The Winter Siege (Daniel Cheswis Book 1)

by D. W. Bradbridge

  “Are you sure it’s wise, marching forth in such inclement weather, sir?” Major Rokeby asked, eyeing the dull, snow-laden clouds with trepidation.

  Fairfax looked at Rokeby with a mild sense of irritation and gave him the answer he was expecting. “I would much rather be sat in front of a warm fire at Nun Appleton,” he said, “That much is true. But God has ordained that we must endure more hardship before we gain the victory that will justly be ours. Whatever challenge awaits us in Cheshire, Major, make no mistake. We will prevail.”

  23

  Nantwich – Monday, January 1, 1644

  It was New Year’s Day before Simon and I managed to speak to Colonel Booth, which was not in the least surprising, as he was preoccupied with other, more immediate matters. Dealing with two brothers professing to be in possession of unidentified and potentially spurious documents of unconfirmed interest to the parliamentarian cause was understandably lower on his list of priorities than coping with the aftermath of Brereton’s disastrous defeat on St Stephen’s Day.

  Sir William’s retreat from Middlewich and the loss of over two hundred men was a savage blow and meant that Booth could not count on any help from his superior officer in the near future. Worse still, Brereton’s line of communication with Nantwich had broken down, and Booth was not able to ascertain whether reinforcements were on the way.

  Meanwhile, the tension weighed down unbearably on the inhabitants of Nantwich. It seemed like the whole of the royalist army was closing in on us. On the day after the battle at Middlewich, messengers reported that the King’s forces had besieged Crewe Hall. Despite defending gallantly and killing around sixty royalists, the sheer number of attacking soldiers, combined with a lack of food and ammunition, eventually forced the hall’s garrison to surrender. On Thursday 29th, around a hundred and forty brave parliamentarians were herded into the stables and eventually imprisoned in Betley Church.

  By the Saturday, about four hundred royalist soldiers had re-crossed the river to Wrenbury and surrounded Nantwich on that side, whilst the remainder were in Wistaston, Willaston, and other villages to the east. The result was that our town was effectively besieged, and the garrison soldiers had to be on constant watch to defend the town both night and day.

  Wherever you looked from the town’s earthen walls, clusters of grubby canvas tents were visible. Ensigns, the flags of the various regiments, fluttered in the breeze, standing out against the white of the snow. Around them were horses, oxen, carts, and soldiers, hundreds of them, settling down in preparation for the anticipated siege. Perversely, this had made me feel somewhat safer, my logic being that Bressy would not be able to get into the town any more. His unknown partner, on the other hand, was a different matter. Time would tell whether he had made it back into Nantwich before Byron’s men had closed the siege.

  The King’s soldiers were not the only thing that had closed in on Nantwich, though. The prospect of bad weather loomed large once again. On Saturday morning, large flakes of snow started falling, aided by a bitter easterly wind, which swept across the earthworks surrounding the town like a scythe. Sentries hunkered down behind the wooden walls, rubbing their hands together, trying to draw warmth from the torches lining the defences. The blizzard persisted all day and throughout the night. Snow drifted waist-deep in places and weighed heavily on the thatched roofs in the town.

  There was no market on the Saturday. The snow would not have helped in the best of circumstances, but there was no way for people to get into the town. Fortunately, there was plenty of food available. In anticipation of the siege, livestock and food had been brought inside the walls, so for the time being at least, provisions were easy enough to come by.

  For my own part, I had enough cheese to feed my family for a month but precious little to sell on to other townsfolk. Now that all routes out of town were closed, I was beginning to rue the fact that I had not made a bigger effort to recover some of the cheese that lay with my broken cart in Hunsterson.

  The town had been uncharacteristically quiet since my return from Barthomley, so I had concentrated on spending time with my family. Mrs Padgett had scolded me for missing the Christmas festivities, which she had enjoyed on her own with Amy, but she had expressed herself relieved to see me return safely, as did Alexander and his family. Word had spread quickly about the events in Barthomley, so both Alexander and Mrs Padgett had been concerned for my safety, especially when the news began to spread about the battle that had taken place in Middlewich. They were also pleased to see Simon was safe, although Alexander showed some concern when I told him about Nuttall.

