The Winter Siege (Daniel Cheswis Book 1)

by D. W. Bradbridge

  “And I presume you are not going to confide in me as to the nature of this information?”

  “You presume rightly. You do not need to know the precise details, but I do need your help as one of the town’s constables in getting to the bottom of the connection between Tench and Brett.”

  I considered this for a moment and then the full horror of what Colonel Booth was saying hit me. With a start, I realised how he had come to know so quickly about my altercation with the intruder at Elizabeth Brett’s house and, indeed, why he was ransacking the place. Something in my face must have given my thought processes away, for Booth interjected before I could say anything else;

  “That’s right. Your brother and others are not unconnected to this affair, and their safety is also at risk. This is one reason why I know this information will not go beyond the two of us.”

  My mind started to spin. What manner of business had Simon involved himself in? “You say that Brett was for Parliament. Does that mean that Tench was a parliamentarian too? And why the crimson scarf?”

  Booth cut himself another slice of bread and shrugged. “That is what we don’t know. We were not aware of Tench at all until he was murdered. I was interested in him because rumours surfaced that he may have been a royalist scout. I’m always interested in making sure informants are identified and dealt with appropriately. However, the similarity of his death to Brett’s puts a different complexion on things. I can’t say for certain whether Tench was a scout or not, but he certainly had dealings with some leading townsfolk who have close connections with the King.”

  “Like Randle Church’s family, for example.”

  “Precisely, but not only him. The Maistersons, the Wilbrahams of Townsend, and Lady Norton all have close connections with the King. I don’t think there can be a town anywhere in England where there are so many prosperous merchants and gentry. They will all be looking for assurances that their property will not be damaged if Byron marches in here.”

  “And you believe Maisterson and his ilk are plotting to betray the town in exchange for assurances regarding their personal property?”

  “Perhaps. To be honest, Master Cheswis, I just don’t know. Whoever murdered Brett knew exactly what he was looking for. However, that person has a connection with Tench and through him, in some way, to Church, Maisterson, and the others. I need to find out what that connection is. I think you are in the best position to find out.”

  I considered the Colonel’s words carefully and a thought struck me. “What about Brett’s friend, Nuttall?” I asked. “I presume he’s involved too? He works in Lady Norton’s household. Surely he will have been able to find out?”

  The Colonel shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Nuttall can only do so much without raising suspicion. Furthermore, if something is going on, you can be sure that Lady Norton is not at the centre of it. She’s an old lady. She will only be a passive supporter.”

  Booth was right, of course, but this didn’t make the matter easier to understand. It seemed to me that the more I found out about Tench and Brett, the more complicated the whole matter became – a veritable Pandora’s Box of unforeseen troubles. I was ruminating on this when Booth changed the subject.

  “What about your friend Davenport?” he asked. “I understand he has been freed. Does he have any involvement in this, do you think?”

  “I think not, Colonel,” I replied, taking care to avoid any mention of what I knew about Davenport’s abuse of walling rights. “He cannot have murdered Brett as he was in jail at the time, and he was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time in terms of Tench’s murder.” To my relief, Booth did not press me any further on this issue and simply asked me to keep him informed of any future developments, which I gladly agreed to do.

  “One more question,” I asked, before taking my leave. “Do you still require me to source cheese for you this week? Things are getting dangerous for travellers.”

  “Indeed I do, Master Cheswis,” replied the Colonel. “It may be our last chance. You should be safe if you stay on the east side of the river. Nevertheless, if you present yourself here on Friday morning, I will see to it that an armed escort is made available for you.”

  Snow continued to fall throughout the morning, and, by the time I arrived at Lady Norton’s house at 11 o’clock for my appointment with Thomas Maisterson, a fresh layer of pristine white powder covered the front lawn. There was no wind, and, as the large flakes fell silently onto the frozen ground, the scene I observed was one of perfect serenity. It was hard to imagine that a gruesome murder had taken place here only two days before.

