Bradshaw was wont to lament that he had “a small estate and eleven children.” The whole eleven, as well as his second wife survived him. Among the family portraits at Marple was (and may be still) one of a young maiden, said to be a daughter of the colonel. Round this lady the glamour of romance has been cast, and a tradition tells the story of her unhappy fate. In those times, when not unfrequently members of the same family took opposite sides, when father contended with son, and brother met brother in mortal conflict, Miss Bradshaw, with scant regard for the religious and political principles of her house, had formed an attachment for a young officer in the Royalist army, whose family had in happier days been on terms of intimacy with her own. Though he had espoused the cause of his sovereign, the Puritan colonel, in consideration of former friendships, treated him with personal kindness and welcomed him to his house. On one occasion, when entrusted with the conveyance of despatches to the King, who was then with his army at Chester, having occasion to pass near Marple, the young cavalier halted and stayed the night with the family of his betrothed. Mistress Bradshaw, with a woman’s intuitiveness, suspecting the nature of his mission, and fearing the letters he was commissioned to deliver might bode no good to her husband’s house, resolved, with the help of a trusty waiting-maid, to secretly ascertain their contents. Having done this, and found that her worst fears were realised, her next thought was how to prevent their reaching the King’s hands without awakening the suspicions of their bearer. Summoning to her councils an old servitor of the family, it was decided to partially sever the straps by which the saddle-bags containing the dreaded missives were attached, so that the attendant, when guiding their bearer across the ford, might detach and sink them in the Goyt, when they would be lost for ever. On the early morrow the gay young soldier, having taken leave of his lady-love, hastened upon his mission; the old retainer, who was nothing loth to speed the parting guest, accompanying him towards the river, but, giving a somewhat free interpretation to his instructions, concluded that if it was desirable to get rid of the letters it might be equally desirable to get rid of their bearer, and so, instead of conducting him to the ford, he led him to the deepest part of the river, which had become swollen with the storm of the previous night. The young cavalier plunged into the stream, and in an instant both horse and rider were swept away by the surging flood. Miss Bradshaw witnessed the act of treachery from the window of her chamber, but was powerless to prevent the catastrophe. She saw the fatal plunge, gave one long piercing shriek, and fell senseless to the ground. Reason had for ever left her.
Such is the legend that has floated down through successive generations, and still obtains credence with many of the neighbouring villagers, who, with a fondness for the supernatural, delight to tell how the shade of the hapless maid of Marple is sometimes seen lingering at nightfall about the broad staircases and corridors of what was once her home, or, as the pale cold moon sheds her silvery radiance on wood and sward, wandering along the grassy margin of the river and by the deep dark pool where her lover lost his life. Mr. Leigh has made the incidents of this tradition the basis of one of the most pathetic of his recently-published Cheshire ballads. Another writer on Marple has, however, given a different version. He says the lady was Miss Esther Bradshaw, and that her lover was “Colonel Sydenham, the Royalist commander,” whom she ultimately married. It is a pity to spoil so pretty a story, but strict regard for prosaic fact compels us to avow our disbelief in it, and that for a twofold reason—(1) that Colonel Sydenham was not a “Royalist,” but had been an active officer during the war on the Parliament side; and (2) that Colonel Bradshaw never had a daughter Esther. The story so circumstantially related rests, we believe, on no better foundation than the once popular though now almost forgotten romance of “The Cavalier,” written under the nom de plume of Lee Gibbons, by Mr. Bennett, of Chapel-en-le-Frith, some sixty years ago.
Henry Bradshaw, the Parliamentarian soldier, as the eldest surviving son, inherited the family estates, while John, his younger brother, was left to push his fortunes as best he could. Possessing much natural shrewdness and ability, with no lack of energy and self-confidence, he was content with the position, strong in the belief that
The world’s mine oyster,
and in the bitter struggle between monarchy and democracy he was quick to avail himself of the opportunities which tended to his own wealth and aggrandisement.
He first saw the light in 1602, but the exact place of his birth has not been ascertained. In an article in Britton and Brayley’s “Beauties of England and Wales,” believed to have been written by Watson, the historian of the Earls of Warren, it is stated that he was born at Wyberslegh; but Mr. Ormerod, in his “History of Cheshire,” doubts the probability of this, “inasmuch,” he says, “as the family only became possessed of that seat by the marriage of his elder brother Henry with the daughter of Mr. Wells,” but this, if we may venture to differ from so deservedly high an authority, must be an error, for Wyberslegh, which had for many generations been appendant to the hall of Marple, was in the occupation of his father or grandfather when the Marple property was purchased by them in 1606; it is not unlikely, therefore, that the younger Bradshaw was residing at Wyberslegh at the time of his son John’s birth. His baptism is thus recorded in the Stockport register:—
1602. Dec. 10. John, the sonne of Henrye Bradshawe, of Marple, baptized.
At a later date some zealous Royalist has written in the margin the word “traitor.” It has been said that his mother died in giving him birth. This, however, is not strictly correct, though her death occurred a few weeks after that event, the register of Stockport showing that she was buried there January 24, 1603–4, and her son Francis, who would seem to have been a twin with John, was baptised at the same place three days later.