnel, which was filled up with enough earth and boulders to keep the whole of the garrison at bay. The pile of rubble was then levelled and secured with mortar and stones from the ruined priory. The engineer later told me that Rigby had briefly considered launching an assault through the tunnel but baulked when the further potential for disaster was pointed out to him.
Securing the release of William Seaman took rather longer to achieve, not least due to the obstinacy of the local constable, Gregson, who refused to believe our story about William and Jane Bootle and even threatened to arrest Beatrice for Jane Bootle’s murder, when he examined the scene at the mill. The hanging of a Frenchwoman, he said, would be sure to draw the crowds.
I called him a disgrace to his office, but he was unmoved, and it eventually took the personal intervention of Rigby himself to secure Seaman’s freedom. He thanked Alexander and I profusely for our efforts, and within a couple of days he was back on the road to Chester in the knowledge that the killers of his sister and brother-in-law had, at least, been identified, if not all brought to justice. The one thing he now had to come to terms with was how to explain to Francis Gamull and Robert Whitby
that the option he had sold to purchase Oulton’s import business was worthless.
Meanwhile, the siege persisted, and although Rigby was able to restrict the liberty of the men from the garrison reasonably effectively, without his mortar and heavy artillery he was able to do little else. Indeed, with the royalists devising ever more inventive ways of causing us night alarms, such as hanging strings of matchcord in the trees or sending dogs and even horses loose with burning matchcord attached to them, it felt at times like it was becoming difficult to tell who was the besieger and who was the besieged.
None of this was helped by the fact that the weather had turned, offering day after day of rain, which turned the trenches to thick, clagging mud. The water soaked our shirts, made our hats droop, and got into our boots. It even felt like it had found its way into our souls, for it reduced the morale of our men to a level of despondency not yet seen during the siege.
And then, amidst it all, Simon turned up, all of a sudden and unannounced, as was his wont. One day in early May, about a week after the rains started, he simply rode into New Park House and asked to see me.
I was overjoyed, of course, to discover that my brother was still alive, as was Alexander, although I was less pleased to discover that he had been encamped with Parliamentary forces outside York for over a month without him sending us word of his safety. In the event, Simon had volunteered to carry a message from Sir Thomas Fairfax to Rigby. Sir Thomas, it seemed, had been made aware of Simon’s presence in Yorkshire and had given his personal approval for Simon to ride to Lathom.
Simon related how he had escaped from Jem Bressy and how he ended up being recruited into Prince Rupert’s army. He described the long march to Newark, Skinner’s decision to remain with Rupert’s forces, his own escape, and his involvement in the damaging defeat at Newark.
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