A Soldier of Substance Read online

  “My name is William Ainsworth,” he said. “If you would care to follow me, I will explain the procedure as we walk.” Ainsworth headed off at a brisk pace back through the cloisters, until we reached a slype that cut between the chapter house and the monks’ parlour. We walked down the narrow alleyway, emerging outside the cathedral, from where I was able to see the city walls no more than a few yards away.

  “You may be wondering why a preacher in a place such as this is willing to help two fugitives such as yourselves,” began Ainsworth.

  “I confess, it is a mystery to me,” I admitted. “You are a divinity lecturer here, I believe.”

  “That is true, and a city preacher at St Peter’s Church.”

  “Then you have much to lose.”

  “I am a pragmatist,” said Ainsworth, who, I realised, was casting his eyes along the length of the city walls as we spoke. “Now is not a good time to be a parliamentarian in Chester. You have heard of John Ley, I take it?”

  “John Ley? The Puritan preacher?”

  “The very same. In earlier times, I was his curate. He has held a prebend here for many years and has also held a lectureship at St Peter’s. He stands to lose all of that because of his views. I, on the other hand, am not so foolish. I considered it wiser to declare for the King and seek refuge here.”

  “I see. Do you not feel you dishonour God by preaching what you do not believe?”

  Ainsworth gave me a sharp look and opened his mouth as if to rebuke me, but thought better of it.

  “I am no follower of Laud and never have been,” he said, patiently. “A good thing too, for he will stand trial for his life in these coming days. However, God tests us in different ways and I believe he will be gracious in his judgement on me, when the time comes.”

  I smiled and decided I would be better advised to avoid questioning a theologian. Instead, I asked Ainsworth to explain how he proposed to get Alexander and myself past the redcoat sentries watching the exits to the town.

  “We go over there,” he said, pointing to a small postern gate in the sandstone wall, which appeared locked from the outside. “That is the Kaleyard Gate. It leads to the cathedral’s vegetable gardens outside the city walls and has been an exit used for centuries by churchmen and monks alike. Just follow me and don’t say anything unless spoken to.”

  Ainsworth marched over to the gate and rapped on it several times. A head briefly appeared over the top of the wall, and a few seconds later we heard the scraping sound of bolts being slid back and a key being turned in the lock. The gate slowly creaked open, and we were confronted by an unsmiling redcoat, who eyed us suspiciously.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “This is the new vicar and curate of St Peter’s in Plemstall,” began Ainsworth. “We come directly from the bishop, and I am to accompany them to their new parish.”

  “Then use the Northgate,” said the soldier, “you know that is the proper way out.”

  “It is shorter this way, as you know,” countered Ainsworth. “We need to pass by Flookersbrook. We do not wish to walk further than is necessary.”

  “Very well,” said the redcoat, looking somewhat unsure, “where are your papers?”

  “They are still with the bishop. I could go and fetch him if you prefer, although I doubt he will be amused at being disturbed from his work over such a thing.”

  The soldier looked nervously over his shoulder and lowered his voice, making sure that a pair of other redcoats stood smoking a little further up the wall could not overhear.

  “If I let you through, you will not reveal that I allowed you to pass without the necessary permit?”

  “In that case there will certainly be no need to inform the bishop,” said Ainsworth. It was not what the soldier wanted to hear, but he stood aside anyway.

  “And make sure you come back via the Northgate, as you’re supposed to,” he shouted after us, as we made our way through the potatoes and cabbages towards the turnpike on Cow Lane.

  Ainsworth accompanied us most of the way to Mickle Trafford, for which I was grateful. The route led up through another set of earthworks near Flookersbrook Hall, the furthest extremity of the siege defences laid out by the royalists, but once beyond there and out of sight of the soldiers, we were able to discard our temporary clothing. When we reached the turn off for Plemstall, Ainsworth shook our hands and showed us the road we needed to follow to find Challinor the blacksmith.

  “May God go with you,” he said, as he took his leave of us.

