“I suggest you tell me who you are, you roundhead shitbreech,” he growled, “or I will blow your brains from here to Chester.” To my right, Alexander struggled in the grip of the two men who were holding him and was rewarded with a sharp musket butt in the small of the back. Fortunately, at that precise moment, Furnival stepped forward, as if from nowhere.
“Fine work, gentlemen,” he said, addressing the Sergeant. “Please make sure these men are kept secure and delivered to Dorfold House on the morrow. They are traitors and will be dealt with as such by my Lord Byron.” I was grateful for the intervention, but realised that Wade was starting to shiver with shock.
“Our friend needs attention, Furnival,” I ventured. “Will you not show mercy and make sure he receives it? He is a regular soldier and has no part in our business.”
Furnival looked at Wade with withering contempt. “He is also a fool. He would have done better to keep his own counsel. No doubt he will regret it tomorrow. Very well,” he added, and addressed the Sergeant. “Please make sure the soldier’s wounds are treated and that he is made warm.” The Sergeant looked at Furnival disbelievingly for a moment, but eventually acquiesced gruffly and hoisted Wade to his feet again.
“I’m afraid I must bid you farewell, Cheswis,” said Furnival, turning his attention to me. “You have failed, although I will give you your due. You are a persistent fellow.” My gaze fell on Alice, who appeared behind Furnival, a look of barely-suppressed horror on her face.
“Tell me one thing, Furnival,” I said. “Why go to all this trouble to hide your loyalties?”
“It was no great plan. I was the proud owner of a printing press when the King was stationed in Shrewsbury, and he summoned me to help him. As I have said before, my role as a publisher is to write what the public wants to hear, so I have no problem with reporting a parliamentarian viewpoint. But it does not change my loyalty to the Crown. His Majesty suggested I could well serve him by continuing to report in this manner as a cover for other activities he might wish for me to carry out. When your brother’s friend Brett brought these papers back to Nantwich, I was summoned as the ideal person to get them back.”
“And the best person to distribute Mercurius Aulicus also, I presume,” I added.
“Naturally. As the publisher of The Public Scout nobody would suspect me of being the source of Mercurius Aulicus.”
“And certainly not of being a royalist spy,” I added.
“That is true,” said Furnival, stepping forward until he was no more than a couple of feet from me, and I could feel his hot breath on my face. “But tell me, Cheswis. How did you work out that I was responsible for the deaths of Brett and Nuttall? You could not have deduced that simply from knowing that I helped Sandford gain access to the inner ward at Beeston Castle.”
“No, but the knowledge that Hulse and Bressy were also in the inner ward at the time allowed me to put together the final pieces of the puzzle, and I was suddenly able to see how the two murders were planned and executed. I knew there was something about the drawing room in Alice’s brother-in-law’s house that was important, but I couldn’t quite work out what it was – until I learned about your connection with Hulse and Bressy, of course, and then it came to me in a flash.”
All this time Furnival stood looking at me with a flicker of a smile touching the corner of his mouth. “Pray explain,” he said.
“Certainly,” I said. “The key was the newly hung curtains. Where would the silk cloth for those have come from but from a mercer? You bought the material from Ralph Brett and used the excuse of paying for it to lure him to his death. You waited for him by Lady Norton’s back gate, but because he was an ex-soldier and could take care of himself, you made sure Bressy was with you. When Brett arrived, either you or Bressy clubbed him over the head with a rock and the two of you then dragged him across Lady Norton’s garden to the gate by the earthworks, where Hulse was waiting. Fortunately for you, it was misty, so nobody on the earthworks had noticed that Bressy had abandoned his post. After all, Hulse was still there. It was only when you staged a fight to draw their attention that the other soldiers saw what was happening. You then clubbed Brett again to make sure he was dead and hit Bressy in the face with your staff to make it look as though he had been fighting with you, before making good your escape through Lady Norton’s garden.
