The Combermere Legacy

by D. W. Bradbridge

  Kinshaw emitted a strange rasping noise, which seemed to come from the back of his throat, and he turned to face me.

  “Lied, Mr Cheswis?”

  “Don’t play the innocent with me, sirrah,” I snarled.

  Kinshaw flinched as I took a step closer to the bed. A look of panic began to spread over the doctor’s features, and he began to struggle to his feet.

  “Mr Cheswis, I-.”

  “Please, doctor,” I said. “There is little I can do to him that has not already been done, and I do not intend to hang on account of so worthless a specimen as him.”

  I heard a spluttering noise coming from the bed as Kinshaw took umbrage at my words, but I was in no mood to be stopped.

  “And you can cease your complaining, Mr Kinshaw,” I said. “You have brought this upon yourself. You told me that you had surrendered my wife’s engraving to your attacker the first time he was here, but that was a lie, was it not?”

  Kinshaw gave me a snort of disdain. “What do you expect?” he demanded. “I am no fool. I could see the damned thing was of value, although the Lord knows why. It is an ugly-looking trinket at best.”

  “So you still have it?”

  “Of course not, you imbecile. What do you take me for, exactly? I have an eye for an opportunity, Cheswis, that I cannot deny, but I am not going to get myself killed on account of a miserable piece of metal. My attacker took it with him this morning.”

  I sighed with exasperation. Not only did the murderer have access to one of the key words, one which Wilbraham, Maisterson, and I had little chance of getting, he now no longer had any reason to keep Amy as ransom.

  “You are an ignorant fool, Mr Kinshaw,” I said. “Your selfishness has placed Amy Padgett’s life at risk. If anything should happen to her, I will see to it that you are held to account. And there is one more thing: you had an appointment with Adolphus Palyn this morning.”

  “Aye, he was to have been measured for a new suit. I thought I saw him standing in the doorway, but he took off like a frightened rabbit when he saw what was happening. Why do you ask?”

  “Palyn has not returned home today,” I said, grimly, “so you may yet have to account for your actions to his family as well as my own.”

  At this point Kinshaw’s throat rasped again, and he began to cough uncontrollably. Dr Thomasson gave me a warning look and held a kerchief to Kinshaw’s mouth. When he pulled it away, I saw that it was spotted with blood.

  “I think you have talked enough, Master Cheswis,” said Thomasson. “Mr Kinshaw is exhausted and needs to rest.”

  I turned towards the door to leave, but Kinshaw lifted his arm, and I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye.

  “Just one thing, Cheswis,” he said. “Are you going to tell me what is so important about this engraving?”

  * * *

  I sat in a dark corner of the bar at the Red Cow, cradling a tankard of ale in my hands to stop them from shaking. Alexander had moved quickly to bundle me out of Kinshaw’s house before I had the chance to place my hands around his throat. As I was propelled into the street I could just hear the sound of Thomasson’s voice telling the portly merchant that he had provoked me just a little too far.

  I had since spent twenty minutes explaining to my friend what had happened at Combermere: the untimely demise of Geffery Crewe, the attack on Demeter, the unexpected appearance of Alice, the strange accord I had been forced to make with Jem Bressy, and the unexplained poisoning of Thomas Cotton and his guests.

  Alexander listened to my account between gulps of ale, making occasional exclamations of surprise, particularly when I mentioned the reappearance of Alice Furnival.

  “That is indeed curious,” he said. “You and Wilbraham appear to have had a most eventful day. I cannot say I know how to find Amy, though, nor can I identify who has taken her, but I have managed to gather some interesting information, which may be relevant.”

  I slapped my palm against my forehead, chiding myself at my forgetfulness, and smiled gratefully at Alexander.

  “Of course,” I exclaimed, “Fletcher and Cripps. I had almost forgotten the surveillance work I had entrusted you with. What have you discovered?”

  Alexander waved his tankard at a passing serving wench, who smiled provocatively at him as she placed a fresh beer on the table in front of him, making sure he got a good look at her cleavage. As she did so I placed a coin in the girl’s hand and waved her away, impatient for my friend’s response.

