The Combermere Legacy

by D. W. Bradbridge

  However, despite the general mood of buoyancy in Nantwich that day, the good news did not seem to have filtered through to my own family. Elizabeth, who usually helped enthusiastically with the selling of our cheese, very quickly disappeared and spent much of the morning in earnest conversation with Margery, who kept looking at me with a sullen face and eyes like daggers. Alexander, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen.

  Amy too was housebound, having been forbidden by Mrs Padgett to leave the confines of the kitchen in punishment for ruining her petticoat in Ridley Field. Ralph sat glumly on the steps of the house, tapping his wooden sword against the door frame. Even Wade, normally an ebullient soul, caught the tension in the atmosphere after a while, and after several attempts to lighten the mood, gave up the pretence and concentrated on selling our cheese as quickly as he could.

  “Forgive the impertinence, Master Cheswis,” he said, “but everyone round here has a face like a smacked arse. And here’s me, one leg short, with real reason to be grumpy, and I’m the only one smiling.”

  Wade had a point. I contemplated the youth as he hobbled around the table, cutting a whole cream cheese expertly with a wire and wrapping a piece of it for one of the goodwives listening to his good-natured chatter as they patiently queued. His wooden leg clumped noisily on the cobbles as he carried out this work. I felt a binding obligation to Wade, for he had lost his leg five months previously, after being shot in the foot whilst helping Alexander and me pursue the royalist spy and murderer Hugh Furnival across Beam Heath.

  I liked Wade. He had never complained about the hand that fate had dealt him and had simply got on with learning the new trade that I had given him. He was a fast learner too. Under the able tutelage of Gilbert Robinson, he had spent Mondays to Thursdays in my wich house on Wood Street, learning the art of walling. Despite being unable to carry out much in the way of physical work, Robinson assured me his charge would soon be able to manage a kindling on his own.

  On Fridays, Wade helped with my burgeoning cheese business, taking my horse and cart to local farmers to gather the best in Cheshire cheese and the occasional churn of butter, which we would sell at the Saturday market.

  Every day I felt a pang of guilt that my good fortune in finding Wade was down solely to his terrible injury and the fact that my previous apprentice, the less than committed James Skinner, had been captured by royalists during January’s battle.

  “You are in the right of it, Jack,” I said, “and as usual it is I, myself, who is the source of this unhappiness.”

  Wade looked at me carefully and put down his cheese wire. “You have been summoned once again by Sir William Brereton, I hear.”

  “By Colonel Croxton,” I said, “but it amounts to the same thing. I may have rid myself of the responsibility of being a constable, but it seems to me that my current situation is much worse. Don’t get me wrong, being free of the need to deal with drunkards, uncooperative landlords, and vagrants is a fine thing, but, as things stand, I never know when I might be called upon, and to what end.”

  “If I may be so bold, sir, you take your responsibilities too much to heart,” said Wade. “If people are downcast and uncommunicative this morning, then maybe it is because people are concerned for you.”

  “Perhaps,” I replied, wondering where the conversation was leading.

  When he saw that I was not going to comment any further, Wade took a deep breath and opened his mouth once more. “If you are called into service by Brereton again,” he said, “please do not forget that I am here. If I can be of service in any way, I am at your disposal. I may be a cripple, but I can still ride a horse, drive a cart, handle a musket… and I have eyes.”

  I stared at Wade with surprise. “But you have lost your leg on my account,” I exclaimed. “Why would you want to risk more?”

  “You are seeing it wrong, Master Cheswis. I followed you that night of my own accord, and it was some bastard malignant who shot me. You were not to blame. Indeed, by making me your apprentice, you have saved me from a life of begging on street corners. It is I who owe you, not the reverse.”

  I was not wholly convinced, but Wade’s words gave me heart and strengthened my resolve that whatever Colonel Croxton had in store for me, I would face up to the challenge and succeed, if not for my own sake, then for the sake of all those who depended on me.

