(It is spring 1761, and Charles Huntingdon has returned to Bereton with the intention of standing for election to Parliament at the coming General Election. He also hopes to discover the truth of what passed in the town during the great Jacobite rebellion of 1745)
On my first morning back at the Priory I was awakened by a rousing dawn chorus by a cockerel in the henhouse, and when I opened the shutters the room was flooded with golden light as the sun rose behind Brackenridge hill. A glorious day was in prospect. I reflected that my friends in London would only recently have gone to bed, but I felt very happy.
I found spring well advanced and my farms all
at work. The fields were green with young crops, and in the meadows lambs and
calves were at play. In my orchard the cherry trees were full of blossom white
as snow. The apple trees were looking well, as were the pears up against the
south-facing wall. Ned Timmis and his family and numerous labourers had been
hard at work for the past few weeks, ploughing and harrowing and sowing;
cleaning ditches and repairing hedges. Inside the house, Mrs Timmis was
directing a vigorous spring cleaning.
Martin Clifford brought me a vast quantity of
papers containing the quarterly returns from my lands in various counties, all
of which appeared to require my inspection. I did not intend to inform him of
my intention to stand for election to Parliament until I had first prepared the
ground by talking to Sir James Wilbrahim; instead, remembering what Lord Teesdale had told me of the advance of the Scotch rebels through Bereton in 1745, I interrupted our work by
asking Clifford whether he had witnessed these events.
“I did not," he told me, “for I was away in
Berkshire, working for Mr Andrew in a dispute concerning certain property he
had there. Mrs Timmis was here, and you must ask her. She told me how some of the rebel leaders stayed at the
Priory and others at Stanegate, Sir James Wilbrahim being away in London. No
resistance was offered to the rebels, and to be fair, no outrages were
committed by them, and so the next day they continued on their way.
“When I returned, I found troops had been
billeted both in Bereton and in Mulchester, and remained for a long time. The
soldiers were not liked, and their presence led to riots and other disturbances.
Jacobite sentiment and hatred of the government remained in the district for
many years afterwards: at the county races next year, some of the gentry
dressed a fox in the red coat of a soldier and decked the hounds in tartan to
hunt it; and there was violence offered to any Whig who dared show his face!”
I was intrigued by this, and later
interrupted Mrs Timmis’s spring cleaning to ask whether she had seen the rebels in1745.
“Lord, yes, sir, I remember it well!” she
replied, immediately warming to the topic, “It was the start of December, and
there was snow on the ground, and these wild highland men came, a
fierce-looking bunch of ruffians they were, with their strange clothes and
strange talk! Some in the town might have welcomed them, but not in this
household, for we were all loyal to our King George, and always would be. We
were that fearful of what might befall; but their leader; Murray, that was his
name, Lord George Murray; for all his outlandish dress he behaved in a most
gentleman-like manner! He asked at the house for food and shelter for his
men, and Mr Andrew, he was very sick, poor man, and had no more than a year to
live; he did not wish to feed traitors and rebels, but resistance was useless
and Lord George said he would pay for everything, and so he did! And so the
highland men slept in the stables, but Lord George and his friend, who called
himself the Duke of Perth; a weak-looking man but most polite in his bearing;
they slept in the house; to protect us against any robbery, they said; and they
were as good as their word; though we hardly slept a wink that night; and then
they departed the next day with no injuries done, but with the greatest of
thanks and compliments! And I thought, they may all be wicked rebels against
the King, but I’ve met far worse people in my time, that I have!”
“But the young man who called himself the
Prince of Wales: did you see him?”
“No more than a glimpse, sir; for he did not
come here, but spent the night at Stanegate Hall; and Sir James was not at
home, but in London, and so his poor wife was left there all undefended! But no
harm was done; though there was some gossip afterwards…. But lord, sir, the
young girls in the town; their talk was all of how handsome Prince Charlie was,
and how gallantly he conducted himself! And when we were told that he had
escaped back to France, we were glad for his sake, for all that he was a rebel
against the King!”
I would have asked further questions, but Mrs Timmis now plainly indicated that she had wasted enough time in idle chatter when she had important work to do. I let her depart, reflecting that although I might in strict point of law be lord of the manor of Bearsclough, there could be no doubt that Mrs Timmis was mistress of the household.
I found Mrs Waring still fussing in the
library, as though nothing had changed since my earlier visit, and asked her
what she knew of the great events of 1745.
