Alice started to get to her feet and tried to take hold of me by the hand.
“No, don’t do that, Alice,” I said, forcing her back onto her seat. “I have realised this last two days that our union was never meant to be. Fate has decreed it so. It cannot be any other way.”
“That may be so,” she said, “but I want you to know that I never intended things to work out this way. Despite what you think, I still have feelings for you. I feel a pain in my gut when I think of the hurt I caused you. I didn’t mean to break your heart, but you must understand I fell in love with Hugh and have loved him ever since. He was a good husband to me.”
“Yes, I see that, and that is why I now realise there never could be a future for us.”
Alice looked at me for a moment and then nodded, looking down into her lap.
“Where will you go once you are out of Nantwich?” I asked, after a few moments.
“My children are in Shrewsbury,” replied Alice. “I have to go there. As long as Parliament does not come looking for me, I will be safe there and will inherit Hugh’s assets.”
“George Booth does not understand the level of your involvement in this, and he will not hear it from me,” I promised.
Alice smiled gratefully. “I owe you a great deal,” she said.
“No. You owe me nothing. You saved my life at Dorfold House. You were not to know that Fairfax would prevail. If Byron had returned victorious, Alexander and I would have been hung as spies.”
Walking over to the cabinet by the wall, I put my hand in one of the drawers and extracted a small leather purse. I took out a guinea and handed it to Alice.
“Mrs Padgett will give you my horse,” I said. “You can reimburse me when you are able to do so.”
“I will send money to my sister with instructions to pay you back, once I am in Shrewsbury,” she replied. She then hesitated for a moment before adding, “You are a kind man, Daniel Cheswis.”
“Perhaps too kind,” I said, pursing my lips.
At that point, Mrs Padgett came back in, ignoring Alice completely. “The horse is ready, Master Daniel,” she said. Thanking her, I led Alice to the backlands, where Demeter was tethered.
“Thank you, Danull,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. Taking hold of the reins, she hoisted herself into the saddle and, with a wave, she was gone.
36
Nantwich – Friday January 26, 1644
It was Marion Tench who answered the door when I presented myself at Randle Church’s mansion at one o’clock. The widow looked at me with suspicion as I explained my reason for being there, and, at first, I thought she wasn’t going to let me in. However, after a moment’s hesitation, she thought better of it and bid me enter and take a seat in the hallway. She disappeared into the drawing room and emerged a few moments later with Maisterson, before retreating into the kitchen with a worried look on her face.
The drawing room was brightly lit, with a view over the rear garden and stables towards the earthworks, which were visible a few yards behind the rear wall. Randle Church was sat in the same armchair as during my last visit. This time, however, there was a third person in the room, a pale-faced maid, who Maisterson introduced as Bridgett Palyn.
“Good morning, Master Cheswis,” said Church. “I trust you are recovered after your exertions on the battlefield?”
“I thank you for your concern, Mr Church,” I replied. “I am quite well, although I confess, a little weary. I have not slept for nearly two days and then only in a field.”
“Then we will not detain you long,” he said. “You will be wondering, no doubt, why you have been summoned here.”
“Mr Maisterson informs me that you may have some information relevant to my quest to discover who murdered William Tench and Will Butters.”
“That is indeed so. At least, we believe that to be the case. We have been concerned these last days about the unfortunate deaths that have occurred in our town, all of which have been servants of those of prominent townspeople, who would be loyal to the King, or relatives and friends of those servants. We wished to allay any suspicion that we were in some way involved. Indeed, our motive in all of this has merely been to protect our property and position within the town. We have, therefore, carried out some investigations of our own, particularly into the unfortunate demise of Mr Tench. In doing so, we questioned Bridgett, who is a maid in my kitchen here, and from whom I elicited some interesting information.”
I glanced at the nervous young girl before me, who looked as though she would have preferred to be elsewhere and was clearly intimidated in the presence of Church and Maisterson. Somewhere in the house, a door banged to.
