The Winter Siege (Daniel Cheswis Book 1)

by D. W. Bradbridge

  “And so you confronted Marion Tench?”

  “No, although I can’t deny it was on my mind to do so. No. Mrs Tench had realised that I would be told about the relationship, and so she came to try and persuade me not to tell anybody.”

  “You mean she offered you money?”

  Ann shrugged and nodded. I laughed out loud at the unfortunate symmetry of the situation. The whole sorry affair had begun by William Tench blackmailing John Davenport. Now it had ended with Tench’s wife offering to pay the Davenports back.

  “It’s no laughing matter,” said Ann, as the crowd broke out into a low murmur at my odd behaviour.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I did not mean to make merry at the expense of others, I was merely contemplating the irony of the situation.” Ann glared at me through knotted eyebrows.

  “So what happened next?” I asked.

  “Well, she became more insistent,” said Ann, “and then I asked her whether she would have me protect a murderer. At that point, she realised that I knew everything.”

  “At which point, the mood changed, I’ll wager.”

  “She started to shout and scream at me and throw things around. She smashed my plates, emptied the contents of my kitchen over the floor and tried to break my furniture. I grabbed hold of her to try to stop her.”

  “She speaks the truth,” cut in one of the neighbours. “The noise was enough to wake the dead. Several of us came running, but when we got here it was too late.” I turned back from the neighbour to face Ann.

  “She pulled out a knife from under her skirts, the one you see on the floor. She slashed my arm with it. I stepped back and stumbled over the fallen chair. I was on my back on the floor and she was about to kill me.”

  “So what stopped her?”

  “I was lucky. I grabbed a cooking pot that she’d thrown on the floor and smote her with all the force I could muster, square on the shins. She shrieked and dropped the knife, but she wouldn’t back down. She still came for me, so I grabbed the knife and plunged it into her guts. She stopped coming at me after that.”

  “That’s when we came in,” said the neighbour. “Ann was on the floor, holding her arm.”

  “Ann,” I said, “We know now that Edward Yardley murdered William Tench and tried to place the blame on your husband. We also know why. We know about Yardley’s father and the bad feeling between your two families.”

  “It’s a burden we’ve had to bear for years,” said Ann. “Yardley has been a blight on our lives.”

  “Well, he won’t be for much longer – at least once we track him down,” I said.

  “And what about John?” she asked. “He is still locked up with that traitor in your pox-ridden jailhouse. Are you going to free him?”

  “You have my word,” I promised, “but first I will need to raise hue and cry in order to track down Yardley. The guards at the sconces will need to be alerted.”

  “Then do your duty, Daniel,” said Ann. “But do not linger. It’s time this nightmare was brought to an end – for all of us.”

  37

  Nantwich – Friday January 26, 1644

  Davenport was sat hunched and morose in the corner of his cell when Alexander and I arrived at the jail on Pillory Street to set him free. He was still wearing the clothes he had been arrested in two weeks earlier and stank of filth and sweat. The bloodstains on his shirt from Margery’s body had now faded to a dirty brown, and his face, normally clean-shaven, carried a mass of sixteen-day-old stubble. Unsurprisingly, though, he brightened up when I told him about Yardley.

  “I told you that man were an evil bastard, Daniel,” he said. “You have arrested him, I take it?

  “Not exactly,” I admitted, “but the guards on the sconces report that he has not left town, nor will he, now that they have been alerted. In the meantime, there is a guard at your house, so he won’t show up there either.”

  Davenport pressed his lips flat and looked at me suspiciously. “At my house?” he said. “Why would he go there? He knows I am locked up in this rat-infested jail cell.”

  I sighed and explained what had just happened in Davenport’s kitchen, watching as his demeanour changed again, first to shock and then to anger. “Then I must go to comfort Ann immediately,” he said, fixing a flinty stare at the wall behind me. “Just make sure you catch Yardley before I do.”

