The Jacobite Murders

by G. M. Best

  ‘Do you know, Sir Robert, of anyone of that description?’ asked Henry Fielding. ‘So far all our attempts to find him have proved useless.’

  ‘No. I am not aware of anyone who has that deformity, but I agree with you that finding this man is absolutely imperative. I intend to stay here in this house until you produce him. I am sure that Lady Overbury will not object to me joining her here – indeed, I am sure that my presence can only make her position safer. I can have my servant, who is bringing my bags, set up my room with the assistance of this temporary housekeeper who has been appointed.’

  Lady Overbury nodded her agreement.

  ‘Do not worry, my lord, everyone in this house will be safe from now on,’ said Beau Nash. ‘And, if this thumbless man is still in Bath, he will not escape us.’

  ‘He had better not or else there will be those in government who will think this city is still Jacobite at heart!’ replied Sir Robert with a fierce glint in his eyes. Then he stared at Nash and, in a chilling tone, added, ‘And there will be others, like myself, who will judge Bath to be no longer a safe place if three murders can go unsolved, especially when one of them involves a man of my son’s standing!’ This latter comment was an unstated threat and Nash recognized it as such. Sir Robert was influential enough to put an end to Bath’s popularity if he chose to wield his power in that direction. Both the safety of the nation and the status of Bath now rested on finding the man without a thumb. But who was he? And where was he? And what on earth had happened to the priest’s corpse?

  9

  A SECRET UNCOVERED

  When Sophia Westbrook left her father’s lodgings in Bath she was still unsure of where she should go. However, she assumed that her best hope of escaping capture lay in leading her father to believe that she was going to London. For that reason she gave out the name of that city as her ultimate destination when she procured a young guide and some indifferent horses to take her and her maid as far as Chippenham. It was only after they had left Bath that she asked the guide to turn off the London road. By then she had given the matter further thought and so she asked him to take them to Chipping Sodbury. She had a vague recollection that she had heard of a reputable coaching house there called the Squire Inn. This, she hoped, would offer a safe place to stay until she could decide what was her best course of action.

  ‘Master ordered me to take yer to the inn at Chippen’am and I’ll lose me place if I go anywhere other than where he told us to go,’ muttered the rather gangly youth, peering at her through a mop of ill-cut hair and rubbing first the sides of his thin nose and then the stubble on his chin with a remarkably dirty hand.

  ‘But I will expect you to go no further than the agreed distance and then you can return. Your master will not know what you have done,’ she replied.

  ‘He’s a way of finding out things and nothin’ pains ’im as much as being crossed. He’d make me suffer terrible like.’

  ‘Please do this for me,’ pleaded Sophia, trying to make her whole countenance smile affection at him, despite his unprepossessing looks and churlish manner. She looked at him with doleful eyes, fluttering her long eyelashes in such a way as to discharge a volley of charm in his direction. To this, however, he seemed immune because he looked solely at the road ahead and commenced whistling a tune. Unsure what to say next, Sophia resorted to repeating her plea in a curious mixture of command and entreaty.

  He stopped his whistling and looked first at her and then at Mrs Newton. ‘It’s a sinful thing to ride the master’s horses on a road other than what was agreed, miss. Gentlefolks like yerself don’t consider us poor folks when they demand sich a thing.’ Once again he rubbed his chin, depositing yet more grime on a spot-ridden face that showed little sign of having been washed for days.

  ‘I’ll give thee a guinea, or two, if one is not sufficient,’ responded the increasingly desperate Sophia, deciding the promise of money might prove more effective in changing his attitude.

  He smiled at her offer, revealing a mass of blackened stumps where there had once been teeth. ‘It’s honestly worth three when I run sich a risk for your la’ship,’ he replied, tapping the side of his nose. ‘For three I’ll venture to take thee to The Cross Hands at Old Sodbury. It’s not quite as far and it’s a good inn.’

  ‘Very well, take me there and let us make it three.’

  ‘O lud, ma’am! How do you know that this wretch may not lead us to a den of thieves and cutthroats?’ groaned Mrs Newton, astonished that her mistress had surrendered to his audacity. ‘The very fact that he’s asked for three guineas shows he’s untrustworthy. Three guineas is more than enough even if he were to lose his job for doing this.’

