Death and the Chevalier

by Robin Blake

  Limmington looked pleased. He lowered his voice.

  ‘As the song says, he is coming into his own again. That is what I believe. Are you with him or against, Mr Cragg? Which side?’

  I replied briskly enough, not wanting to have another discussion about this matter, being (I must confess) a little out of patience with the endless chatter and speculation about it.

  ‘I do not take a side, Limmington. Now, tell me, what is the matter you want to discuss?’

  ‘I’ve something wonderful to show you.’

  He picked up the candle and took me into another room, as dark and bare as the other but which, from its mostly bare bookcases, appeared to have once been a study or library. Here, on a table, lay a bulging leather purse, which Limmington snatched up. In some excitement he loosened the string, pulled the purse’s mouth open and tumbled a stream of its contents bouncing and ringing on to the tabletop.

  ‘Golden guineas, every one of them,’ he crowed. ‘At last I have a little good fortune. Life has been painfully cruel in recent years. As you know, I once enjoyed considerable means.’

  ‘I remember,’ I said. ‘May I ask what happened to your business?’

  ‘It prospered, sir, until my warehouse burnt to the ground, and when I applied to the insurance company, I found them utterly insolvent and unable to fulfil their obligations. Soon after that Mrs Limmington took her leave of me and went to live with her sister in Macclesfield. I hoped she would return after I’d obtained the collectorship of the turnpike road to Liverpool. But she never responded and then the whole scheme failed. Never a penny of the tolls did I collect, and I am near destitute now, with no one but my housekeeper Griselda between me and cooking for myself – and she threatens daily to leave me. You will take a drink?’

  Before I could answer, Griselda had returned and banged a jug down on to the table, with a pewter mug beside it. She splashed some small beer from jug to mug.

  ‘I fear we can run to nothing better than this,’ said Limmington. ‘Once it would have been a good claret.’ His voice took on a wistful tone. ‘And neither, regrettably, can I offer you tobacco.’

  I took the hint and brought out my own tobacco pouch. Offering him a fill, I tipped my head towards the pile of gold.

  ‘But it seems your fortunes are on the rise again, sir.’

  ‘I wish I could be sure,’ said Limmington, eagerly stuffing his pipe. ‘You see, I found this purse and do not know who it belongs to. Squire who is magistrate here told me the gold is perhaps treasure trove and must be given to the King. He says the only one who can decide the matter is the Coroner.’

  I sifted the heap of supposed treasure with my fingers. It consisted entirely of guineas and five-guinea pieces.

  ‘This must amount to the best part of two hundred guineas in gold,’ I said.

  ‘It is more. It amounts to exactly two hundred and twenty-seven guineas.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘Beside the Liverpool Road.’ He put the pipe to his mouth. ‘Ironic, you must call that. The road that ruined me may now be my salvation. It would put me back on my feet, would that money.’

  Limmington applied a spill to the candle and was soon puffing clouds of smoke.

  ‘It was all inside this purse?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It is important to know how the purse lay. Was it buried at all?’

  ‘No, it lay in the ditch just where my eye happened to fall as I walked past.’

  ‘Treasure trove must have been deliberately hidden with the intention of recovering it. So I am happy to tell you this is unlikely to be a matter over which I have jurisdiction. Is there no indication as to who it belonged to?’

  ‘Some traveller on the road accidentally dropped it, I must suppose.’

  ‘Have you made any attempt to find this person?’

  ‘I asked the vicar to say something after his sermon on Sunday, but no one came forward. Happen the owner’s long gone, the reverend says. Happen it was perhaps a criminal – some thief or highwayman – who would never come back looking for it, or not publicly.’

  ‘Have you advertised in the newspaper?’

  He looked a little crestfallen.

  ‘Is that what I should do? Eh, Mr Cragg, but if he should turn up, I’d be done down again.’

  ‘There would surely be a reward for its return. In any event, if the owner appears within a reasonable period of time, that money is not legally yours and must be returned.’

  ‘Is there no finders keepers, then?’