  When I knocked on the front door, I was shown into a drawing room by a servant, who announced my presence to Lady Norton. The lady of the house was, I realised, quite possibly the smallest person I had seen in my life. No taller than four foot six, she possessed white hair and sharp features, which betrayed the fact that she would have had a striking appearance when younger. Now, however, she was a frail old lady. I realised that, even if there had been something to see when Brett was murdered on Saturday morning, she would have had difficulty doing so.

  Thomas Maisterson was already present and rose to his feet on my arrival, beckoning me towards an upholstered chair placed next to an exquisite draw-leaf table, behind which sat the only other person in the room, the youthful Roger Wilbraham of Townsend House. I took my seat and began by explaining my presence to Lady Norton and asking her if she knew Ralph Brett.

  “I did,” she replied, in a firm voice I was not expecting. “He was a neighbour of mine and his family’s drapery business has supplied me for years. I allowed him to cut through my garden should he need to.”

  “I see,” I said. “It would appear he did exactly that on Saturday morning. Did you see or hear anything at that time?”

  “I was in bed,” replied Lady Norton. “My chamber overlooks the lawn and the path which Mr Brett would have walked. I was woken by the sound of shouting outside my window.”

  “And what time was that?”

  “Just before seven. I was concerned it might be intruders, so I called for one of my maidservants, who came running. She said she could not be sure who was making the noise.”

  “Could I speak to the girl in question?”

  “Certainly,” Maisterson interjected, as though he were in his own house. ”I’ll have her brought in.”

  Presently, a short and slightly plump girl of about eighteen appeared with a worried look on her face. Her eyes darted to and fro between Lady Norton and Maisterson as if looking for guidance. She was introduced as Mary Wright.

  “You may tell the Constable what you saw, Mary,” said Lady Norton, gently.

  “I saw very little, sir,” said the girl, hesitantly. “When the Mistress called me, she said there was shouting outside. I was in the kitchen, so I heard nothing at first.”

  “But you looked through the window to see what the noise was about?”

  “Yes, it was very dark and misty so I couldn’t see much. The noise had stopped by this time. All I could see were three figures in the mist. It looked like they had their arms around each other, but I can’t be sure.”

  “Which direction were they going?”

  “Towards the gate near the earthworks.”

  I realised that the maidservant had seen the murderer dragging Brett’s body across the lawn, but something didn’t ring true. Why were there three figures and not two? Bressy and Hulse had only talked about one assailant.

  “Are you sure it was three people that you saw and not just two?” I asked.” After all, it was misty, as you say.”

  “No, sir,” insisted Mary. “I’m quite sure. It was at least three.”

  “Could you say what they looked like?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, they were already some way away at this time, and all I could make out were dark figures – shadows in the mist.” I considered this for a moment and exhaled loudly with frustration. Who on earth was the extra man, let alone the first one
?

  “And after that?” I continued. “What happened next?”

  “Nothing, sir. Once I was sure they had gone, I returned to my duties, although my mistress tells me she heard noises again a while later.”

  “Is that true, Lady Norton?”

  “Yes, I heard some shouting about ten minutes later, but it only lasted a few seconds.”

  I realised this must have been the soldiers chasing after the murderer. Deep in thought, I got to my feet and strode over to the window, looking at the route the murderer must have taken to get from one gate to the other. The silence was broken by Wilbraham, who, up until now, had remained silent.

  “Have you finished with Mary?” he asked, in a tone which suggested his time was being wasted.

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, turning to the girl. “You’ve been most helpful.”

  With that, Mary Wright gave me a beaming smile and went back to her work.

  “I’m sorry that we can’t be more helpful,” said Lady Norton.

  “On the contrary,” I said, as politely as I could, “the information is most useful.”

  “But has it given you any idea who might be responsible for this foul act?” asked Wilbraham, pointedly. “I see you have managed to solve precious little so far.”