  Some tears ran down Sophia’s cheeks because she was inwardly very frightened, but, in a tone that brooked no opposition, she voiced her determination to continue. ‘We have no choice in the matter so please accept my decision. We simply cannot afford to proceed to Chippenham because I am sure that my father would come in pursuit once he discovered we were going there.’

  Mrs Newton was not convinced but could not bring herself to say so. Instead she glowered at their guide and muttered, ‘All I can say to you, sir, is that I hope the guineas may provide you with enough money to have a decent wash, because from the smell of you that’s long overdue!’

  The youth merely laughed at her jibe. ‘No point wasting money on water,’ he said.

  The bargain having been struck, they turned off the London road and commenced riding at speed in the direction of Old Sodbury. The guide recommenced his whistling and the ladies were happy to have no more conversation with him. After about nine miles they reached their destination. To Sophia’s relief The Cross Hands was not the robbers’ den that Mrs Newton had feared. Instead it was a large and obviously reputable ancient coaching inn that clearly dated back to medieval times and whose traditional exterior was partially covered with ivy. It seemed to exude an air that promised warm hospitality. Once they had dismounted, she paid her mercenary guide what she had promised so that he could depart with the horses back to Bath whilst there was still light.

  Just as she had completed this transaction, a tall, elderly man came out to usher her and Mrs Newton inside and out of the cold. Although his hair was grizzled and he had thin lips and a gaunt, grey face, there was intelligence in his eyes and a natural kindness and trustworthiness in his manner that was most reassuring. ‘Whom do I have the honour of welcoming?’ he asked in a most courteous fashion.

  Mrs Newton took it upon herself to respond first. ‘Have you ever heard of a Mr Westbrook? He is a man of wealth and quality. This noble lady is his daughter and heiress to all he possesses.’

  ‘Newton, we are supposed to be travelling incognito!’ whispered Sophia, angrily poking her maid to make her be silent. ‘Is your brain so addled by the cold that you have forgotten?’ She turned to the landlord, her face puckering with anxiety, and added in a very formal tone, ‘Sir, I would have you know that we are on secret business and I must ask that you forget the name that my maid has provided. All I require is a room for the night and privacy. Once the room is ready, I would be grateful if you could send up some refreshments as we have not eaten anything since breakfast.’

  ‘I am sure that a woman of your quality will have her reasons for wishing to remain anonymous,’ he replied tactfully as he led the two women inside, ‘but I think it only fair to inform you that your name is not unknown to me.’

  ‘How so, sir?’ replied Sophia, genuinely puzzled.

  He grinned. ‘There is a young man called Mr Thomas Jones who is in the habit of stopping here for refreshment when he goes hunting and he never tires of singing the praises of a Miss Westbrook. I suppose that you are the woman of whom he speaks because there cannot be two of the same name and description. He has often said that you are the finest lady in the world, and, if you will pardon my presumption, now that I have the pleasure of meeting you, I can see why he should think so.’

  The colour rose in Sophia’s p
ale cheeks but this served only to enhance her beauty. Part of her was slightly shocked that Tom had talked about her to a landlord but mostly she was flattered. ‘What else has this Mr Jones told you?’ she enquired, blushing even more.

  The landlord gave a slight chuckle as he encouraged the two women to sit beside the inn’s fireplace and warm themselves after their journey. ‘I hope that you will not be insulted if I tell you that he says he loves you to the bottom of his soul.’

  ‘What a saucy fellow! He’s no right to say such things about my mistress!’ broke in Mrs Newton, outraged at Jones’s behaviour.

  ‘Indeed he has not,’ said Sophia, but in such a tone that it was obvious she was pleased rather than annoyed.