  ‘That applies if the first owner of the property really cannot be found. But you must make the effort before you can lawfully lay claim to the goods you found.’

  Limmington scraped the coins together in a heap and began dropping them ruefully in handfuls back into the purse.

  ‘I will put a notice in the Journal, then.’

  ‘Yes, do so,’ I said, ‘but guard against dishonest claims. Don’t let on how the money lay, how much the amount or what it is contained in. Any claimant must give that information to you before the magistrate or go away empty-handed.’

  He shut his eyes tight and whispered.

  ‘I will do it but, Lord Jesus, let him be long gone and far away.’

  I finished my beer and took my leave. Walking back, I thought how well Limmington’s honesty became him. There’s many in need who would have simply kept that money without a word. The incident was also a reminder of the fear seizing the people at this time, for I felt certain that the purse of two hundred and twenty-seven guineas was money that its owner hoped to save from the Pretender. I imagined what might have happened: in a surge of panic a man had mounted a horse and fled the town with that purse containing all his money tied to the saddle. But, making too much haste, he had not properly secured it. And the more miles he covered before he discovered his loss, the more he would despair of ever regaining it.

  I was two hundred yards from the ferry’s landing stage when I noticed three figures loitering there. At first I took them for children, as they wore bonnets and skirts and were bare-legged. But soon I saw they were hairy muscular men in tartan plaid, and that they were armed with swords, pistols and pikes. In a word, Highlanders.

  The three soldiers spoke no English. One of them gestured that I must raise my arms and in that position he patted me down my sides and legs. Satisfied – but a little disappointed – that I was unarmed, he merely took my purse and extracted a silver sixpence before handing the purse back. Then he signed to the waiting ferryman Robert Battersby that he could take me across.

  ‘How long since those three turned up?’ I asked when Battersby had pushed us off from the bank.

  ‘Arrived about an hour ago, Mr Cragg. An officer was with them when they came; told me the rebel army (though he didn’t call it that) had come down the road from the north. They’d secured the bridge at Walton-le-Dale, and he’d been sent to post those men down here to control the ferry crossing.’

  ‘And rob the passengers! But why didn’t they just take my purse and everything in it?’

  ‘You’ve not been robbed; you’ve been taxed. The officer told me every passenger has to pay. It’s the same on the bridge. Sixpence per person to cross, no more and no less. Mind, you still owe me tuppence for your fare.’

  Walking up Fisher Gate and into Market Place, I saw most houses were shut up and very few townspeople were to be seen. There is no Tuesday market, so I expected Market Place to be mostly deserted but found instead groups of armed Scotchmen clustered together, consulting papers and detaching by squads of three and four in various directions. I went into my house.

  ‘Well, Titus, they are here,’ said Elizabeth simply. I had found her spooning pease porridge into Hector’s mouth.

  ‘Yes. Battersby says some of them have crossed by the bridge into Walton already, and my own eyes have seen them guarding the ferry. Has there been fighting?’

  ‘No, it has been all quiet.’

  ‘The main body has not
yet arrived. We have so far seen only the advance party. And is everyone safe here?’

  ‘Furzey’s in the office. I said he should go home, though he wouldn’t. But there was no stopping Matty from running out. She’s gone to the Friar Gate bar where the main army is expected any time. That’s where everyone is that’s out of doors – waiting for the Prince.’

  ‘Dear God, are they all coming into the town? Where will they sleep? There might be ten thousand of them, so I’ve heard.’

  I was standing at one of the windows, overlooking Market Place to our left and the west side of the Moot Hall to our right. Suddenly, Elizabeth gave a shrill cry.

  ‘Titus! Oh, Titus! Look!’

  I turned. She was pointing at Hector who had grasped the spoon in his fist halfway down the shaft and was attempting to get porridge into his mouth.

  ‘He is trying to feed himself! It is wonderful! Just like when he took his first step on his own feet.’

  Elizabeth thought for a moment.

  ‘How fast he comes on,’ she said. ‘Before we know it, he will be fending for himself entirely, and have no more need of us.’