  “Precious little at first,” he said. “Fletcher has spent the last six days working at consecutive kindlings up on Snow Hill, so he’s been busy for the whole week. I spent the first couple of days sat outside a bloody wich house wasting my time, before I decided to change my approach and follow Eldrid Cripps instead. That’s when things started to get more interesting. When he’s not fulfilling his duty as a constable, he spends most of his time either sleeping or in his workshop at the back of his cottage, making shoes.”

  “He won’t have time for much else,” I cut in. “I know from experience the demands being a constable places on one’s time.”

  “Quite,” said Alexander, with a touch more irritability than I thought was warranted. “Do you want to hear this or not, Daniel?”

  I nodded sheepishly at Alexander and bade him continue.

  “So I took the liberty of tracking down Sawyer and finding out when Cripps was on duty. I then began waiting for him between two of the wich houses opposite his cottage on Little Wood Street. Truly, the man is a dozy lummox, Daniel, for I followed him everywhere for three days, and I swear he didn’t realise he was being followed once.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “On the face of it, little out of the ordinary: removing drunkards from the taverns, moving on vagrants and beggars, breaking up disturbances, and sorting out petty disputes between neighbours – you know the sort of thing you had to deal with. But one thing I did find unusual was that on each of the three days that I followed him, Cripps paid a visit to the Comberbachs’ Tanners yard to seek out Roger Comberbach.

  “I couldn’t get too close for fear of being seen, but on the first two days he and Comberbach seemed to be engaged in heated argument, and on each occasion Cripps left looking worried. On his third visit yesterday afternoon, Cripps appeared to hand over a leather pouch to Comberbach, who seemed much pacified by this.”

  “So what did you do?”

  Alexander grinned wickedly. I could see that despite his complaints about the amount of waiting around involved with surveillance work, he had been enjoying himself.

  “At first I thought to approach Comberbach directly,” he said, “but just as Cripps was leaving, I noticed young Edmund Wright appear from the workshop with a hide slung over his shoulders.

  “You mean the young lad who’s being walking out with Rose Bailey?”

  “The very same,” confirmed Alexander. “I had quite forgotten he worked for the Comberbachs, so I waited until Roger had gone back indoors and beckoned the young lad over. At first he didn’t want to talk, for he is aware of my friendship with you and thought I was about to accost him for stealing your brother’s betrothed.”

  “Simon has no-one but himself to blame for that,” I said. “I have no quarrel with Wright.”

  “That’s what I told him. So, eventually he opened up. Cripps, it appears, is seriously in debt to Comberbach for the leather he has supplied. He is several months in arrears and has been told he must pay Comberbach daily instalments until his debt is more or less under control. The small pouch he handed over must have been one of these instalments.”

  “I see,” I said. “I am sorry for Cripps, for it cannot be easy trying to keep a struggling business above water whilst coping with the onerous duties of being a constable, but I fail to see what this has to do with Fletcher.”

  “I am not sure myself,” came the reply, “but a constable in debt is often a poor constable. There has to be some connection with why Cripps is so ada
mant about Fletcher’s guilt with regards to the murder of Henry Hassall. One thing I have not yet mentioned is that during his shifts, Cripps has seemed to spend an inordinately large amount of time patrolling the area of Wall Lane around where Fletcher lives, talking to his friends and neighbours. I have no idea why.

  “Fletcher finishes his kindling tonight, so perhaps, if we keep an eye on Cripps’ movements, we might learn something that could cast some light on this puzzle.”

  I thought about this for a few moments, and had to agree that there was a lot to be said for Alexander’s suggestion. “Then let us go and search out my successor,” I said.

  Alexander drained his tankard and belched loudly. “Not so fast, my friend,” he said. “Your enthusiasm is admirable, but there is time enough for that this evening. Cripps will be hard at work in his workshop at the moment. We will merely be sat on our arses all afternoon if we mount a watch now. In the meantime there are several other people who need your attention more.”