  * * *

  The Booth Hall was the large black and white wooden structure on the opposite side of the square to St Mary’s Church, a stone’s throw from The Crown. In my capacity as constable, I had become used to attending the deputy lieutenants there, but the meeting with Croxton to which I had been summoned was not of the same ilk, and the prospect filled me with trepidation. Alexander, I could tell, was feeling much the same way, for his normal cheerful countenance had been replaced by a mask of worry as we marched up Pepper Street and across the square.

  Ezekiel Green was waiting for us outside, his hand clasped to his nose as a protection against the foul stench that was emanating from the drainage channel that ran directly in front of where he was standing. He removed his hand and gave a tight-lipped smile when he saw us approaching.

  “Good morrow, sirs,” he said. “Apologies if my expression is one of distaste. This weather, I swear, is sent to us by the very devil himself. This town has begun to smell like the bowels of hell.”

  “Aye, you’re not wrong there,” said Alexander. “The gong farmers will be working overtime during these days, that is for sure.”

  It was true that the sultry weather had begun to be a cause for concern throughout the town. It was at times like this that thoughts turned to public health and the risk of disease. It had been so hot that one of the rulers of walling had cancelled all kindlings in the wich houses on Wood Street and Snow Hill until further notice.

  “The weather is indeed unpleasant,” I concurred. “I propose we go inside where the air is better.”

  Ezekiel acquiesced with a brief nod and led us inside the building.

  “Colonel Croxton is engaged with another appointment at the moment,” said the clerk, “but I believe he is almost finished. At any rate, he asked me to bring you directly to him.”

  Ezekiel led me to a small ante-room facing the square, where Croxton was sat. The colonel’s black but stylishly cut doublet was unbuttoned, revealing his shirt, and his black, wide-brimmed hat lay on the desk in front of him. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of his forehead.

  Opposite Croxton sat a slim, balding man in his forties, who, despite being dressed in plain, Puritan garb, seemed unbothered by the heat.

  “Ah, Master Cheswis, Master Clowes,” said Croxton, jovially. “Punctual as always, I see. I am more or less finished here, but before we sit down to discuss matters which concern us, I would introduce you to Marc Folineux. He is newly appointed as a sequestrator collector for Nantwich Hundred.”

  “But I thought we already had a sequestration committee in Nantwich,” I said, somewhat surprised.

  Since his return from London three weeks previously, Brereton had moved quickly to establish a committee to sequester the property of anyone suspected of helping or supporting the royalist cause. Trusted townsmen like the lawyer, Malbon, had been recruited to administer this process, but the man sat with Croxton was unknown to me.

  “Mr Folineux has been personally recruited by Sir William,” explained the colonel. “He has a reputation for being particularly assiduous in the pursuit of those who would seek to hide their assets from Parliament. He will be engaged to pursue the more affluent of our local delinquents.”

  “And there are plenty of those,” I pointed out, thinking of the likes of Randle Church, Thomas Maisterson, and Roger Wilbraham, men of influence within the town, all of whom I had reason to be wary of. “But these are men just like you or I,” I added. “Their conscience has instructed them not to be disloyal to their king, as they see it. Do they truly deserve to have their estate and property confiscated?”

  Folineux, who until now
had said nothing, lowered his chin and stared at me with pinched mouth. “Sir, you speak as though you were a delinquent yourself,” he whispered. “If Colonel Croxton had not already informed me of the good service you have given to our cause, I believe I would have grave doubts as to where your loyalties reside.”

  Folineux had a remarkably quiet voice, but it was one which carried an unmistakeable measure of menace. This, I was certain, was a man of ruthless efficiency, who was not to be taken lightly.

  “Mr Folineux, you have me wrong,” I said. “I do not question the need to act against our true enemies, but many of these people are men who have not raised arms in anger against the forces of Parliament. They are simply men who have remained loyal to His Majesty and have said as much in word. Perhaps not all have done so in deed. Some may have given funds, men, or goods to the royalist army, but not all of them. Is it right that we alienate such people even more than we have already done?”