“The curtains,” I continued, “also gave you an idea of how you could create an alibi for Brett’s murder. The curtains were bright red, the same colour as the scarf that William Tench’s murderer had left on his body. When Alice told you about Tench’s murder, it occurred to you that if you could make me think that the same person killed Tench, Brett, and anyone else you needed to dispose of, then you would be in the clear, for you were not in Nantwich when Tench was murdered. You therefore had some scarves made up from the material left over from the curtains and used them during the murders of Brett and Nuttall.”
“But you weren’t fooled by that,” stated Furnival.
“No. The scarves made from the curtains were good, but they were completely different to the high quality ceremonial sash used in Tench’s murder, which I already knew had belonged to Randle Church.”
“Very perceptive,” said Furnival. “Is that all?”
“No. I then had to consider the circumstances surrounding Nuttall’s death. Why, I wondered, was it necessary to leave a scarf on the body of Nuttall? Few people in Barthomley would have connected the scarf with Tench. The obvious conclusion was that the murderer knew my family lived in Barthomley and fully expected me to arrive there at some point, in search of my brother Simon. I should really have put two and two together when you appeared at St Bertoline’s church the day after the murder. You and Bressy, I presume, were lodging at Stony Cross Farm the whole of the time that you were in Barthomley.”
“You appear to have it all worked out,” said Furnival, taking a step backwards to stand once more beside Alice. “It is a pity that we are on different sides in this conflict, for you would have made a fine intelligencer.”
I chose to ignore this comment and instead turned my attention to Alice. “And you,” I said, unable to hide the betrayal from my voice. “You would use the affection I held for you as a means to help your husband in this manner? Are you not ashamed?”
Alice moved to open her mouth, but Furnival raised his hand to quiet her. “My wife’s involvement in this was not planned,” he said, “but when we discovered that your brother and eventually you were both involved in this business, it seemed that we could do no other than use it to our advantage.”
“God will judge you both accordingly,” I said, looking him straight in the eye.
“That he will, but he will be judging you rather sooner, I think,” he said.
Furnival turned to the Sergeant again. “My colleague is with you somewhere, I believe?” he asked. “He said he would wait near the bridge.”
“Aye, sir, he has been called for,” said the Sergeant. At that moment, the group of soldiers parted and Jem Bressy stepped through.
“Ah, Bressy,” said Furnival. “I trust you are faring well. It’s time for me to depart and deliver the news of this success to Lord Byron.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bressy. “You do not wish to wait awhile until the rain eases?”
“No. His lordship should not be kept waiting, and the sooner I reach the warmth of Dorfold and escape this filthy weather, the better. However, my wife may remain with you under the hospitality of the Sergeant and his men. I will entrust you with the task of making sure that she is delivered safely to Dorfold House and that the prisoners are kept secure. I will deal with them properly on the morrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Alice, I will see you tomorrow, my love,” he said, embracing his wife.
“Hugh. I don’t think-” she began, but Furnival was already on his way, striding over to the wooden bridge, Bressy at his heels.
Furnival took one look back and waved before striding onto the wood
en platt, which wobbled and weaved on the surface of the water. Unsteady on his feet, as Bressy paused, hesitantly, on the bank, Furnival stepped slowly across the bridge with deliberate footsteps. But as he arrived at the half-way point, a particularly violent gust of wind caused the bridge to wobble more than it had done before. Furnival put his hand out to steady himself, but his foot slipped on the greasy surface of the wood, and slowly, despite waving his arms in a circular motion, Furnival tipped backwards, flinging the pouch in the air as he lost control of his body. Time stood still for what seemed like an eternity before Furnival landed on his back, cracking his head on the wooden platt, and the pouch was gobbled up greedily by the river. Furnival lay motionless for a couple of seconds, as soldiers ran towards him from the camp, but then he rolled slowly over the edge, his body immediately being consumed by the raging waters.