  I felt a pang of guilt course through my veins, and I realised how right Alexander was. How could I possibly forget? In my haste to solve the mystery of the murders of Henry Hassall and Geffery Crewe I had neglected to think of the people who meant most to me. Thoroughly chastened, I picked up my hat, followed Alexander out of the tavern, and headed up Beam Street in search of my wife, my adopted son, and Mrs Padgett.

  Chapter 17

  Nantwich – Thursday, August 1st, 1644

  They were waiting for me, all three of them. Ralph, one hand on his mother’s skirts but trying nonetheless to look grown-up, Elizabeth, tight-lipped and fearful, and Mrs Padgett, wringing her hands in anguish and looking five years older than she had the week before. Believe me, there are few things worse in this world than seeing the faces of those you love disintegrate when they have been relying on you and you have let them down.

  They could see it in my eyes, of course, as soon as I walked through the door.

  “I am sorry,” I said. “I did not find her. I do not know where to look next.”

  Mrs Padgett, who, judging by the dirty streaks on her cheeks, had already been crying, heaved a great sob, and Ralph looked quizzically at me.

  “Amy is not coming back today?” he asked, his lower lip trembling slightly as he tried to suppress the tears he felt, as the man of the house, he should not shed. Ralph had accepted me unequivocally as a replacement parent, but even at such a young age he still felt keenly the loss of his real father, and he seemed to feel a protective responsibility towards his mother.

  Elizabeth tousled his hair gently and tried to give me a reassuring smile.

  “Not today, poppet,” she said, “but I’m sure Daniel will bring Amy back to us soon.”

  I wished I could have been so sure, but there was one ray of hope amidst all the gloom.

  “You should know,” I said to my wife, “that the kidnapper’s position with regards to the engraving we gave to Kinshaw is not as we thought – or at least that was true up until this morning.”

  I could see that Elizabeth did not have the slightest idea what I was talking about, so I explained the deception carried out by Kinshaw in order to keep hold of the engraving and watched as my wife’s eyes narrowed and her face began to contort with anger.

  “The evil, conniving ratsbane,” she hissed, using language I had not heard from her before. “He would put at risk the life of a child for personal gain? It is as well he lies wounded and in fear of his life, for otherwise that knife given to Ralph by the Duke of Hamilton might have been put to good use.”

  “Then that means–” began Mrs Padgett, hesitantly.

  “Exactly,” I interjected. “At least until this morning the kidnapper would have had every reason to keep Amy alive.”

  “But now he has the engraving,” she said, bringing me back down to earth. “So where does that leave us?”

  This, of course, was a very good question, and one to which I had no immediate answer. I was just about to say as much to Mrs Padgett, when my eyes caught sight of an envelope lying unopened on the hall table.

  “What is that, Elizabeth?” I asked. “A letter for me?”

  “Yes, I had almost forgotten.” My wife picked up the letter and handed it to me. “It was delivered this lunchtime by one of Thomas Maisterson’s servants.”

  I inspected the envelope, which was made of cheap paper, and frowned. “But this is not from Mr Maisterson,” I said.

  “No. The servant said it was delivered to Maisterson this morning by a street boy together with two other letters, one for Mr Maisterson himself and the other for Mr Roger Wilbraham. The servant said he thought the letter was important and that Mr Maisterson would like to see you as soon as possible. I did not like to open the letter, but I told the servant you would attend Maisterson tomorrow morning.”

  I thanked Elizabeth and tore open the letter, my hands shaking. If letters had been delivered for Maisterson and Wilbraham as well as myself, it would mean only one thing.

  Inside the envelope was a single sheet of white paper. I unfolded the letter and read it aloud.

  Mr Cheswis

  You may consider yourself fortunate that I am not as gullible as your friend, Mr Kinshaw, appears to believe, and that I did not hold you responsible for this wicked deception. Fortunately, Mr Kinshaw was more forthcoming today, and he kindly surrendered to me what I came for. He paid for his deception well.

  Now I require the same from Mr Thomas Maisterson and Mr Roger Wilbraham. If you are to see your daughter again, you have until Wednesday 14th August to procure that which I need. When you have done so, I will know, and you will receive further instructions.