“Pray continue,” I said.
“Perhaps Bridgett would like to explain what she saw on Wednesday evening,” suggested Maisterson. I turned to the girl, who smiled nervously, her fingers twirling the dark hair that protruded from under her coif.
“If it pleases sir, it was late evening. I was washing the crockery and cleaning up the remains of the evening meal, when I heard a noise at the back door. Before I could go to see what it was, Mrs Tench strode through the kitchen and opened up the door. There was a man waiting for her there, and they left together. I wouldn’t have thought anything more of it, but when I left for home half an hour later, as I walked past Mrs Tench’s front door, I caught sight of them through the window, embracing.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, turning to Maisterson, “I don’t see the significance of this.”
“Let the woman finish, Cheswis,” he said.
“And did you recognise the man?” I asked.
“Yes sir, it was Edward Yardley,” she said. “I know him because I live near Great Wood Street. The rest of my family are brine workers, you see.”
Maisterson and Church both looked at me, and I considered what Bridgett had said. It was certainly of interest that Yardley and Mrs Tench were having a relationship. It was also, perhaps, understandable that she had found a source of solace to help her come to terms with her widowhood, even if Tench had been dead little more than a month, but there was nothing to suggest that they had been lovers before Tench’s death, although, I admitted to myself, that may have been the case. I still didn’t understand what Church and Maisterson were driving at. The only connection between Yardley and Tench was Yardley’s obvious antipathy for John Davenport.
“Forgive me if I’m being a little dense,” I said to Maisterson. “Is there something I’m not understanding here?”
Maisterson raised his eyebrows. “That may well be so, Master Cheswis,” he said. “I had you for someone more perceptive. You omitted to inform us of this during your investigation, but a little research of our own has revealed that your friend Davenport left money for Tench at his place of work the day of his death.”
“So you know Davenport was being blackmailed?”
“We had figured it out, yes. We don’t know what his secret was exactly, although it will be something to do with walling rights, but, quite frankly, that’s not a matter for us to investigate. It’s an issue for the Rulers of Walling.”
“But how would Tench have got hold of the information?” I asked.
“Well that’s obvious isn’t it?” said Maisterson. “From Gilbert Kinshaw, of course. He is a Ruler of Walling and Marion Tench is his sister. Kinshaw was her maiden name.”
I reeled. It all started to fall into place. No wonder Kinshaw got so angry when I asked him the connection between Tench and Brett. He thought I was getting close. It was then that the full horror of the story hit me.
“So if Yardley and Marion Tench were lovers, they would have a motive for killing William Tench.”
“Precisely.”
“And it also explains how Mr Church’s sash ended up around Tench’s neck.”
“Exactly. She stole it from me,” said Church, “though the Lord knows why. It has only served as a means of incriminating her.”
With a start, I suddenly realised what had been nagging me abou
t Marion Tench’s words, the day after her husband’s death. When she said that ‘her family would take care of it’, she meant that Kinshaw’s role as a Ruler of Walling would allow him to blackmail Davenport.
“So blackmail was used as a means of making it look as if Davenport had a motive for the murder?”
“Master Cheswis, you are getting there eventually,” said Church.
“Alright,” I said. “So that explains the murder of William Tench. What about that of Will Butters?”
“I think you’ll find that was a spur of the moment decision,” said Maisterson. “Think about it. Why did Yardley need to commit another murder?”
I stared at Maisterson, and the solution came to me in a flash. “Why, because Davenport had not been found guilty of the murder of Tench, due to the confusion caused by the demise of Brett and Nuttall. Yardley had to find another way of incriminating Davenport. When he saw Margery die at Townsend House, he saw another motive for Davenport to commit murder and acted on instinct, killing Butters immediately. There was no sash this time because he didn’t have one – it was too short notice.”
“There you have it, sir,” said Church, slapping his thighs with delight. “I knew you’d get there in the end.”