At that precise moment, one of the ropes snapped on the bridge, and there was a sickening crack as the bridge support timbers split in two, sending foot-long splinters flying through the air. Bressy, who had one foot resting on one of the platts, was forced to dive for cover, sprawling headfirst along the side of the riverbank. In a matter of seconds, the entire bridge collapsed into the river and was carried off downstream as though it had never existed. There was a momentary silence as the wood disappeared and the watching people took in what had happened. Then, just as I was contemplating the irony of Furnival’s final words to me, the only thing I heard was a long, horrible scream, one that I hadn’t heard for many a year. I didn’t need to look to know from whom it came.
32
Beam Heath and Dorfold House,
Cheshire – Thursday January 25, 1644
Alexander and I endured a miserable night on Beam Heath. We were placed under armed guard in a tent, so at least we kept relatively dry. However, away from the fires it was still uncomfortably cold, and we slept only fitfully. As I tossed and turned, I wondered what it must have been like for Byron’s men before the thaw, having to sit outside in freezing temperatures for days on end.
After an hour or two, Wade was returned to us, still in shock and drifting in and out of consciousness. His foot had been cleaned up and dressed and his lower leg put in splints, but I knew that the main danger was the risk of infection from the musket ball. He needed proper attention from a physician. Even then, we realised, the prospects for saving his foot were not good. Wade lay inert on the floor of the tent, mumbling to himself in a state of semi-delirium. Huddling close to him, Alexander and I made our best efforts to keep him warm.
During the night, we listened to the incessant chatter of our guards and learned that Fairfax and Brereton had been on the march from Manchester. Byron’s troops would have to fight the following day, and this gave us at least some grounds for optimism. Byron’s orders had been to get all the royalist troops back to the Acton side of the river, but, as this was now no longer possible, the force on Beam Heath, under the command of his brother, Sir Robert Byron, would have to walk around Nantwich as far as Shrewbridge, a mile south of the town, in order to cross the river and join with the rest of the forces at Acton.
I eventually drifted off to sleep but was jolted awake from fitful slumber by the pungent smell of leather. I opened my eyes to see one of the burly Sergeant’s bucket top boots planted firmly on my chest.
“Move it, roundhead,” he growled. “Time for a walk.”
I struggled groggily to my feet and was hustled unceremoniously out of the tent. I was pleased to be greeted by a bright and breezy morning with warm, spring-like air and white clouds scudding across the sky. Although the fields remained saturated with water, the rain had stopped, and the overcast skies of the day before had been replaced by bright sunshine. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from everyone’s shoulders, but perhaps it was just the knowledge that today was the day of reckoning for Nantwich, and that one way or another, the siege would be lifted. Whilst the rest of the force decamped, Alexander and I were placed under the watchful gaze of a group of grinning pikemen, who taunted us with their bread and cheese whilst our own stomachs grumbled in protest. Wade, meanwhile, was still in no fit state to travel, so he was put on a cart with some of the injured from the previous week’s raid.
The walk to Acton was planned to take in Dorfold on the way, and it proved to be as laborious as it was long. The flooded water meadows and the need to stay far enough away from Nantwich to avoid being attacked meant that a huge detour was necessary. The sodden ground, meanwhile, meant that the carts and artillery kept getting stuck in the mud. As the convoy toiled through the saturated landscape, it quickly became clear that Byron’s men had decamped just in time, for, in the distance, a number of townsfolk, having realised that the force on Beam Heath had been isolated from the main body of Byron’s army, had ventured forth from the earthworks to destroy the royalist defences, to grab any hay left by Byron’s men, and to set fire to any remaining barns, to prevent them from being used again. Up ahead, I caught sight of Alice riding with Sir Robert Byron and his officers and cursed at my bad fortune.
In the end, it was a good six mile walk to Dorfold. We crossed the river at Shrewbridge but had to make many detours to avoid the flooded fields. It was approaching midday, therefore, before we passed by Bull’s Wood, and the red brick façade of Dorfold House came into view.