  “I will do my utmost,” I assured him. “He cannot hide for long.”

  “And what about Kinshaw?” added Davenport. “He may not have murdered Tench, but he was involved in the cover up.”

  I unlocked Davenport’s chains and shoved him in the direction of the cell door. “Go home to your wife, John. She needs you,” I said, “and leave Kinshaw to me.”

  With the most urgent matters now attended to, I realised that I had been back in Nantwich for most of the day but had still not shown my face at the Bretts’ house, where Simon and Elizabeth would be waiting for news. I therefore walked round to Beam Street and noticed that a guard was still in position at the front of the house. In all the confusion of the day, I realised that no-one had bothered telling Simon and Elizabeth that they were safe to roam the town. Simon saw me approaching through the window and opened the door as Elizabeth came running downstairs.

  “Ah, the stranger returns,” said Simon, sardonically. “I hear you’ve been back most of the day. You didn’t feel the urgency to release us from our prison here?”

  “Aren’t you going to ask how I am?” I countered, ignoring the jibe. “Alexander and I are lucky to be alive.”

  “It’s good to see you’re safe,” said Elizabeth, “but we’ve been worried about you.”

  “I’m sorry, Simon,” I said. “A lot has happened. I will explain. Firstly, Furnival is dead.”

  Simon swallowed hard and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead as he considered the implications of what he had been told. Elizabeth gave out a sharp cry and sat down at the table.

  “Dead? How so?” demanded Simon. I explained the chase across Beam Heath and Furnival’s efforts to cross the temporary bridge. Simon pursed his lips when I explained about Wade.

  “I am sorry for him,” said my brother. “How does he fare?”

  “He will survive, but he will no longer be able to walk on two feet. He rests at my house.”

  “And the Duke’s letters?”

  “Lost,” I said. “They lie in the Weaver somewhere between here and the sea.”

  “That is a shame,” said Simon, sadly, his shoulders sagging with disappointment. “We could have saved many lives, if we had been able to reveal the duplicitous nature of this King. Let us hope his true nature is revealed soon. And what of Furnival’s wife?”

  I related the story of our march to Dorfold House, the manner of our release, our involvement in the battle and Alice’s final escape to Shrewsbury.

  “Then she is out of your life for good. The Lord be praised for that,” he said, exchanging a brief glance with Elizabeth.

  “And what about Booth?” he continued. “How did he take the loss of the papers?”

  I thought about that for a moment and had to admit that the Colonel’s reaction was curious. “Oddly enough, he did not seem too upset,” I admitted.

  “I thought as much. You see, if the King’s letters had reached London, Brereton would have taken much of the credit for their delivery. As it stands, though, depending on whether he passed my message on to others, he gains no benefit, at best, and a shower of criticism at worst.”

  I have to admit that this was an entirely new consideration for me. “Why on earth would Booth want to see Brereton fail?” I asked, incredulously.

  Simon smiled and gave me a look that seemed to border on pity. “Daniel,” he said. “You really don’t have much of a feel for local politics, do you? Think about it. Brereton is a puritan and far too radical for Booth, who is a moderate, politically speaking. In addition, Booth comes from a family that is above Brereton’s in the social scale. Before the war, politi
cal influence in Cheshire was in the hands of the baronets, men like Booth’s grandfather, Old Sir George Booth. Now, however, power is entirely in Brereton’s hands. He has surrounded himself with a group of cronies who sit on local committees and control everything. He even has a way of by-passing decisions, should he need to. The last thing Booth needs is for Brereton to get credit for the delivery of Hamilton’s papers. He would end up with even more power.”

  I was amazed at the depth of Simon’s knowledge and was just about to tell him so, when I glanced out of the window and caught sight of the portly figure of Gilbert Kinshaw making his way to the front door. Simon caught sight of him too and looked over at me.

  “Today is not the day for this,” he said. “I’ll get rid of him.”