“I would have fetched Marion Tench at this point,” said Maisterson, “but I think you’ll find she has just left. I heard the back door close a few moments ago.”
I stared at Maisterson in alarm. “You mean you have let her escape,” I exclaimed, “knowing full well that she was a murderess?”
Maisterson shrugged nonchalantly. “It is not my responsibility to apprehend criminals, Master Cheswis,” he said. “That is your domain. But there are not too many places that she can go. I would hazard a guess that, if you raise hue and cry, and are quick about it, she will not get far.”
I rose to my feet, realising I would have to move fast, but a thought suddenly struck me. “Just one thing,” I said. “Why does Yardley hate John Davenport so much?”
“You wouldn’t necessarily know this, because you have only been in the town for ten years,” replied Maisterson. “The reasons lie back in the time before you moved here. Ask your housekeeper, Cecilia Padgett. She was a neighbour of the Yardleys for years. If you do that, all will become clear.”
As I ran back home, I began to realise that Mrs Padgett was not the only person that I needed to consult. With the revelation that Edward Yardley and Marion Tench had colluded in murder came a clarity of thought which I had not previously thought possible. The fog, which had addled my brain for the past seven weeks, began to lift, and I remembered the conversation I’d had with John Davenport on the day Ralph Brett’s body had been found.
“He deserves everything he gets, that one,” Davenport had said of Yardley. “He’s just like his father was in that respect.” How could I have been so stupid as to miss the significance of those words? It was just a hunch, but one that I needed to investigate. Quickening my step, I marched across the square to the Booth Hall and banged on the door.
The Bailiffs clerk, Ezekiel Green, was somewhat less accommodating than he had been on my previous visit, which was not particularly surprising, given what was going on in the town that day. Nevertheless, he listened to my request politely and went to fetch the court rolls for the ten years previous to those I’d checked before. It took me a while to find what I was looking for, but, eventually, I came across an entry from 1625 in the specific book of court rulings that dealt with the infringement of walling issues.
10 October 1 Carl 1, 1625 – Mr Jeremiah Yardley – for failing to repair the pavement outside his wich house, when so asked to do – 39 s 11 ½ d and the forfeiture of 3 days walling
I turned the page and immediately came across another entry from six months later.
17th April 2 Carl 1 1626 – Mr Jeremiah Yardley – for possessing a wich house, whose chimney being faulty and of great danger to themselves and the whole town – we order the chimney be taken down and replaced in a manner so to avoid danger of fire, in addition to a penalty of 39s 11 1/2d. In addition we require a surety of £6 against further transgressions.
A further look in the walling records revealed what I already knew to be the case. One of the Rulers of Walling for the 1625-26 period was William Davenport, father of John. I now had one further piece of evidence to show the antipathy between the Yardleys and the Davenports, but as yet I had not managed to find a motive for murder. However, although I had only discovered half the story, I knew who would be able to reveal the rest of it to me. It was time to talk to Mrs Padgett.
My housekeeper was busy baking. She had been out around the town that morning and had already made sure she had bought an ample supply of the foodstuffs and other provisions that had begun to find their way into the town. I came straight to the point.
“What can you tell me about Jeremiah Yardley?” I asked. “I understand you were a neighbour of his nearly twenty years ago.”
Mrs Padgett turned round and looked at me in surprise. “Jeremiah Yardley? Why yes. That was a sad story fit to melt the iciest heart,” she said.
“Sad?” I asked. “In what way?”
“I was newly-wed at the time,” related Mrs Padgett. “As you say, Jeremiah and his wife were our neighbours. Kindly people they were too, but they had several sickly children – I believe only Edward, the eldest, survived, and they found it hard to make ends meet. The problems began to arise shortly after King Charles came to the throne. Sixteen-twenty-five was the year of the corn shortage, and many townsfolk found life hard. Jeremiah and his family owned two or three wich houses, but they didn’t have the money to maintain them. The Rulers of Walling fined him for not repairing the street outside one of the wich houses and for not maintaining one of the others sufficiently. Times were hard, and Jeremiah had no money to pay the fines or pay for the repairs. He had to sell one of his wich houses to pay for everything, which in turn reduced the amount they could earn. He had to sell it at a very low price too. It all became too much for Jeremiah, I fear.”