  ‘I can only attribute his imprudence to passion and an open heart,’ replied the landlord, and a smile lit up his wrinkled face. He turned and summoned a pert young girl called Polly who was wearing a crisp starched apron. He gave orders for a room and meal to be prepared whilst simultaneously thinking what he should do. It seemed obvious to him that Sophia must have fled from home with the intention of eloping. Many a less scrupulous man would have judged there was an opportunity to make some money out of the situation either by helping the lovers or by betraying them, but the landlord was an honest man and ill nature or hardness of heart were not among his vices. Instead he felt concern at the potential impact on the young woman’s reputation and so he made bold to advise Sophia against what she was doing in a tone that was both measured and gentle. ‘Miss Westbrook, forgive me but I must ask you to reflect on the wisdom of running away with Mr Jones. Consider your reputation and what you are about and whither such a step will lead you!’

  ‘You misjudge my purpose and do me wrong sir,’ answered Sophia angrily. ‘I have made no arrangement to meet Mr Jones, though I confess in confidence that I have run away from home because of my father’s ill-treatment.’ She proceeded to outline what had happened the night before, including how Jones had been seriously injured and how her father had not only prevented her going to see him but also insisted on her immediately marrying a man of better birth and fortune. ‘I do not share my father’s view that Mr Burnett is the preferable man,’ she concluded. ‘He lacks that generosity of spirit which is the sure foundation of all that is noble in human nature. Since we were young together I have seen a selfishness in him that I despise and I know he is a man capable of base designs. I have therefore chosen to flee rather than to marry him.’

  ‘I am truly sorry that young Mr Jones has been so grievously injured, but that does not prevent me asking whether your father’s opposition to him is not based partly on some misbehaviour.’ He paused and then added reluctantly, ‘I regret to say that I received the impression when he was last here that he had got himself entangled with some common jade.’

  His words made Sophia wince but she countered them bravely. ‘The matter to which you refer was not Tom’s fault, sir, and I can assure you that my father’s opposition to him was very marked long before that incident. It is the circumstances of Tom’s birth and his lack of any money that make him an unsuitable suitor in my father’s eyes.’

  ‘And in that your father is correct,’ sniffed Mrs Newton, unable to stay quiet any longer. ‘Mr Jones may have a charming manner, but possessing a whore for a mother and a father who has fled the scene isn’t the right background for marriage to one of your birth and fortune.’

  Sophia stiffened as if she had been slapped in the face. ‘Pardon my maid, sir. She places circumstance before character out of her deep love for me.’

  The landlord made no immediate response because he found himself in a quandary. He possessed information about Jones’s parentage that might help the young couple but it meant speaking about a dreadful time in his past, the memory of which he had long tried to suppress. What made his decision even harder was that he knew that what he had to say might serve only to raise false hopes and so cause in the long run more pain. He looked again at the young woman in front of him, who had dared so much for love, and decided he had no option but to share with her what he knew.

  ‘You have been very open with me, Miss Westbrook,’ he said, ‘and so in return I will tell you what I have told no other, not even Mr Jones. It may surprise you to hear that for years I viewed him as the greatest enemy I ever had, although he knew me not and never intended me any wrong.’

  ‘I do not understand sir,’ she replied, her curiosity evident in her expression.

  ‘He was but an infant when he grievously injured me.’

  ‘How could that be? You speak in riddles!’

  ‘Then I will unriddle the matter by telling you my real name. Men now call me George Peartree but once I was known as George Partridge and I was a highly respected teacher. Unfortunately I had the misfortune to be named as Tom’s father. Overnight my reputation was ruined and it led to my ignominious dismissal.’

  For a moment Sophia was rendered speechless. It took her all her powers of self-control to restrict her response to one simple statement of fact. ‘I have heard of you, sir. Tom believes that he is your son.’

  ‘Well, I can absolve him of all filial duty because I am not and never was his father, though Squire Woodforde believed I was.’

  ‘But surely no false suspicion could have led to such certainty of your guilt!’

  ‘What is false can sometimes appear true, Miss Westbrook. All those years ago I foolishly thought my innocence would be my defence.’ He tried to smile but his expression contained only evidence of his suffering. ‘It proved otherwise. Jenny Jones refused to name the real father, although I begged her to do so. Her silence was taken as proof of my guilt.’

  ‘Then who was Tom’s father?’ She felt a chill of apprehension at what he might say.