  Simon himself had taken care not to be seen out and about. When we arrived back, he took himself off to his house, and I hadn’t seen him since. I assumed the leather pouch with Hamilton’s letters had been hidden somewhere safe, but I made it my business not to inquire as to where.

  Meanwhile, notice of our impending meeting with George Booth had arrived the previous evening. A messenger boy had knocked on our door some time after dark and delivered a hastily scrawled note from Simon, bidding me to present myself at the Colonel’s quarters in The Lamb at 10.30 am the following day.

  The inn was a hive of activity when I arrived, bustling and busy with soldiers going to and fro, preparing themselves for the siege. When I presented myself, I was ushered into a small drawing room, where I found Simon already sat waiting. My brother gave me a nervous smile as I entered. We were clearly sat in Booth’s operations centre, for a plan of the town lay open on the table and was covered in writing. A sentry stood guard by the door, watching us suspiciously. Presently, the sound of leather boots was heard from behind the door, and the Colonel breezed in. I was surprised to note that Booth, far from appearing distracted by the events in Middlewich, displayed an animated demeanour, as though the challenge posed by the siege had given him energy. This I took to be a good sign.

  Booth smiled broadly. “Ah. The Cheswis brothers return,” he said. “It is gratifying to see you both in one piece. I hear Barthomley has not been a place for the faint-hearted.”

  “No, colonel,” replied Simon. “It has been the source of much evil these past few days.”

  “Byron has much to answer for,” acknowledged Booth, “but I expected no less from him. No man of God should take pleasure in work like this, but he is a man who appears to enjoy such things.” Booth gave me a sharp glance before continuing and Simon immediately caught on.

  “There’s no need to be on your guard, sir,” he said. “I have fully apprised my brother of the situation. He is now working on our side. He can be trusted.”

  Booth looked at me askance for a moment and then nodded. “And Nuttall? What about him?”

  “Nuttall’s dead, sir. His throat was cut and his body dumped inside the church at Barthomley with the other victims of the massacre.”

  “So he didn’t get through to Brereton. Did he talk, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. He was certainly tortured, but it makes no difference. The papers we spoke of are safe.”

  Booth pursed his lips. “And what about you, Cheswis? Did you reach Sir William?”

  “Yes, I did. He is now fully aware of the situation we find ourselves in. He asked me to tell you that he will look forward to taking possession of the documents once my Lord Hamilton has given his approval.”

  Booth nodded, seemingly satisfied. “These papers,” he began. “I know not where you have secreted them, but surely they would be more secure under my safekeeping.”

  Simon’s eyes flashed at me briefly, but his expression remained unchanged. “No, sir,” he said, “Ralph Brett was under express orders not to pass this information on.”

  “But Brett is dead – you can pass these on to me.”

  Simon remained unmoved. “No, sir, Ralph was a loyal servant of the Duke of Hamilton and he engaged me as his loyal servant. You will get the papers soon enough. Besides, they are truly safer with us. What will happen if Byron takes Nantwich and you have these papers? Th
ey will fall once more into royalist hands. No, they are best kept in my safekeeping.”

  Booth looked slightly irritated and he slapped his gloves on the table in annoyance. “Very well, but both you and Mrs Brett are at risk. We don’t know whether the murderer is still at large in this town.”

  “That is true,” agreed Simon. “So what do you suggest?”

  The Colonel sat down at his table and leaned back thoughtfully in his chair, stroking his moustache.

  “Here’s what I think,” he said, eventually. “I propose the two of you go and live in Mrs Brett’s house for the time being until this matter is resolved. You can protect Mrs Brett from any further break-ins, and I will make sure a permanent sentry is placed at the front and back of the house.”

