The Combermere Legacy

by D. W. Bradbridge

  “Several reasons,” I explained. “Firstly, I needed an introduction to visit Combermere last time. This time I don’t, and Demeter is still there, remember. It would also look rather odd if Wilbraham and I turned up to see George Cotton a second time. Secondly, I have to bear in mind that we are under orders from Croxton to stop Bressy getting hold of Massey’s treasure, and for that reason Croxton would not approve of me taking Wilbraham along again. Wilbraham is no friend of Bressy’s, but he is a known royalist sympathiser.

  “And, finally, there is the practical side of things. Wilbraham is no fighter. If it transpires that there is a problem with Bressy, then Wilbraham is more likely to get in my way than help me. I’m better off without him.”

  “Then remember what I have said to you these past weeks,” interjected Jack Wade. “I may only have one leg, but I can still look after myself. Let me go with you. After all, I am your apprentice, and today is a cheese collection day. There is every reason for me to be seen out on the road with you.”

  Elizabeth and Alexander glanced at each other.

  “Daniel, I do not think this idea is well-conceived,” said my wife, but her words were only half-hearted, for she had already seen that I was not to be persuaded.

  I felt a pang of guilt for having to put those who depended on me through such worry and pain once again, but what else could I do?

  “Enough,” I said. “It is on my account that Amy has been subjected to such danger, and it is I who must act now to save her.”

  And so it was. Wade went outside to prepare the horse and cart, whilst Mrs Padgett put together some mutton pies, cakes, apples, and two large leather bottles filled with ale to see us through the day. Ezekiel returned home with the strict instruction not to present himself at the Booth Hall until at least an hour after I had departed. The one concession I did make, however, was to send Alexander over to Roger Wilbraham’s to tell him to keep watch over Cripps’ house, in case Gorste decided to pay the corviser a visit, in which case Croxton was to be summoned immediately.

  By ten o’clock we were ready to depart, so Wade drove the cart steadily up Barker Street, out through one of the sconces, and across the river at Shrewbridge. We were unarmed save for an old pistol that once belonged to Ralph Brett and which Elizabeth insisted that we take. This was kept hidden under a sheet at the back of the cart.

  I was impatient to make our way directly to Combermere, but Wade correctly pointed out that our sudden appearance would seem less contrived if we were to show up with a load of cheese in our cart, ready for transportation back to Nantwich. That way, if we got back in time, at least we would have some produce to sell at market the following day.

  We therefore called in at farms at the villages of Austerson and Aston on the way, and by the time we trundled up the approach road to Combermere, it was past lunchtime, and the cart was already half full.

  As we drew up outside the gatehouse at the Grange, I noticed some activity inside the building where Wilbraham and I had waited during my last visit, and, after a few moments’ delay, a nervous-looking servant emerged and asked me who I was.

  “We have no cheese delivery scheduled today, sir,” he added.

  “I am not here to sell cheese,” I said. “My name is Cheswis, and I was a guest here two weeks ago. I have come to collect my mare, who turned lame during my visit, and who is still stabled here.”

  “I see. If you would both care to take a seat inside, I will see that someone attends you presently.”

  “I will stay here, if it’s all the same to you,” said Wade, who was sat with the reins across his knees, eyeing the servant with distrust.

  The servant shrugged. “As you please, sir,” and he turned on his heels to go back into the farm manager’s lodge.

  “Be careful, sir,” hissed Wade. “Something is not right here.”

  I glanced quickly at Wade and nodded, before jumping down from the seat beside Wade and following the servant indoors. He then closed the door behind me and bid me sit down.

  “It is Mr Gorste I would speak to in the first instance,” I said. “Is he available?”

  “No, sir. He is currently indisposed, but Mr Frayne is here. I will have him attend you personally.”

  I looked at the servant closely. Wade was right. There was something about his demeanour that did not seem natural, and my suspicion was rewarded when his eyes flicked momentarily to the right. I followed his gaze through the window towards the boulevard that led through the orchards, and I thought I caught the sight of a figure weaving its way through the trees.