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘That is where I cannot help you. Only Jenny Jones knows and I have long lost touch with her. The last that I heard she was in London and had joined the Methodists.’ There was no anger or blame in his face as he said this.

  Pity at the undeserved treatment the landlord had received flashed across Sophia’s mind, but this emotion was quickly superseded by a desire to know more. Her eyes sparkled with newfound energy. ‘Then we must find her and discover Tom’s real father.’

  ‘What makes you think she will tell you?’

  ‘If this Jenny Jones has hidden the father’s name out of love, then maybe she will respond to the love I have for her son.’

  The landlord admired her courage but he had no desire to encourage false hopes. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you but I would not count on her proving co-operative even should you find her. She stood by and let me be driven out, though she knew my innocence. Why should she be kinder to you, a stranger?’

  ‘Even if she did, ma’am, doubtless she would name some scoundrel far worse than this schoolmaster as the father,’ interjected Mrs Newton, who already feared what this new intelligence might lead her mistress to do.

  ‘On that point I am not so sure,’ continued Partridge. ‘Jenny was a very virtuous girl. It came as a great surprise to me when I heard what had happened. When she lost her virginity I think it would have been to no common man.’

  ‘But ’twas a man lacking in honour, because he never came forward afterwards,’ snapped back the irrepressible maid, determined to crush Sophia’s foolish urge to seek out Jones’s mother.

  ‘All I know is that Jenny must have had good reason to protect him.’

  ‘Is it possible that it was Squire Woodforde?’ asked Sophia tentatively.

  ‘No, he was absent in London and he had little to do with Jenny.’

  The conversation continued for a little while longer but none of them could make any progress in surmising who might be Jones’s real father. Partridge promised to arrange transport for them so they could travel to London in search of Jenny Jones and Sophia decided to retire to the room that had been prepared and stay there so as not to risk attracting attention from other guests who were due to arrive by coach. It was fortunate tha
t she did so because later that evening her father alighted from his horse and banged on the inn door. After making various enquiries in Bath, he had eventually found the place where his daughter had hired her transport and unfortunately, whilst he had been interrogating its owner, her young guide had returned with the horses. It had not taken him long to persuade the youth to divulge where he had taken her. Westbrook had then immediately set off to seize his errant daughter, riding at great peril to himself through the moonlit night.

  When Partridge answered his frantic knocking, Westbrook thrust his way inside, demanding to know where his daughter was. ‘If she be in the house, take me up to her, and, if she be gone away before, tell me which way she has gone that I might follow her,’ he declared, and with that he pulled out a handful of guineas and cast them on the counter.

  ‘What does your daughter look like?’ asked Partridge, seeking to buy some time while he thought how best he might deal with this unexpected crisis.

  ‘She has dark eyes, lily-white skin and black hair and, as far as I know, is dressed in a purple gown.’

  ‘’Tis a description that can be applied to many, sir. There is a woman here whom it might describe, but she is with her husband and they have already gone to bed.’

  This news made Westbrook go pale but he commanded peremptorily, ‘Damn it, sir, show me to their room at once.’

  The landlord pocketed the coins and led him upstairs to his largest guest room. Finding its door locked, Westbrook flung himself at it with such violence that its lock broke and it burst open so suddenly that he fell headlong into the darkened room beyond.

  ‘What is the meaning of this! How dare you break into an honest man’s room!’ roared the occupant of the bed.

  As Westbrook’s eyes adjusted to the gloom he noticed a gown on the floor surrounded by stays, petticoats, garters, ribbons, and stockings. Then he realized there was a woman hiding under the bedclothes alongside its male occupant. In his disordered state of mind he feared this was indeed his daughter and he launched himself upon the bed, yelling he would murder them both. A fierce battle ensued between the two men whilst the terrified woman screamed out murder, robbery and rape. The landlord had not expected such a terrible outcome and had no recourse now but to join in the struggle. Soon they were joined by a third man, because the occupant of the next room, hearing the noise, entered to provide assistance. It took the efforts all three men to eventually pin down the infuriated Westbrook.