“Oh, it was before I came here, of course,
she replied. “But I heard the talk about Sir James and Lady Wilbrahim, and I
thought Sir James’s behaviour was contemptible, leaving his wife all alone to
face the rebels. But Mrs Andrew said that Sir James didn’t just run away and
leave Lady Wilbrahim behind: oh, no! Mrs Andrew believed Lady Wilbrahim refused
to leave her home! She was determined to receive the Prince at Stanegate, no
matter what the cost; and so she did! She was always a stronger Jacobite than
her husband, and braver too. Mrs Andrew respected her for that, however much
she herself despised the Jacobite cause.
“And the rebels passed through, and then
they retreated back into Scotland and were all defeated at Culloden, thank
goodness. And next year Miss Louisa was born and poor Lady Wilbrahim never
recovered and died soon afterwards, and Sir James never married again. Mrs
Andrew thought he must always have felt ashamed of his behaviour in 1745, and
deservedly so too!”
Having said her piece with unusual
vehemence, my librarian then returned to the interminable task of rearranging
books and papers.
The picture of my home in 1745 was becoming
more and more complex, and I resolved to continue my questioning. Soon
afterwards, Ned Timmis came to consult me concerning the hiring of extra labour
on my farms. I told him to take on as many men as might be needed, and then
invited him to sit down for a pot of ale. While he was consuming this, and
following it with a second pint and then a third, I asked him if he remembered
the coming of the Highlanders.
“Aye, sir, I remember it right well, but with
no great pleasure,” he replied, “For I was in the county militia then, and a
poor showing we made of it! When we heard of the rebels’ approach, we formed
up; but what with Squire Wilbrahim being in London and Squire Andrew in bad
health, there was no-one to lead us, and all was confusion. In short, the
rebels marched on and we marched away, back to our homes, and not a shot was
fired against them! A poor showing indeed!
“And so the rebels passed the night with us,
some here, some in Bereton and others in the villages around, and when they
passed on the next day, a few of the lads from round about joined them. Some of them
was friends of mine. And what became of those lads I know not, for we never
heard owt of them again. I hope they escaped, or was killed in battle, rather
than live to be hanged as traitors.
“And not more than a week after, we heard
that the rebels had retreated back to Scotland, but we did not see them, for
they took a different road. And when Squire Wilbrahim returned, which was a
good time after, no-one thought well of his conduct, and some of the older
folks still hold it against him. Everyone in these parts knew that Squire
Wilbrahim said King George wasn’t no true king. When he hunted a fox he would
halloo his friends to hunt George of Hanover, for such he would name the fox;
yet no sooner had he heard that the rebels was passing south down through
Lancashire and headed this way, than he set out for London rather than stay to
either greet or fight them! And he left his poor lady here! That caused much
talk, and none to his credit.
“Your sister mentioned that there was some
gossip….”
“Women always gossip, sir. A year later,
they was all whispering how strange it was, what with the squire and his wife
having been wed those ten years past, but without children; and then the young
Pretender comes, and he so handsome and having such a way with women, they say,
and she being there all unprotected, and then next autumn the babe being born;
well! what do you make of it? That’s how the women talked; but to my way of
thinking it’s all nonsense, and anyhow it’s all long past now.”
“I was told that there were troops stationed
here after the rebellion,” I said.
“Yes, sir: for many years afterwards there
was soldiers quartered in the town, in the taverns for the most part, and we
hated them, that we did! They got drunk and wouldn’t pay their bills, and there
was fighting, and windows broke, and one night a soldier was beaten near to
death, but no-one wouldn’t give evidence and so no-one got convicted.
Afterwards I heard one of the officers say that this was a damned rebel town
and the townsfolk treated them very ill, but they would be revenged on them.
Them was his very words. But in the end the soldiers was taken away, and good
riddance too.”
I thought it wise as well as polite that I
should inform Sir James Wilbrahim personally of my intention of my election plans,
and hope that he would support my candidature, or at least not actively oppose
it. Accordingly, the day after my return, I wrote a letter to Sir James,
requesting that I might pay him a visit. But how best to approach the subject? It
might be best not to tell him that I would shortly be visiting Maybury, since I
knew he detested Lord Teesdale and everything he stood for, but since he was
certain to discover it eventually, might it be best to inform him openly and
honestly? Then again, should I reveal that I knew about his conduct in the late
rebellion? And what purpose would this serve? In the end, I merely informed him
that I had important news from London to impart.