  I turned to say something, but I was too slow. The servant had already reached inside a desk drawer and retrieved a pistol, which he now pointed firmly at my chest.

  “Please do not make me use this, Mr Cheswis,” he said, nervously. “I am not used to such weapons, but believe me, if I’m forced to use it, I shall.”

  I believed him. The man’s hands were shaking like a leaf, but his eyes were focused firmly on mine.

  “Have a care,” I said. “I would not like to see that go off by accident, and relax – I am going nowhere.”

  My words seemed to reassure the servant somewhat, and he stepped backwards to sit down on a chair, but the gun remained pointed in my direction.

  I quickly scanned the room for a means of escape. By the doorway to an adjoining room, there was a pile of hand implements – hoes, spades, and the like, but they were out of reach. If I tried to reach them, I would certainly be shot, and there was no point in calling for help from Wade. He could not see me through the closed door, and if I were to shout for assistance, I also risked being shot. There was no option but to wait until Wade decided something was wrong and came to my aid of his own accord.

  We sat there for no longer than ten minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. Eventually, though, I heard the sound of voices outside and watched as my captor’s eyes moved towards the window.

  I had to take my chance. I sprang from my seat and charged across the room towards the pile of tools. I heard the sharp report of the pistol and a crack as the wood splintered in the chair where I had been sat. The servant dropped the gun and made for the door, but he was too late.

  I grabbed one of the spades and swung it in a wide arc, catching the servant on the forehead. He crumpled in a heap on the floor and remained still.

  I opened the door just in time to see Wade dive over the back of the cart to grab the pistol and heard the dull clunk of his wooden leg against the inside of the cart. A split second later, his head appeared above the side of the cart, and he fired a pistol shot towards an unseen target behind the building to my right.

  I stepped out of the building, only to see four men with muskets and fowling guns aimed at the cart. When they saw me, two of them pointed their pieces in my direction, and I immediately stopped and raised my hands. The other two, however, fired at the cart.

  First I heard a dull thud as a bullet embedded itself in the side of the cart, behind which Wade was hiding, and then there was a piercing equine scream as a shower of shot scraped down the carthorse’s flank. The horse reared, and the cart was thrown on its side, depositing Wade and our cheese onto the roadway. My apprentice, I noticed, although covered in cheese, was unhurt, but his pistol had spun away and had landed in bushes several feet away. Wade looked round like a startled rabbit, but as soon as he saw the two guns that were levelled at me, he groaned and placed his hands on top of his head.

  At that moment, the well-dressed figure of Thomas Cotton emerged from behind the farm manager’s lodge and glared at me malevolently.

  “Take these two traitors and lock them up,” he growled, addressing the four gamekeepers. “I will deal with them later. Then do something with all this bloody cheese, and for God’s sake, put this horse out of its misery.”

  I then watched in horror as one of the gamekeepers produced a pistol and buried a bullet in my carthorse’s head.

  And finally, if that were not enough, as Wade and I were being ma
rched at gunpoint past the front of the house, there, on the stairs, casting a questioning look in my direction, was the unmistakeable figure of Alice Furnival.

  Chapter 27

  Combermere – Friday, August 16th 1644

  “What is the meaning of this?” I demanded. “You treat me first as a welcome guest, and then, two weeks later, when I come here openly and peaceably to retrieve my injured mare, you handle me as though I were a prisoner of war. Pray explain yourself.”

  Thomas Cotton stood facing us, with his hands on his hips in a display of overt belligerence. I had no idea how much time had elapsed since our arrest, for Cotton’s men had thrown us into an empty cellar underneath the bakehouse, with no window and only a single candle for company. I guessed maybe a couple of hours had passed, but it could have been four.