We had approached Dorfold from the south along a narrow bridleway, which skirted by the house to the east and eventually led to The Star Inn and Acton’s church. A hundred yards or so to the east of the house, the bridleway met a path which led to the front of the house. At the junction, Robert Byron halted his men, for the route to Acton was bustling with officers heading from their quarters towards the church, where the majority of the lower ranks were billeted. Amidst the organised chaos, an artillery train was trying to haul a huge cannon and a mortar through the mud, churning the ground in front of the house into a morass. I realised that this must have been the ordnance that had bombarded Welsh Row and gave a silent prayer of thanks that the guns were now being moved away.
From a distance, I saw Sir Robert Byron converse with one of his officers, before riding off towards the house, closely followed by Alice. I watched, intrigued, as a well-dressed officer with shoulder-length brown curls and a fine gold and green doublet appeared at the top of the steps leading to the doorway of the house. Both Byron and Alice dismounted from their horses and approached the newcomer, although Alice, looking pale and drawn, seemed unsure as to her position and held back slightly. I watched, transfixed, as the two men embraced each other, and I realised that I was looking at none other than Lord John Byron, the leader of the royalist forces in Cheshire.
I was woken from my reverie by the sight of the burly Sergeant and two of his pikemen, who appeared suddenly at my side.
“Time for you to get what’s coming to you, rebel,” said the Sergeant, with a sadistic smile. “Follow me.”
Alexander and I were led in the direction of the house, encouraged by the two pikemen, who prodded us in the back as we went. Up ahead, I saw two more soldiers carrying a stretcher, on which lay the motionless body of Jack Wade. We were brought to a halt at the foot of the steps to the house. I glanced up towards the doorway at Alice, who reddened slightly and turned her gaze away from me. Lord Byron, meanwhile, had descended the steps and was looking at me close-up, his countenance fixed in a steely glare.
“Well, well,” said Byron to his brother. “These base rogues are responsible for the demise of our friend Furnival, you say?”
“Indeed,” said Sir Robert. “In fact, this one is one of the Cheswis brothers.”
Lord Byron raised an eyebrow and looked at me with renewed interest.
“I will look forward to renewing my acquaintance with you after I have put Fairfax and his followers to the sword,” he said. “In the meantime, you will remain here as a guest of his Majesty, King Charles.”
Alexander, Wade, and I were taken upstairs to an oak-panelled bedroom and locked in with a guard place
d outside the door. Things could have been worse, for we were at least able to wrap Wade up warmly in one of the beds. We were also given a bowl of pottage and some bread each, which went some way towards relieving the gnawing hunger which had been gripping my insides. The rough handling afforded to Wade in the act of depositing him on the bed was a blessing in disguise, in so far as it had woken him sufficiently to allow me to spoon-feed him some pottage, which seemed to revive him somewhat. However, no sooner had he emptied his bowl than he fell again into deep slumber.
Alexander and I would both have been grateful for the small mercy afforded by sleep, but we were far too agitated for that. Instead, I sat on the floor of the bedroom, hugging my shoulders, and wondered what had brought me to this juncture. I prayed fervently that Fairfax and Brereton would overcome Byron’s Irish army, for I knew with certainty that unless that happened, Alexander and I would be hung as spies, probably that evening. I felt a numbness inside my stomach as I considered this eventuality. I thought about Alexander’s young family and Mrs Padgett and Amy. How would they fare without us? I thought about Elizabeth Brett and her son, but most of all, I thought about Simon, who would no doubt be sought out by Byron to suffer the same fate as Alexander and I.
I must have been sat for at least two hours consumed in these thoughts, for the clock on the mantelpiece was indicating fully three o’clock when I heard a key in the lock, and a familiar mass of blond ringlets appeared around the side of the door.
The Winter Siege (Daniel Cheswis Book 1) Page 29