  I looked at the young gentleman with no little degree of exasperation. His attitude was beginning to rankle, particularly as I had been placed in a position where I was expected to identify a murderer without any information about Tench at all.

  “Mr Wilbraham, I would be grateful if you would refrain from abrading me in such a manner. My Lady Norton’s information is most interesting, but I’m afraid in itself it does not help me a great deal. The last time we spoke, you were very explicit in warning me away from asking questions about William Tench. However, forming a connection between the two murders is crucial to solving these crimes. It seems to me you are more interested in avoiding questions about Tench than in locating the murderer. Is the same true with Brett? Is there something here you’re not telling me, too?”

  Wilbraham stood up, his face turning crimson. “Master Cheswis, you have no right-” Maisterson put his hand up to silence Wilbraham.

  “You must excuse Roger,” he cut in. “With the passing of his father, he is forced to represent his family here. As you see, he takes on considerable responsibility at a young age, and one day he will do great things in this town, I’m sure. For now, he’s still young.”

  Wilbraham glared at Maisterson, but the older man continued. “Our concern in revealing more to you is that we are not aware of your allegiance in this conflict. We suspect, like most people of this town, that you support the rebel cause, and we are hesitant to confide any more. The majority of people in Nantwich are aware of our families’ sympathies, but we do not want to advertise the fact any more than is necessary. As it stands, if Parliament wins the conflict, we are likely to have our property sequestered or to be fined at the very least. As I previously mentioned, it is also in our interests to make sure that, if the King does prevail, damage to our property is minimised.”

  “Fine,” I said. “If it helps, this is where I stand. I’m not against the King, but I do support the rights of Parliament. My view, like many, is that if the King were a little less stubborn, much of this conflict could have been avoided, and for that he bears some responsibility. So, in that sense, you are right about where my sympathies lie. However, my duty in this case is only to capture the person who committed these crimes. In this, I support the same aims as you, and, as you took great pains to point out, it is in my interest that I do not abuse your trust.”

  Maisterson cast a glance at Lady Norton, who smiled thinly and nodded.

  “Very well,” said Maisterson. “This is what we know. Brett was known to Lady Norton as a neighbour, whereas Tench was married to a servant of Randle Church. Both Lady Norton and Mr Church, like Roger and I, are known to be passive supporters of the King, but there doesn’t seem to be any obvious reason why the murderer should want to kill both Tench and Brett. As I’ve said before, we are concerned that some agent is at play here that we are not aware of. We’re not even aware whose side he’s on.”

  “And what of Tench?”

  “It’s true that Tench has been an informer to the Royalist cause, but as you will be aware, there have been several of these in Nantwich. You will remember the raid carried out by the Nantwich garrison on Cholmondeley House in April.”

  I cast my mind back and recalled the events that culminated in the arrest of Saring, the town minister, as well as Dudley, Lady Norton’s son, and several others. On that day, at the start of April, most of the Nantwich forces had marched to nearby Cholmondeley House after being informed that four hundred of the King’s men were holed up in the garrison there. However, when they arrived, they found the royalists ready and waiting for them. Despite killing a number of the King’s party, the Nantwich soldiers were unable to storm the house and were eventually obliged to return whence they had come. Accusations of treachery followed, and those arrested had been charged with malignancy and betraying the plans to attack Cholmondeley to the royalist command.

  “I recall it as if it were yesterday,” I said.

  “Well, William Tench was involved in that, but was neither identified nor arrested, although Randle Church tells me his wife was very fearful that he would be. Of course, since then I had heard, as you did, that he was scouting for Lord Byron, but beyond this, I do not know. We prefer to stay clear of this kind of activity.”

  I was not sure how far to believe Maisterson but acknowledged that at least this identified a motive for someone to kill Tench. “But there must be a connection between Tench and Brett,” I asserted.