  Mrs Padgett gave a gasp of despair and started rocking to and fro on her chair, but Elizabeth sat down beside her and placed her arm around her shoulders.

  “Do not distress yourself so, Cecilia,” she said, with a grim smile. “This is good news, surely?”

  “Good news?” wailed Mrs Padgett. “How can that be so? Amy has been gone a week now, taken by a callous murderer, and you have seen what he has done to Kinshaw.”

  “Elizabeth is right, Mrs Padgett,” I said, in as calm a voice as I could muster. “This means the kidnapper, wherever he may be, still has a motive to keep Amy alive, and it gives us two weeks of additional time to solve this mystery and find her. Let us pray that she is not being maltreated in her captivity.”

  Mrs Padgett sniffed slowly and nodded, wiping her tear-stained face with the back of her sleeve. Elizabeth, though, frowned and wrinkled her nose in irritation, as though something was bothering her.

  “There is one thing which does not add up,” she said. “Why give you two whole weeks to get the remaining engravings from Wilbraham and Maisterson? What is the point of that? It means the kidnapper will have to keep Amy secure for two whole weeks, thereby increasing the risk of discovery. Why not just give you a deadline of just a couple of days? It is not as though you do not know where to find Wilbraham and Maisterson. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  I had to concede Elizabeth had a point. “Wednesday, August the fourteenth,” I said, looking at the letter in my hand. “What significance could that date possibly have? Why would the kidnapper wait until then?”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I cannot say. August the fifteenth is Assumption Day. Make of that what you will.”

  I stared at my wife for a few seconds, but then I sat up straight as a thought occurred to me. A smile began to spread across my face, and all of a sudden I began to see things more clearly. It was like having a bucket of ice spilled down your back.

  “Whatever is the matter?” asked Elizabeth, noticing the change in my features. “You look as though you have been slapped across the face with a fish.”

  “Of course,” I said, cupping my wife’s face in my hands and kissing her full on the lips. “You have answered my question.” I leapt to my feet and started to gather my things together.

  “Wait a minute,” began Elizabeth. “Aren’t you going to tell me
what’s going on?”

  I looked my wife in the eyes and kissed her again. “I think it is safer, at this point, that you do not know any more than you already do,” I said. “You will have to trust me.”

  “Then at least stay for dinner. You have been away for two days. Spend some time with us.”

  I hesitated, but forced myself to focus. “I will,” I said, “I promise, but right now I need to see Alexander. Amy’s safety may depend upon it.”

  With that I gave my wife, Ralph, and Mrs Padgett a hug, gathered up my purse and hat, and strode out once again into the street.

  * * *

  “Assumption,” said Alexander, as we marched across the bridge towards Eldrid Cripps’ cottage and workshop on Little Wood Street. “Wasn’t ‘Assumption’ the word on Wilbraham’s engraving?”

  “Precisely,” I said. “What conclusion can we draw from that, do you suppose?”

  “Well, presumably Abbot Massey was referring to something that takes place on Assumption Day.”

  “Quite possibly,” I agreed. “That’s the way I read it, but whatever could he be referring to?”

  “I don’t know? Evensong, perhaps? That is Maisterson’s word, after all. Perhaps we are talking about something that occurs during Evensong on Assumption Day.”

  He turned into Little Wood Street, and I lowered my voice as two briners passed us coming in the other direction, heading for the Black Lion on the other side of Welsh Row.

  “You may be right,” I agreed. “It would certainly make sense for Massey to use a religious feast day as a clue for where he would hide his treasure.”

  Once the briners were out of sight, Alexander and I slid through a gap between two wich houses and onto the path that led behind the houses along the banks of the Great Cistern. It was a quiet, windless evening down by the brine reservoir. Dusk was turning into night, and moths flitted through the nettles and long grass that lined the edge of the water. A half-moon shone over the long row of wich houses on the other side of the cistern, casting an eerie, shimmering light onto the surface of the briny water.