  “Prisoners of war?” exclaimed Cotton. “That, sir, is exactly what you are. Of course, if it had only been that you used your visit here to gather information about my estate for the sequestrator, Folineux, I would have been content with simply keeping your mare, using your cart for firewood, and eating your cheese, but that is not the whole of the story, is it, Mr Cheswis?”

  “That’s not how it was, Mr Cotton. Folineux got wind of the fact that Roger Wilbraham and I were here and interrogated us both.”

  “Perhaps so, but I would hazard a guess that the information he received came from your lips only. I cannot imagine that the Wilbrahams of Townsend House would openly collude with the Sequestration Committee.”

  “I am sorry for this,” I said, honestly. “Folineux, I understand, has already made an assessment at Townsend House, and I was threatened with sequestration myself.”

  “You?” exclaimed Cotton, with incredulity. “This I might have believed if I hadn’t taken the trouble to make some enquiries about you, as, I hasten to add, did Sir Fulke Hunckes, who also had his suspicions about your intentions here. Both of us unearthed more or less the same information.

  “It appears both you and the accomplice you brought along today were arrested for spying at the time of January’s battle in Nantwich and were imprisoned briefly at Dorfold Hall. You, I am told, escaped in mysterious circumstances, whilst your friend, who was badly injured, was freed the following day by Brereton’s men.”

  “I am no spy,” cut in Wade, suddenly. “I was a trooper in the army of Parliament, and was dressed as such.”

  “Be quiet, churl,” snarled Cotton. “You’ll speak when you’re spoken to.” He then turned back to me and looked and me intently. “Your actions defending your home town I can understand, but I also have unconfirmed reports that you were active as an intelligencer during the recent siege at Lathom House, now thankfully lifted.”

  “I do not see–”

  “Save your breath, Cheswis. I do not want to hear it. Keep it for His Majesty’s interrogators. You will return to Shrewsbury with Sir Fulke Hunckes, where you will no doubt be hung as a spy. As for your mare, she will make a useful addition to our stables.”

  “You would steal my horse, Mr Cotton?”

  “You will not need her where you are going. Have no fear, she will be well looked after. I believe Mr Gorste has taken a fancy to her.”

  In all the confusion I had almost forgotten about the deputy steward. I was sure now that the figure I had seen fleeing through the orchard was him. But where had he got to?

  “That is another reason I came here,” I ventured. “Abraham Gorste is wanted for the murder of two men in Nantwich as well as that of Geffery Crewe in your stables. He is also responsible for the kidnap of my housekeeper’s daughter, Amy Padgett, who I believe may be being held somewhere on these premises.”

  Cotton gave me a wide-eyed look of stupefaction and scratched his forehead. Then I heard a strange gulping sound. It took me a moment to realise that Cotton was laughing. The gulping eventually gave way to a huge guffaw.

  “God’s Blood, Cheswis,” he said, once the mirth had subsided. “You are indeed a strange one. Do you seriously expect me to believe such a story? Abraham Gorste is a trusted member of this household. I suggest you save your breath for when Sir Fulke arrives.”

  I looked up sharply. “He is not yet here?”

  “He is on his way from Shrewsbury as we speak. He is expected here this evening.”

  This was interesting news. Firstly, it meant that Alice and Hunckes had travelled separately, which meant that Bressy, as likely as not, was not far away. Secondly, if Hunckes was on his way to Combermere, surely it had something to do with whatever he, Alice, and Lord Herbert had been discussing during my last visit. I suddenly had an idea. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

  “As a matter of interest,” I said, “what is the governor of Shrewsbury doing visiting this place on such a regular basis, and with Alice Furnival too?”

  Cotton gave me a puzzled look. “That, sirrah, is none of your damned business.”

  I smiled patiently. “Of course not, but Alice Furnival is a known royalist collaborator, whose husband was a known intelligencer. I’m sure Sir William Brereton would be more than interested to hear that you have been socialising with the likes of her, especially if I do not return today.”

  “Cheswis, you are hardly in a position to dictate terms.”