  I kissed her on the forehead and said, ‘Well, well, it is quite a day, wife! The Young Pretender is on our doorstep and Hector feeds himself for the first time. Which is the more earth-convulsing novelty of the two?’

  She laughed merrily.

  ‘I would not swear as to that, Titus.’

  The troops in the advance party stayed mostly out of town, camped around the bridge. Some came into town to visit the taverns in and around St John’s Court, searching, as all soldiers do, for the cheapest liquor and the cheapest women. This was nothing like an armed incursion. The Scotch soldiers strolled around as if they had come here for their health.

  I stopped one kilted fellow wearing a tartan that was not the same as Ribchester’s dead Highlander. I asked if he spoke English. He did.

  ‘Are you a Highlander?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘May I ask what tartan you wear? What clan?’

  ‘Clan MacDonald.’

  In the afternoon Matty came in, flushed and breathless.

  ‘I’ve seen him! I’ve seen the Prince. Oh, he’s young and fair and so tall. All the girls think he’s handsome and brave.’

  ‘Is it true he marches at the head of the column and does not ride?’

  ‘Yes. Everybody says what a fine brave thing it is.’

  ‘And what did the army do?’

  ‘They marched up to the Friar Gate bar and formed up. I mean they lined up in ranks just where the road is wide outside the bar. We were ready to run but they didn’t attack or anything like that. They just stood there. Then they were given instructions, which I couldn’t hear properly, but it must have been to scatter themselves around in the town fields either side of Moor Lane, because that’s what they all did. They lit fires and some put up tents. They are enough to scare a person’s socks off just to look at, but they did nothing bad, not like people said they would.’

  ‘I have met some myself,’ I said. ‘They only took sixpence off me, when they could have had the entire purse, and they were perfectly polite. What did you see the Prince do?’

  ‘I saw him walking up Friar Gate, and I ran back to fetch you out. He comes slowly because of the crowds. Many are cheering him, and he makes himself friendly and speaks to people that are waving his flag or holding up his picture.’

  ‘Is he not afraid someone will attack him?’

  ‘He is afraid of nothing, I reckon.’ Her eyes were sparkling, like a person overwhelmed at the sight of a triple rainbow, or a shower of shooting stars. ‘Come and look. He’ll be in the Market Place any minute.’

  We went back to the window, looking this time to our left towards the entry of Friar’s Gate. Word had got around by now, and Prestonians had come out of their houses in great numbers to witness the young prodigy’s appearance in our midst. After a few minutes we saw a party of people moving through the crowd, attended by a dozen cavalry clearing the way ahead of it and guarding its flanks. Somewhere in the middle of that knot, impossible to see at this distance and with this many intervening onlookers, walked the Young Pretender himself. Dancing up and down in excitement, Matty tried to point him out – there! and there! no, there! – but I myself saw nothing of him amidst the cheering crowd.

  ‘They have taken leave of their senses,’ I said. ‘Not twenty-four hours ago everybody was waiting to be raped, murdered and set fire to. Now look at them.’

  ‘Shall we go out, Titus, and have a proper look?’ said Elizabeth.

  I could tell she wanted to, but I preferred my family should stay at home until we knew more about how the rebels would act while occupying Preston.

  ‘No, I am going into the office to speak with Furzey.’

  I found my clerk at the open window gossiping with a man whom I recognized as another member of the clerks’ fraternity, the chief writer for Preston’s wealthiest lawyer, Edmund Starkey. As I came in, Furzey closed the conversation, and then the window.

  ‘What did Mitchell from Starkey’s have to say?’ I asked.

  ‘That all the best private houses are being visited by soldiers. They will forcibly be made to give accommodation to the senior officers.’

  ‘Who are the leaders of this army? Have you heard any names?’

  ‘Mitchell has just given me some. There’s Lord Elcho and his regiment of Lifeguards. There’s the Jacobite scoundrel the Duke of Perth. And there’s Lord George Murray who’s rebelled before. He was here in arms in ’fifteen but got away, more’s the pity. Perth and Murray are lieutenant-generals under the Pretender himself, who is pretend general of the whole rabble.’