  “Sir, if that is your belief, then you are both naïve and a fool. Such men must be crushed and made to pay for their delinquency. With God’s grace, this will be achieved in the coming months, and the completion of this process will hasten the end to the bloody conflict in which we find ourselves. If you have no stomach for doing what has to be done, then pray leave it to those who have. Good day to you, sir.” With that, Folineux got to his feet, nodded to the colonel, and left the room.

  “A man of conviction,” said Croxton, as we watched Folineux’s back recede down the corridor towards the entrance hall.

  “Seems like a proper arsehole to me,” said Alexander.

  Croxton gave Alexander a sharp look, but let the comment go. “You will no doubt wish to know why your presence here has been requested,” he said, pouring himself a cup of beer from a jug on the table.

  “I can only assume it is a matter of the highest urgency,” I replied, trying to hold back the sarcasm. “After all, it was deemed necessary to summon me within three days of my wedding.”

  Croxton sucked his teeth and raised his hands in submission. “For that I can only apologise, Master Cheswis, but this situation was not of my making. Indeed, the knowledge, which has necessitated my approach to you, has been in Sir William’s possession since before your nuptials. I have deliberately given you a few days grace before calling on you.”

  “And I am supposed to be grateful for that?”

  “Not necessarily, although one might have expected some degree of recognition on your part for the fact that Sir William has relieved you from your duties as constable. As I have explained to you, it is not our intention to tax you unduly, but a situation has arisen which you and Mr Clowes are best positioned to deal with – and your impetuous brother too, were he not trying his level best to get himself killed in Yorkshire.”

  “You have received word of Simon?” I asked.

  Croxton nodded. “Your brother is safe, so I am told, but he will not be returning to Nantwich any time soon. He has expressed his wish to continue to serve under Major Lilburne.”

  It was bitter-sweet news for me. Although I could not hold back my relief that Simon had survived the battle, neither could I conceal my dismay that he had chosen to stay with John Lilburne and fight for his political ideals. I wondered whether he would have made the same choice if he had seen what I had seen on the night of my wedding – namely Simon’s betrothed, Rose Bailey, walking arm in arm with young Edmund Wright, one of the apprentices at Roger Comberbach’s tanner’s yard.

  “Thank you for this information, Colonel. My parents will be relieved to hear this news, I am sure. I hear the victory was significant.”

  “Indeed. Four thousand royalists dead, Newcastle’s Whitecoat regiment decimated almost to a man, and a great victory for Lieutenant General Cromwell of the Eastern Association. Even Rupert’s infernal dog perished in the action, although the whereabouts of his master are still unknown.”

  “So the tide in this war is finally turning?” I ventured.

  “We must not count our chickens before they are hatched, Master Cheswis, but so it would appear. Even in these parts, the momentum is with us. As we speak, Colonel Booth and Lord Denbigh are bombarding Cholmondeley House. The enemy cannot last out for long, which is exactly why we must be vigilant.”

  “Vigilant, sir?”

  “Certainly, a desperate malignant makes for a cunning foe, and word has reached us of a plot concerning one such malignant who is well known to you; one Jeremiah Bressy.”

  My heart sank as I realised there was truly no way out of the trap I now found myself in.

  “Jem Bressy?” I said, desperately. “I thought he was in Chester. How can I possibly be of assistance with regards to him?”

  “Bressy, it appears, has been less than discreet with some of the whores in The Boot in Chester. You will recall we have some friends in that particular establishment.”

  “Of course,” I acknowledged. I did not mind admitting it. Alexander and I would be eternally grateful for the role played by Thomas Corbett, The Boot’s landlord, his son Charles, and Annie, the brothel madam, in securing our escape from Jem Bressy’s clutches in March. On that occasion, we had been forced to clamber through the back of a stinking privy and make good our escape disguised as churchmen.