  “Perhaps, but if I am the dangerous intelligencer you think I am, do you seriously think I would have come here without telling someone where I was going and what I was doing, or that certain associates of mine don’t already know that Mistress Furnival was here?”

  “That is your word against mine,” said Cotton, icily.

  “Roger Wilbraham was a witness. His political sympathies may well lie with the King, but his primary interest is to protect his own estate. He will not deny it if pressed.”

  “And do not forget,” added Wade, who had been listening to the whole of this conversation intently and with a hint of a smile on his face, “I am a witness to this whole conversation. You will never make the accusation stick that I have anything to do with Sir William Brereton’s intelligence network, and if anything happens to Mr Cheswis, you can be sure I will testify against you.”

  Cotton said nothing, but I could tell that he was uncertain where he stood. A muscle in the side of his neck twitched involuntarily.

  “I did not hear you answer, Mr Cotton,” I persisted. “What were Alice Furnival, Lord Herbert, and Sir Fulke Hunckes doing here?

  Cotton ran his hand over his neck and glared at me with contempt. “This is an entirely personal matter,” he said. “I don’t know why I am telling you this, but I suppose it is of no consequence. You will be safely locked up in a cell in Shrewsbury before long and will not have the opportunity to tell the sequestrators.

  “Lord Herbert is an avid collector of books. He has a fine library in Montgomery, and he is concerned that it may be destroyed if the castle is occupied. We have a secure place for storing such valuables here at Combermere, and Lord Herbert is to send the most valuable part of his collection for storage until it is safe for his books to be returned. That is all.”

  And with that, Cotton stalked out of the room and slammed the door, leaving Wade and myself languishing in the semi-darkness.

  * * *

  After Cotton’s departure, I sat in the gloom for a long time, deep in thought. Wade had fallen asleep and was snoring loudly, his wooden leg banging occasionally against the cellar wall.

  What Cotton had said about Alice and Huncke’s reasons for being in Combermere did not ring true. Their motivation for talking to Cotton went way beyond personal considerations. Montgomery was clearly a strategically important location in the battle for the control of Wales and the Marches, especially so for Parliament, with the Red Castle having already declared for the King.

  Lord Herbert, during his visit to Combermere, had expressed ambivalence about giving support to either side in the conflict, but a guarantee to keep his books safe from plunder would surely be a powerful persuasive tool to obtain his support. And once the books were safely u
nder royalist control at Combermere, it would be very difficult for Herbert to change his mind.

  And supposing some of Massey’s treasure was to be used to pay Cotton to store Herbert’s library, or, indeed, as a straightforward payment to Herbert to secure his loyalty? Was this why Alice was spending so much time at Combermere? Was she trying to kill two birds with one stone?

  What interested me more, though, was the prospect of a secret store room. If Cotton was telling the truth and such a room existed, would its location not be known to Abraham Gorste? And would such a room not be the ideal place to keep a kidnapped child? It was logical to assume that Amy must be being held somewhere on the Combermere estate, but where could such a location possibly be?

  It seemed unlikely to be in the main body of the house, I reasoned, for this would make it easier to discover, unless, of course, the secret room had been built in the old part of the house which had existed in Massey’s time. The room was also almost certainly not located in amongst the workshops and stables – that would be bizarre, as these areas were in constant use by servants and other estate employees. No, the best location would be somewhere relatively close to the house, but where few people ever went.

  And then it came to me. It was obvious when you thought about it. On the day I first arrived at Combermere with Wilbraham, I had seen Cotton rowing with Alice, Herbert, and Hunckes from the summerhouse on the island on the other side of the lake. They must have been inspecting the secret room. Where better to hide Amy than there?

  There was, however, one seemingly insurmountable problem. I needed to get out of this dark cell, and there seemed little prospect of that if I could not persuade Cotton to let me go.

  But then, as if to answer my prayers, I heard angry voices outside. The cellar door flew open, and in burst Alexander and Roger Wilbraham, followed by George Cotton and a very sheepish-looking Thomas Cotton.