  ‘Did you hear anything of Starkey’s inclinations? Is he for or against the rising?’

  ‘Mitchell refused to be drawn on it. Starkey keeps his counsel, just like you.’

  This last remark was spoken with some bitterness. But I did not have time to reprove Furzey because now there was a hammering at the office door, which he opened cautiously. A young Scotch officer stood on the step, carrying a paper on which was written a list of addresses. He was flanked by two soldiers in kilts and with ragged hair. They carried muskets and had vicious-looking knives in their belts, just as described by the fellow in the Market Place. After a glance at the paper in his hand, the officer removed his hat.

  ‘I wish to speak to lawyer Cragg.’

  Furzey said he may come in but ‘those two ruffians’ must wait outside. Taking not the slightest notice of this, all three men shouldered their way past my clerk and in. The common soldiers then kept guard by the outer door, watching Furzey’s every move, while I invited the officer into my business room. There seemed no point at all in giving resistance. The rebels had arrived and that was a fact I could do nothing about.

  ‘You are Mr Titus Cragg?’ he said. His voice had a touch of primness, and a light Scotch accent.

  I confirmed that I was he.

  ‘I am Captain Angus Lucas of the quartermaster’s company, under the command of Major-General O’Sullivan. I present General O’Sullivan’s compliments. He requires the use of bedrooms in this house for quartering purposes. I do not refer to servants’ bedrooms or outhouse quarters. They must be rooms fit for occupation by guests of high rank.’

  ‘I see. And what if I happen to refuse?’

  ‘I’m afraid, Mr Cragg, you happen to have no choice.’

  I kept my eyes looking squarely into his. There was no cause for grovelling.

  ‘Allow me to bring you inside, where we can confer with my wife.’

  I showed Captain Lucas through the door that joined the office to the house, where we found Elizabeth sewing in the parlour. She took this rebel incursion calmly, just as if she had foreseen it, or something like it.

  ‘We have only one bedroom unoccupied,’ she said.

  ‘How many have you in all?’

  ‘There are four, and the attic.’

  ‘Please show them all to me.
’

  We led him upstairs and showed the guest room. The captain poked his nose into the dressing-room wardrobes, then said, ‘Please draw back the covers and sheets of the bed. I must examine the mattresses.’

  Elizabeth crossed her arms, eyes flashing.

  ‘Captain Lucas! Do you think this is some slovenly dock tavern in Liverpool, that you must inspect our bedding for bugs? For shame, indeed!’

  He was taken aback, which he covered by straightening his shoulders.

  ‘It is my duty, madam, by orders of Major-General O’Sullivan. The covers, please!’

  ‘You may do it yourself, because I won’t,’ she replied.

  The captain looked at me, but I made no move. He distrustfully trailed his fingers over the bed cover, as if it might conceal a mantrap or landmine. Then he stepped back.

  ‘Well, I suppose in this instance we may take the mattress as examined. Your next room, please.’

  He went out and, crossing the landing, seized the handle of our bedroom door. It was a double-sized room, as it extended over the office on the ground floor below.

  ‘That is our own bedroom,’ I pointed out.

  He opened the door and went inside.

  ‘Good,’ he said, looking quickly around. ‘Very good. And upstairs?’

  He ventured to make no further bed examination as we showed him the rest of our accommodation – Hector’s and Matty’s rooms on the floor above and the attic rooms which were at the moment unoccupied.

  ‘We will require the two bedchambers on the first floor and the front one on the second. Please have them prepared immediately.’

  ‘May we ask the names of our guests?’ I said.

  ‘As I’ve already said, they are of high rank. I can’t tell you their names.’

  ‘Then can you tell us how long we must expect these patricians to stay?’

  ‘You will learn all these matters in a very short time. Now I bid you good day. There is very much to do.’

  While leading him back into the office, I said, ‘I hope the men are under discipline, Captain. I hope there will be no outrages here.’

  ‘We are a well-found army, sir, and do not tolerate outrages; you may be sure of that.’