  “But what about you?” I asked. “Will suspicions not be raised when you return alone?”

  “I have my own papers with me,” replied Ainsworth, “and I will return by the Northgate, as the guard suggested. They will not know the difference, nor will they care. The soldiers are poorly paid, and they will not normally wish to cause trouble to a man of the church.”

  Chapter 14

  Mickle Trafford and Lathom – Thursday March 7th - Friday March 8th, 1644

  We had been at Samuel Challinor’s house for no more than an hour when a flustered-looking Charles Corbett arrived with our horses. The town had been turned upside down in an attempt to find us, he reported, but there had been no news of a third spy being arrested.

  “I must not tarry, though,” he added, “for my father has been arrested, and I must see him freed.”

  “Arrested?” I exclaimed, my heart sinking.

  “Do not worry yourself,” said Corbett, seeing the look on my face. “It is all bluster. Jem Bressy is well known to us, and he is angry because he failed to find what he was looking for. He cannot prove a thing against us. We have all manner of people passing through our doors, after all. My father will be free by the evening, you will see.”

  I mumbled an acknowledgement, but I cannot say my mind was entirely put at rest. Thomas Corbett had been arrested because of my carelessness, and his son was now being forced to risk exposure himself in order to make sure Alexander and I were able to ride undetected to Lathom. The trail of people whose lives were being put in danger by my ill-advised attempt to rescue James Skinner was mounting by the hour. I decided our best course of action was to ride to Lathom as quickly as possible, deliver our messages to Fairfax, convey our condolences to William Seaman’s son and sister, and return as soon as possible to Nantwich, before we caused any more trouble.

  After eating our fill of Mrs Challinor’s pottage, we set out again, heading north in the direction of Lathom House. We were pleased to be once more in territory controlled by Parliament, and we made sure that we were in possession of the correct passes and paperwork, with our real names on them, in order to get through the garrison town of Warrington.

  The afternoon passed without incident, but nonetheless, the light was beginning to fade by the time we arrived in Warrington. We sought out an inn for the night, where we were able to eat and rest in the sure knowledge that we were once again amongst friends.

  Keen to reach our goal, we set off again with the first light of dawn and rode with as much haste as our horses would allow; yet it was almost midday before we reached the crest of the higher ground north of Warrington and were able to gaze down across the fields towards Lathom House, which dominated the landscape for miles around.

  It was a calm, bright day, cold but clear, and the sun cast sharply defined shadows off the walls of the formidable mansion, emphasising its stature and contrasting with the brightness of the stone. The sight lifted the subdued mood which had plagued us since leaving Chester, and it was with raised hopes that Alexander and I spurred our tired horses towards the promise of food and an afternoon’s rest.

  Lathom was truly a building the like of which I had never seen before. I counted seven stone towers inside the fortified walls of the house, including one tower in the middle, twice as high as the rest. This, I presumed, was the famous Eagle Tower. The walls of the house, in the middle of which was an imposing-looking gatehouse flanked by two further towers in the form of a barbican, included several more
lookout points and appeared to be manned by dozens of soldiers. It was no wonder that the Manchester Committee considered the capture of the house to be so important.

  Lathom House was not to be our destination today, though. Our orders had been to ride to New Park House about half a mile from Lathom, where we had been advised that Fairfax had set up his headquarters. New Park was, in fact, a fine, castellated mansion in its own right, with a moat, dovecote, and large walled garden. Fairfax and his leading officers would, I contemplated, not be short of their share of comforts during their sojourn in these parts. I doubted that the same could be said of the regular soldiers camped in the valley a mile or so to the east.

  When we reached the drawbridge, we were challenged by a small group of guards armed with swords and halberds, who demanded to see our papers. On the roof I noticed four musketeers with their weapons trained on us.

  “What is your business?” demanded a lank, narrow-mouthed sergeant, who appeared to be the leader of the group.