  “It appears that Bressy has been talking about a hoard of gold, plate, and other valuables, which he says lies buried somewhere in or near Nantwich. It sounds somewhat far-fetched, I know, but Bressy claims he has the means to locate this hoard and plans to travel to Nantwich in order to recover the valuables for the royalist cause. We cannot be sure how much truth there is in the story. However, we cannot risk funds as potentially significant as this being appropriated by His Majesty’s forces in Shrewsbury. They have their own mint there, as you will no doubt be aware. It would be a disaster if he were to succeed in this endeavour.”

  “But how can Alexander and I be of help?” I asked.

  Croxton smiled. “Bressy is an elusive fellow. Away from his own stamping ground in Chester he tends to remain very much in the shadows. But you and Mr Clowes know what Bressy looks like. Of course, a few others do too, such as those soldiers still here who served with Bressy when he infiltrated our forces at Beeston Castle – I believe your apprentice, Wade, is one such man – but we cannot entrust this kind of information to common soldiers.

  “What is more, we know that you have been just as much of a thorn in Bressy’s side as he has been in yours. So, if he is lurking somewhere in Nantwich, it may well be that he will come looking for you. All we ask is that you keep a lookout for him and, if he puts in an appearance, you alert us to the fact, especially if you find out where this treasure is located. If such a hoard truly exists, we cannot afford for it to fall into the wrong hands.”

  “And that is all?” I asked, not sure whether to be relieved that Croxton wanted us to do nothing more than a piece of surveillance or horrified at the thought that the murderous Bressy might once more emerge to blight my life.

  I was busy contemplating this when there was a gentle knock at the door, and Ezekiel Green appeared.

  “Excuse the disturbance, Colonel,” said Green, “but Constable Sawyer is here, and he would speak with you as a matter of urgency.”

  Croxton tutted with indignation and waved his hand dismissively. “Sawyer?” he breathed. “What does he want? Tell him to come back later. I’m engaged in important business.”

  “Beg pardon, sir,” said Green, “but you might want to hear what he has to say. He reports that there has been a murder. A body has been found in Ridley Field, so he says.”

  “But that is a civilian matter, Green.”

  “No, sir. The victim, although a local man, is a member of the garrison. In the absence of Sir William or Colonel Booth, Sawyer has asked that you attend the scene.”

  I flashed a glance across the table at Alexander. Another murder in Nantwich, and in Ridley Field too. I made a mental note to use this news to explain to Amy and Ralph why it was unsafe for them to play ther
e.

  “I see you are in demand, Colonel,” I said, glad of the excuse to escape Croxton’s presence. “If that is all, we will be on our way. We will keep our eyes peeled for Bressy as you asked.”

  I made to get up, but Croxton reached across the table and placed his hand on my wrist.

  “Not so quick, Master Cheswis,” he said, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You have displayed a remarkable aptitude in the past for identifying the perpetrators of crimes such as this. If this is indeed a military matter, then I will require someone with investigative skills to assist me. If you and Master Clowes would care to join me, we will attend to Constable Sawyer forthwith.”

  Chapter 4

  Nantwich – Monday, July 8th, 1644

  Alexander and I found Sawyer waiting in the vestibule, trying to fan himself with the corner of one of the tapestries hanging from the wall of the council antechamber. A small, wiry man, the constable was better equipped to deal with the stifling heat than most, but, judging from the large patch of sweat under his armpits, he too was suffering badly from the sultry weather. He dropped the corner of the tapestry as though it were a hot coal when he saw us coming and sighed irritably.

  “God’s Blood,” he said, “I ask for Colonel Croxton, and I get a useless pair of canker blossoms like you two. What the fuck are you doing here? It is below the good colonel to deal with the likes of me, I presume?”

  It was more or less the reception I was expecting. Sawyer was an ungracious and cantankerous fellow at the best of times, but since I had been relieved of my duties as constable he had become even more obnoxious than usual. It was down to jealousy, I knew, and for that I could not blame him, for both of us had found ourselves trapped in an office that was only supposed to be of one year duration, as the collapse of local government that had come with the onset of war had meant there was no system in place to relieve us. After two years’ service, Brereton had replaced me with a corviser called Eldrid Cripps, but for Sawyer there was no end in sight.