“And what happened?” I asked.
“Jeremiah was so beside himself with shame and worry that he took his own life. His body was found in the river. Jeremiah’s wife had to bring up Edward on his own.”
“I can imagine that was a strain,” I said. “And who bought Jeremiah’s wich house?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Why, I believe it was William Davenport,” she said. “I believe he bought it for his son – your friend, John Davenport.”
So that was it. Yardley had been harbouring a grudge against the Davenport family for nearly twenty years. It was all very neat. Edward Yardley and Marion Tench had murdered William Tench so that they could be together, and it had been engineered so that it appeared that Davenport had carried out the murder, the aim being to see Davenport hung as a revenge for Yardley’s father’s death all those years ago. When Ralph Brett was murdered, though, the plan went awry, because Davenport’s presence in jail gave him an alibi. The murder of Butters was merely a desperate, bungled attempt to incriminate Davenport again.
It was then that I realised the need for urgency. Marion Tench had been in Randle Church’s house while Church and Maisterson were relating their suspicions to me, but she had gone by the time I left. As if to confirm my worries, at that moment there was a loud knock on the door and a breathless Alexander burst into the house.
“Come quickly, Daniel,” he said. “There has been a disturbance at the Davenports’ house.”
It took no longer than five minutes for Alexander and I to race through the Swine Market and across the town bridge to the Davenports’ house on Welsh Row, but by the time we arrived, a small crowd of curious onlookers had already assembled outside. When they saw my face, the crowd parted to reveal Ann Davenport sat on the front doorstep, clutching her arm and being comforted by neighbours. Ann appeared to be nursing a wound on her left bicep, around which was tied a bloody bandage. She looked like she had seen a ghost.
“It’s not what it looks like, Daniel,” she said, tremulously, struggling to her feet.
“What is, Ann?” I said, trying to take in the scene around me. “What has happened?”
“I think you should take a look for yourself, Master Cheswis,” interjected one of the neighbours, who had been standing by the door, his hand resting on Ann’s shoulder. I glanced nervously inside the house, and what I saw made my heart lurch. Inside the hallway, an overturned cabinet lay on its back, its door half ripped off its hinges. Remnants of food and broken plates lay strewn across the floor as though the room had been ransacked. Worst of all, though, lying face down behind the cabinet, was the inert body of Marion Tench. I picked my way through the debris and turned the body over onto its back. The floor was covered in blood, and a slit down the front of Mrs Tench’s skirts revealed a large wound in her abdomen and groin area. A large knife lay discarded near the body.
“God’s Bones,” I exclaimed. “Is there no end to this slaughter?”
I turned to Ann, who buried her face in her hands and started sobbing. “She tried to kill me,” she wailed. “The knife is hers.”
I walked over to pick up the blood-stained weapon lying on the floor and noticed that the handle carried the coat of arms of the Church family. Marion Tench had obviously grabbed the knife from Church’s Mansion, before heading directly for the Davenports’ house.
“Why, in God’s name, was she here?” I asked.
“It was Bridgett Palyn’s doing,” replied Ann, in a quivering voice.
I looked at her with incredulity. “Bridgett Palyn? What has Randle Church’s maid got to do with this?”
“You know Bridgett and our poor Margery were friends?” said Ann, squeezing the bandage round her arm tighter. “They were inseparable. Margery’s death hit Bridgett just as hard as it has us. Last night, Bridgett came to me and told me she had seen Edward Yardley and Mrs Tench embracing. I put two and two together and realised who had murdered William Tench, and why so much trouble had been taken to make it look as though John was responsible.”
The Winter Siege (Daniel Cheswis Book 1) Page 32