  “We are here to report to General Fairfax. We have been sent by Sir William Brereton,” I said, handing our permits over. The sergeant studied our papers carefully before handing them back.

  “And your names?”

  “Cheswis and Clowes,” I said, “but you know that, for our names are on our travel permits.”

  “Just making sure you are who you say you are,” said the sergeant, reddening slightly. “But you will not find Fairfax here. He left for Yorkshire two days ago. Follow me. You will need to see one of the new commanders.”

  “Commanders?” I exclaimed, not able to conceal my shock. “How many men are in charge, then?”

  “At the moment, four,” said the sergeant. “This is West Derby Hundred, so in theory, Colonel Peter Egerton is responsible, but he is currently supervising the construction of the siege works. Then there are Colonels Assheton, Moore, and Rigby. I believe Colonel Rigby may still be here. I will check whether he is available to receive you.

  ***

  Colonel Alexander Rigby was a small, soberly dressed man with a neatly groomed goatee beard and a thin, wispy moustache. He wore his hair short, so that it just touched his collar, and his face displayed a strange lopsided smile, which, I would grow to realise, concealed an otherwise stern and forbidding personality. We found him sat at an oak table in a large private library, his head buried in a jumble of maps and handwritten diagrams which were laid out before him.

  Rigby studied our permits, handed to him by the sergeant, and looked us up and down with a frown.

  “I thought there were supposed to be three of you,” he said, brusquely, dismissing the sergeant with a wave of the hand.

  “There were, sir,” I said, “but our cover was compromised, and we were lucky to escape from Chester with our lives. My brother is unaccounted for.” I briefly explained what had happened in Gloverstone, leaving out the reason why we had ventured into that part of the city.

  Rigby clicked his tongue in annoyance. “You were entrusted with the carriage of important intelligence. Do I take it that some of it is missing?”

  I nodded glumly. “Yes, sir. Some of it is still in my brother’s possession.”

  “At least we must hope so. I told Brereton it was a mistake to entrust such work to inexperienced men. You have the ciphers?”

  “We were supposed to deliver them into the hands of Sir Thomas Fairfax, sir,” protested Alexander.

  “Well, unfortunately, you’re too late for that,” said Rigby. “Sir Thomas has been recalled to Yorkshire. You are to release what information you have into my safekeeping. I am now in command here.”

  We both reached inside our coats and placed the two wax balls on the table in front of the colonel, who swept them up into his palm and deposited them in a small drawer in the front of the table.

  “Thank you,” said Rigby, gesturing towards a pair of carved oak chairs. “Now please sit down and let us discuss the main reason that you have been dispatched here. You may be aware that I was present with the Lancashire forces at Nantwich and experienced something of your town in the aftermath of that victory. As a result, I came to learn something about your success in tracking down the spies responsible for the treachery that took place at Beeston in December. You did well, I confess, but you were also blessed with much good fortune. I have to say I remain to be convinced of the wisdom of entrusting important intelligence work such as that which awaits you here to a mere town constable, particularly as you may already have managed to let one of your assistants fall into enemy hands.”

  I could not deny that Simon’s disappearance and the loss of the third wax ball did not make us look good, but I could not stop myself from bridling at Rigby’s tone. “Colonel,” I said, “we are, as I’m sure you realise, not here of our own volition, but because we have been bound into the service of Sir William Brereton. Both Alexander and I have family and business in Nantwich to which we would much rather attend, so if you feel our presence here is no longer required, we would be delighted to leave you to your siege and return to Cheshire on the morrow. I would only ask-”

  Rigby raised his hand to silence me and glared through furrowed brows. “That’s not what I meant, Mr Cheswis, and I would thank you to alter your tone when addressing me, as you are under my command whilst you are here. Unfortunately, the matter which you were sent here to solve requires urgent attention, and, considering the fact that there is a dearth of alternative intelligencers, and that both Sir William Brereton and Sir Thomas Fairfax appear to have faith in you, I have little choice but to retain your services. How much do you know of the task in hand?”