  Up to this point I had kept my silence and let Simon speak, but, faced with this outrageous suggestion, I had to step in and speak my mind. “I can’t possibly agree to this, Colonel,” I said. “I have a business to run, a family to look after, and I still need to fulfil my role as constable, not to mention the sentry duty I will be expected to perform.”

  The Colonel gave me an inscrutable smile and dismissed my objection with a wave of the hand. “That’s true,” he said, “but I’m more concerned about your individual safety and that of Mrs Brett. You will still be able to carry out your duties, but I need to be sure that you are all safe at night and not on your own outside of the main hours of daylight.”

  Ten minutes later, arrangements were in place for Simon and I to move into one of Elizabeth Brett’s spare rooms, whilst a couple of soldiers were nominated as our permanent bodyguards. As I walked back to Pepper Street to gather my things, I wondered what Mrs Padgett would have to say about the nature of the arrangement. It was highly irregular, of course, but it did mean I would be able to spend more time in the company of Elizabeth Brett, the prospect of which, I admit, made me feel strangely pleased.

  Surprisingly, Mrs Padgett did not seem in the least bothered at the prospect of me moving in with the young widow. It was, she reasoned, only a temporary abode, and, so long as I was there, I was out of the clutches of Alice Furnival. She even went to the trouble of helping me pack some clothes for my stay. Nevertheless, she made sure I realised what I would be missing by sitting me down with a warming bowl of her mutton pottage before allowing me to venture forth again into the snow.

  It was with a certain degree of guilt, therefore, that, after dropping my bag off at Elizabeth Brett’s, I decided that I should go and visit Alice. My promise to Hugh Furnival had been on my mind ever since my return from Barthomley, and it was beginning to weigh on my conscience that I had not yet got around to checking on her welfare.

  Alice’s brother-in-law worked in the legal profession and occupied a reasonably substantial residence on Mill Street, next door to the large brick mansion owned by the Wright family. On my arrival, I was shown into the drawing room by a lank-haired young servant, who promptly excused himself and left me to survey my surroundings. I was surprised at the nature of the furniture, which was modern and expensive-looking. There were several upholstered chairs and a gateleg table, next to which, against the wall, stood a fine carved oak coffer. Against the other wall, perched on a stand, was an intricately-designed tortoiseshell cabinet, which I presumed had been imported from southern Europe. On the walls, I noticed mounted candles in sconces with mirrors behind, whilst red silk curtains masked the windows. I was busy looking at the cabinet when Alice walked in.

  “I see you are admiring my sister’s taste in decoration,” she said, announcing her presence.

  “Your sister has very fine taste, my compliments to her,” I said. “This cabinet is particularly beautiful.”

  “It’s Italian, but purchased in London,” she explained. “The house is newly decorated.”

  I was impressed and said so. “Your brother-in-law must be doing well to afford such luxury, especially in these difficult times.”

  “Edward is an excellent lawyer,” said Alice. “There is always a need for good men in the legal profession.”

  I acknowledged this with a smile. “I have news from your husband,” I said, coming to the point. “I saw him in Barthomley. He wishes you to know that he and your family are safe and that he will send further word to you once he is in Shrewsbury.”

  “You were in Barthomley?” she said, with interest. “I have heard news that the Irish have laid waste to the village in a most cruel fashion, with many people killed. I hesitated to give these stories credence, but I was most worried, both for Hugh and my family.”

  “I have seen it with my own eyes,” I said. “Twelve men stripped naked and murdered in cold blood. People who we grew up with. Reverend Fowler’s two sons, Richard Steele and his boys, and my friends James Boughey and Richard Cawell.”

  Alice gasped and put her hand over her mouth at the mention of these last two names, as she had known them too when we were children.

  “Poor James, poor Richard,” she groaned. “How awful. And your family?”

  “They are safe,” I said. “Fortunately, my parents and George’s family knew not to resist them. They have lost many of their possessions, but at least they are unhurt. Your parents are fine too. Stony Cross, it seems, was too far up the hill for the soldiers to be bothered with. By the time I arrived in the village, the soldiers had already left for Middlewich.”