To clear my mind and rehearse what I might
say to Sir James, I decided to take a walk in the direction of Bereton. It was
a glorious day of sunshine, the air was full of birdsong and the trees were starting
to bud. I climbed from the main track to a higher path through the woods, and
before long found myself at the old quarry which had been the scene of my
near-fatal accident. This time, however, I found to my surprise that the
entanglement of brambles blocking the gap between a huge boulder and the
rock-face had been thrust aside and the wet earth showed the tracks of men’s
boots of men passing in that way. Moved by curiosity, I decided to investigate.
I found myself in a kind of narrow passage.
The light was too dim to see how far it ran, and I had only gone a few steps
when I dislodged a stone that rattled loudly. Suddenly, ahead of me, a man’s
voice exclaimed, “There’s someone out there!”
“I’ll go and take a look then!” replied
another voice, that of an older and more educated man.
I retreated as quickly and quietly as I was
able, for if these men were robbers or smugglers, they would certainly have a
short way with intruders. I crouched down behind a huge block of stone and did
not dare raise my head to look. I heard footsteps, and then to my vast relief
heard the second man say, “No-one about! You’re always imagining things, Harry!
Must be one of those cursed badgers or foxes. They’re forever making a mess
here!”
“Brocks about in broad daylight! Don’t be
daft! You don’t know nowt, you don’t!” his companion grumbled. This brought an
angry response and to my great good fortune they fell to quarrelling,
neglecting to investigate further. Eventually they retreated back into the passage,
still muttering to each other. Even then I dared not move for a long time.
When at last I felt safe I crept away as
silently as I could; abandoning my plan to walk to Bereton but instead
returning homeward. I did not relax until I had left the woods behind me. Back
at the Priory I found a letter inviting me to Stanegate.
I was encouraged to find Sir James Wilbrahim in a cheerful
and relaxed mood. Old William served me a large glass of claret wine and then
left us. After some trivial initial exchanges concerning the state of our farms,
I embarked on a carefully prepared discourse concerning the coming election. I
began by telling Sir James the news from London that Mr Bailey had decided to
retire from Parliament. I did not reveal that I had heard this from Lord Teesdale;
and, as I suspected, Mr Bailey had not troubled to inform his constituents of
his intention. I knew the information would please Sir James, as indeed it did.
I left unsaid the obvious fact that one of
the Bereton seats was now vacant, and instead, flattering the old squire
outrageously, I discoursed on how much I had learnt from listening to the
conversation at his dinner table, and how impressed I had been by the desire to
be represented by a gentleman resident in the town, and therefore, I humbly suggested
that, with his support and that of his friends, I might dare to put my own name
forwards? I promised always to follow his wise guidance on the matter,
etcetera, etcetera. I continued to speak in this vein for some time before finally
lapsing into silence.
Sir James too remained silent for a while,
cradling his wineglass and gazing into the fireplace. Eventually he turned to
face me.
“Well, Mr Huntingdon, you will appreciate
that all this is very sudden. I am glad to see the back of Bailey, certainly,
but ….” He then paused again before resuming, “Well, and why not? You are
young, and have much to learn, but at least I do not think you are another of
those damned Whigs. So, if no other gentleman should put his name forward, I do
not see why I should not have you as a colleague. Proceed with your plans, and
I shall not oppose you.”
I thanked him profusely, and after some more conversation on other matters, in which I was careful to agree with everything he said, I shook him warmly by the hand, and before departing invited himto dinner, expressing the pious hope that this could mark a reconciliation between Stanegate and the Priory.
I had scarcely been give the most ringing of endorsements, but at least I could now be sure that Sir James would not oppose me; and much to my relief, Lord Teesdale's name had never been mentioned. My campaign could now begin!
On the way home I encountered Ned Timmis,
riding back from business in town. I did not tell him of my meeting with Sir
James, but instead mentioned my discovery at the old quarry, and asked if he,
as a man likely to know everything that went on in the district, thought that
smuggled goods might be concealed there. He gave me a strange look before
venturing a reply.
“Why, sir, I don’t doubt that you might be
right; and there might be persons round about that know the truth of it, but
others wouldn’t think as how there was any cause to interfere in such matters.
All I would say is that Squire Wilbrahim is always generous in supplying the
town with beer and wine and tobacco and suchlike goods at Christmas and other
times, and it’s not for the likes of us to enquire where he gets them, sir.”
The hint was plain: I would be ill-advised to ask questions that might risk antagonising people in the town. If I did succeed in being elected to Parliament, I might feel obliged to take some action, but for now I would let the matter rest. I had more important things on my mind!
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