  “Very little,” I admitted. “Only that you fear your senior ranks may have been infiltrated by a royalist informer.”

  “Then let me enlighten you. It is almost a year since Lady Derby was first asked to yield up Lathom House. It was last May, in fact, after the surrender of Warrington. In her stubbornness, however, she has steadfastly refused to yield to the will of the Governor of Manchester, Colonel Holland. Indeed, she has manoeuvred, prevaricated, and been a general thorn in the side of all those who would uphold the propositions of Parliament. What is more, the earl, who has been largely absent in the Isle of Man, has garrisoned the house with three hundred trained men and various ordnance, including several sakers and a couple of sling-pieces.

  “As I have said before, these men are a veritable nest of brigands. Despite Lathom having been nominally under siege, they seem able to secrete themselves in and out of the house at will. They harry and worry our men at every opportunity and do everything within their power to oppose the just will of Parliament. Worst of all, they appear to have advance knowledge of our plans at all times, including information on decisions made by the Manchester Committee. This has led us to believe that they have a spy in a senior position within our forces, serving Colonel Assheton, Colonel Moore, or myself.

  “The last straw came in January, when one of our captains intercepted a group of men who were attempting to smuggle arms and provisions into the house. However, it appears that the garrison was somehow informed of the arrest and sent out a party to attack our men before the prisoners could be escorted into detention. The result was that the prisoners were freed and some of our men were taken captive themselves.”

  “And you wish that Mr Clowes and I mingle with your men with a view to identifying who this infiltrator might be?”

  “Precisely; but do not think that failure to arrest this traitor will deflect us from our course. As our godly minister in Wigan recently pointed out, the Countess of Derby is herself akin to no less than the scarlet whore of Babylon and Lathom House to Babel itself. As the scriptures so rightly say, God’s vengeance must be to throw down her walls, and I have made that my quest. Whatever it takes, we will starve out her men, bombard her with cannon and mortar until she surrenders, and then we shall raze Lathom House to the ground so that it is erased from the face of the Earth.”

  I must confess that I was somewhat taken aback at the stren
gth of Rigby’s emotions as he said this. His face was contorted with barely concealed hatred, and his eyes appeared to be focussed on somewhere indeterminate in the middle distance.

  I wondered whether Rigby’s motivation in subjugating Lathom House had more of a personal edge than he was prepared to reveal. I pushed these concerns to the back of my mind, though, for my thoughts were on more practical matters.

  “Colonel, may I ask how you propose that our true purpose here be kept secret?” I asked. “We will hardly be inconspicuous here.”

  Rigby nodded and stroked his beard in contemplation. “You are right,” he conceded. “Therein lies the difficulty. You see, you were supposed to report directly to Fairfax and were to be presented as members of his own team of scouts and intelligencers. You would not have attracted suspicion so long as Sir Thomas remained here. But since he has returned to Yorkshire, everything is more difficult, and I have been given but two days to arrange alternative cover for you. I must confess, I am at a loss to know how to proceed.”

  “Could we not simply be recruited as common soldiers, Colonel?” suggested Alexander.

  “That would not work,” said Rigby. “You would find it impossible to speak freely, apart from which you need to be billeted here at New Park, where all the other officers are housed. The lower ranks are all camped near the main siege works, to the east of here.”

  Rigby was right, of course, and it was just as well, for the prospect of having to sleep in tents or amongst the trenches in the Tawd Valley was not something which endeared itself to me. I smiled with relief, and as I did so the seeds of an idea began to germinate within my mind.

  “If I might make a suggestion, Colonel,” I said, “I think I may have a solution which will serve both our purposes equally well.” And so it was that I told Rigby about the murder of Katherine Seaman and my promise to her brother that I would impart the sad tidings of her death to his immediate family in Ormskirk. I also mentioned the curious connection with the royalist officer, Chisnall, as well as William Seaman’s dealings with Francis Gamull.