  At that moment, I made a mistake I bitterly regret. I don’t know what it was that made me react in that particular manner, perhaps it was the teardrops that had settled on her cheeks or the slight shudder in her voice, but I suddenly blurted out, “Oh Alice, don’t cry.”

  This immediately made Alice burst into floods of tears, my reaction to which was to instantly take her in my arms and stroke her face as I would have done years before. I immediately pulled myself back, realising what I doing, but I feared I was too late. To my surprise, Alice tensed slightly, but didn’t pull away, and smiled at me.

  “I’m so sorry, Alice,” I flustered, my face reddening. “I had no right to do that. You are another man’s wife. I lost track of who I was for the moment.”

  “Daniel, it’s alright,” she replied. “There’s no need to apologise.”

  “Yes there is,” I insisted, horrified at my lack of decorum. “I should have behaved more appropriately. I have embarrassed myself and I should leave. However, your husband has asked me to check on your safety while he is away. I have promised him I will drop by periodically to make sure you are safe. If you need to contact me, you can leave a message with Mrs Padgett.”

  “Daniel, don’t go,” she implored, catching hold of my arm. It was too late though. I gently removed Alice’s hand from my coat, thanked her for seeing me and stepped silently out of the front door. Once out on street I looked back and saw Alice staring at me through the window. I could have sworn there was a hint of a smile on her face.

  As I walked back, my head was spinning in a whirlpool of mixed emotions. I was not happy about what I was feeling and cursed myself for my lack of control. However, there was something else that was bothering me. I had the nagging feeling that there was something about the building I had just left that was not quite right. My mind searched frantically for the answer, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

  24

  Nantwich – Tuesday, January 2 – Tuesday

  January 9, 1644

  The next day, things started to get more serious for Nantwich. Firstly, the King’s army took possession of Dorfold House, little more than half a mile from the sconce at Welsh Row End, and began to use it as accommodation for its officers, including, as it later transpired, Lord Byron himself.

  The news that the house had been occupied without meaningful opposition was greeted with dismay by many in the town, not least because its owner, Roger Wilbraham of Dorfold, unlike his younger cousin and namesake from Townsend House, was a vehement supporter of the parliamentary cause and had already spent time in Shrewsbury as a prisoner of his Majesty. I wondered what humi
liations he had been forced to endure, having had to submit to his home being invaded by a group of preening cavaliers.

  The small company of soldiers sent out by Colonel Booth to guard Acton’s church fared somewhat better. Under the command of Captain Sadler, the group defended the church bravely and with no little skill, despite being fired upon by royalist cannon. They even managed to kill the canoniere and several other soldiers, including some who’d taken refuge in a dwelling by the church. Unfortunately, they also killed the widow who lived there and five others living nearby.

  Faced with increased pressure from Byron’s men, Colonel Booth issued orders that the earthworks should be maintained day and night by soldiers and townsfolk alike. Even the women were told they needed to defend the town if necessary and were put on standby to line the walls with pans of hot brine, especially in the areas within a hundred yards or so of the wich houses, from where brine could easily be brought.

  It was also the first full day of my sojourn in Elizabeth Brett’s house. Simon and I shared the bedchamber normally occupied by the youngster, Ralph, whilst the boy moved into his mother’s room. My brother and I took turns to use the room’s only bed, the other sleeping on rushes on the floor. We soon started arguing, for Simon is one of the untidiest people I know, and it was not long before he had driven me to distraction by turning the room into a jumble of his clothing and other possessions. In the end, I developed the habit of tidying his clutter myself.

  Colonel Booth, I was relieved to note, had kept his word and made sure two sentries were placed outside the house day and night, whilst soldiers guarding the earthworks to the rear of the Bretts’ back yard were ordered to keep a special look-out to make sure that the house did not come under threat. Simon and I were even offered bodyguards to watch over us whilst we were at work and on sentry duty, although both of us decided that was taking things too far.