  “No. Leave it,” I said. “He and I have some unfinished business.” I strode over to Elizabeth’s front door and swung it open, just as Kinshaw had finished speaking to the soldiers on guard. The pre-prepared smile that adorned his face vanished abruptly as he realised who stood before him.

  “Ah, Mr Cheswis,” he said. “You are still here?”

  “That I am,” I replied, “although I must confess I am surprised to see you here again today. You have presumably not heard yet about your sister?”

  “Marion?” said Kinshaw, frowning. “What of her?”

  “She lies dead on the floor of John Davenport’s house, having attacked his wife with a knife. Her lover, Edward Yardley, is in hiding, wanted for the murders of William Tench and Will Butters.”

  Kinshaw’s eyes widened as he took on board what he was being told. “Marion. D-dead?” he stammered. “You mean she was killed by Ann Davenport? Are you going to do your duty, Cheswis, and make sure the Davenports pay the price for their crimes, or do I need to go to the High Constable about this?”

  “Enough, Kinshaw,” I snapped. “You can’t pull the wool over my eyes on this. William Tench was murdered by Yardley and your sister. They had Tench blackmail Davenport about his fraudulent walling activities to make it look like Davenport had a motive to kill Tench. And there is only one person who could have told Tench about Davenport’s secret. And that’s you! You’re involved in this up to your neck, Mr Kinshaw.”

  Kinshaw bridled. “You can’t prove any of this,” he said.

  “I would welcome the opportunity to try,” I retorted.

  “And you, sirrah,” said Kinshaw, “are the town constable. I have provided you with the information you needed to conduct an investigation against Davenport for fraud, and yet you have done nothing about it, preferring to push the responsibility back to the Rulers of Walling. This wouldn’t be because Davenport is your friend, would it? I’m sure the Deputy Lieutenants would have a view on this.”

  At this point, Elizabeth, who had been listening to the conversation open-mouthed, stepped in. “Mr Kinshaw,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I’m sure you have not come here today to argue with Mr Cheswis. I presume you have come to talk to me about your offer to buy my husband’s business?”

  Kinshaw turned to her. “You are right, Mistress Brett. I must offer my apologies for using your house in which to conduct this unseemly argument.”

  Elizabeth waved him away with a brush of her hand. “You do not have to apologise, sir,” she said, “but I do have a proposal.”

  “I’m listening,” he replied.

  “You have made me an offer for my husband’s business,” said Elizabeth. “I think it is worth more than you have offered, but it is still a considerable amount. I will sell the business to you at the price you offer, but there are some conditions. Firstly, you will not conduct any proceedings against Mr Davenport through the Walling Committee. You will forget that any such transgressions took place and let Mr Davenport and his family live their lives in peace. Secondly, you will drop any accusations against Mr Cheswis or inferences that he has carried out his duties in anything other than a completely proper manner. Do we have a deal?”

  A smile played on the corner of Simon’s lips, but both Kinshaw and I were dumbstruck.

  “You would do that for him?” said Kinshaw.

  Elizabeth didn’t answer but merely repeated the question. “Do we have a deal?”

  Kinshaw hesitated for a while and then looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll have my lawyers draw up the contract.” He stepped forward and shook Elizabeth’s hand. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Mrs Brett. I’m not sure you have the best of the deal, but you have a certain style, I think.”

  Elizabeth nodded at the compliment.

  Kinshaw turned towards the door but then stopped. “Just one thing,” he said. “How do I know you won’t go back on this arrangement once the business is in my hands?”

  “That is because you will provide me with a signed, open-ended, legally binding agreement to sell the business back to me at the original selling price. I will keep this document safe, and use it only if you go back on our agreement.”

  “And how do I know that you won’t use the document anyway?”

  “You don’t,” said Elizabeth. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

  Kinshaw looked at Elizabeth for a moment, and then his face broke into a smile. “By the saints, madam, you strike a hard bargain,” he said, “but you have certainly earned my respect. I do hope this is not the last time we do business together. It has been an enlightening experience”.