  “Evidently,” agreed Maisterson, “but we don’t know what that is. We are aware of his military background and his connection with the Duke of Hamilton, but nothing beyond that.”

  I decided that my enquiries were not going to yield any further results and was just about to take my leave when a thought struck me.

  “One last thing, Lady Norton,” I said. “Your footman, James Nuttall, appears to have been a close acquaintance of Brett. Would you say he had been behaving strangely recently?”

  “Nuttall?” answered Lady Norton, a puzzled look on her face. “Not at all. He is a good servant. I have never had cause to complain. However,” she added, almost as an afterthought, “now that you mention it, he has not reported for work today. Would you like me to enquire as to his whereabouts?”

  Despite my suspicions regarding Nuttall, I would have thought little more of his absence from work that morning, were it not for my decision to make a brief visit to the shoemaker’s workshop just off Beam Street where Simon was apprenticed. There I found my brother’s employer George Simkins entirely on his own, cursing silently amongst a pile of unfinished boots. Simon, it transpired, had also disappeared without a trace.

  “He’s nought but a worthless lossell, that brother of yours, a lazy ne’er do well,” growled Simkins, as he recognised me standing in the doorway. “He deserves a proper kick up the arse, and he’ll get one when he shows up, believe me. He takes half Saturday off comforting the woman who lost her husband. I says, if you’re sweet on her, that’s alright by me, but don’t let me down on Monday. So he promises me faithfully he’ll be here early today to clear the backlog, but now he’s nowhere to be found. He’s all flam, I tell you.”

  Simkins’ words did little to alleviate the nagging feeling I had that the disappearance of Simon and his friend was more than a simple coincidence, so, more in hope than expectation, I walked the few yards to Elizabeth Brett’s house and banged loudly on the front door. I must confess, I was half-expecting to find an empty house and was somewhat surprised to see Mrs Brett herself open the door, her young boy holding onto her skirts like a limpet. I was pleased to observe that this time there was a pleasant smile for me and nothing of the evasiveness of the day before.

  “Good morning, Master Cheswis,” she sa
id. “It’s good to see you out and about. I trust your headache is somewhat better?”

  “I still have a lump on my head,” I replied, “but it’s bearable. All the better for seeing that you are also up and well. And this is your son?” I nodded in the direction of the child, who stared at me, wide-eyed, from behind his mother’s legs.

  “This is Ralph. He’s a little shy and does not really understand what has happened to his father.”

  “It will be difficult for him – and for you,” I said, “but I see you have good friends here. God willing, they will provide you with some comfort and support.”

  “I am grateful to Mistress Johnson and to people like James and your brother. They are helping me to cope.” I looked over her shoulder, into the house, to see Mistress Johnson, today wearing a bright red bodice, sweeping and tidying up the hall in the background. The smell of food lingered in the air, and I thought I caught the sight of a huge container of pottage hanging from the chimneypiece as I looked through the open kitchen door.

  “Talking of my brother and Nuttall,” I ventured, “have you seen either of them this morning? Neither has reported for work.”

  Mrs Brett appeared somewhat surprised at this and looked furtively past me towards Lady Norton’s house. “No. Like you, I have not seen them since yesterday. They have their own lives to lead. I would not expect it to be any other way.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. I merely-”

  “Where are your manners, Elizabeth?” piped up Mistress Johnson, from behind Mrs Brett. “Ask the young man in out of the snow. He’ll catch his death in this weather.” Mrs Brett reddened and stepped aside to let me enter.

  “I’m sorry, Master Cheswis,” she said apologetically. “I’m not offended by your words, and I’m being most inhospitable, please come in out of the snow.”

  I sat down at the table and was given a bowl of pottage and some bread, which started to take some of the coldness out of my bones. After a while, I addressed Mrs Brett, offering her once more my sympathies for the loss of her husband and asking her how she had been coping. This was the kind of conversation I usually found difficult to deal with, but I found Elizabeth Brett curiously easy to talk to.