  I could still hear him chuckling as he waddled his way past the guard out onto the street. As he did so, Elizabeth turned round and headed for the kitchen where Ralph Junior was playing. Simon watched her go and then laid his hand on my shoulder.

  “Brother,” he said. “Such a thing I did not expect to see. I think you have a choice to make. Make sure it’s the right one.”

  As Simon and I watched the figure of Gilbert Kinshaw receding down Beam Street, my eye was caught by the sight of a figure on horseback making his way slowly in the opposite direction. He was dressed in a buff coat and wore a wide-brimmed hat with a fine feather in it. He stopped outside Elizabeth’s house and dismounted.

  “Good day, sir,” he said. “I would speak with Ralph Brett. I trust I am in the right place.”

  “You are, sir,” I said. “May I ask in what connection you seek Mr Brett?”

  “My name is Michael Forbes,” said the horseman.” I bring a communication from my master, Lord Hamilton. I have ridden from Falmouth, where he is held prisoner.” Simon and I exchanged a quick glance.

  “I think you may be disappointed, sir,” I said, “but you had better come in. Mistress Brett is at home.”

  “I’m afraid my husband was cruelly murdered in December,” said Elizabeth, once Forbes was seated in the hall. Forbes looked crushed at the news and sat frowning for what must have been at least a minute, stroking the feather in his hat.

  “May I speak to you in confidence in front of these gentlemen?” he asked, once he had recovered his composure.

  “Yes, of course. These gentlemen are close friends of mine and of my husband. Their business is my business.”

  “Very well,” said Forbes. “Your husband visited my master at his family home in Kinneil in October, where he entrusted him with a package of documents. Do you know anything about this?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “No sir, I knew he had been in Scotland. He told me he had been to Edinburgh for trading purposes. He was a mercer. I know of no trip other than to there.”

  Forbes nodded. “So he did not confide in you as to the nature of his visit to the Duke?”

  “I’m afraid not. He didn’t discuss his business affairs with me. I know he served under his lordship in the Palatinate, but beyond that I know little of his time there.”

  “And would he have had any close contacts he may have confided in in Nantwich?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Elizabeth. “My husband was killed after meeting someone early in the morning near the town’s earthworks. We still do not know why he was killed, but I thin
k you may have answered the question.”

  “And you do not know the whereabouts of the documents of which I speak?”

  “We have been through all of my husband’s business documentation since his death,” said Elizabeth. “I can assure you we found nothing of the nature such as what you describe.”

  “Then my journey is wasted,” said Forbes. “I am sorry for your loss.” And with that he shook Elizabeth’s hand and left the house, leaving Elizabeth, Simon, and I to contemplate what might have come to pass, had he arrived two days earlier.

  38

  Nantwich – Saturday January 27, 1644

  It was market day in Nantwich, and the weather was unusually mild for the time of year. White clouds scudded across the sky and the sun shone, casting its warmth over the stallholders in the square. It was like a spring day, and the optimism that such a day brings was reflected in the mood of the populace.

  The town reverberated to the sound of tradesmen hawking their wares. Farmers drove their cattle through the Beast Market, hens and geese were led noisily up the High Street, fish was being laid out on boards. Everyone in Nantwich would eat well for the first time in weeks. Today, the town’s bellman would not be ringing to announce a death, but to report glad tidings.

  Three officers stood in the square, surveying the scene; an olive-skinned senior officer, a thin man with pinched features in plain puritan garb, and the broad-shouldered commander of the garrison. All three men bore a self-satisfied demeanour. They were overseeing their people, the people whose safety and livelihoods they had assured. However, although they acknowledged the plaudits of the townsfolk with good grace, their minds were already on their next move, on campaigns that would secure the future of the whole country, not just a small town in Cheshire.