The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [236]
‘You ain’t got the right,’ George Furzey was protesting, ‘an’ I ain’t going to do it anyway.’ He looked at his brother who was too busy hating Jim Pride to take time off to speak. ‘So that’s that.’
The trouble, as Jim Pride had put it to his father only a week ago, was predictable. ‘George Furzey doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.’
If the Furzeys had never accepted the fact that they hadn’t the right of Estovers – if, to this day, they refused even to acknowledge Alice Lisle with a nod when they saw her and called her a thief – then the one thing that had been intolerable to them was when, a year ago, Jim Pride had been transferred from the post of underkeeper at Bolderwood to that of underkeeper in the South bailiwick.
For Stephen Pride this transfer had been very welcome. Bolderwood was almost nine miles from Oakley, but now he could see his son and his grandchildren almost every day.
For George Furzey, however, Jim’s presence meant something very different, for the underkeeper was responsible for supervising common rights, including that of Estovers. ‘I’m not answering to Jim Pride,’ he had told his family. He wasn’t going to be made a fool of by the Prides. And he had made a point of collecting firewood from the Forest just to prove his point.
Yet even then, matters needn’t have come to a head. Jim Pride hadn’t been an underkeeper for fifteen years without learning some wisdom. If Furzey had quietly taken some underwood when he needed it, Jim would have ignored it. But, of course, George Furzey was incapable of doing that.
Two days ago at the little inn at Brockenhurst, he had announced for everyone to hear: ‘I don’t take no notice of Jim Pride. If I want Estovers I take them.’ Then, looking round in triumph, he added, ‘I’ll take wood for cooper’s timber, too’ and had given everyone a broad wink. The right of Estovers applied only to wood that was to be used by a cottager for his fire. Cooper’s timber was wood that was to be sold for making barrels or fencing, and was illegal.
It was a stupid and unnecessary challenge, and it left Jim Pride with no option. ‘I’ve got to come down on him now,’ he told his father.
So that morning he had arrived at Furzey’s cottage and informed him, as politely as he could: ‘I’m sorry, George, but you’ve been taking wood you aren’t entitled to. You know the rules. You’ve got to pay.’
George and William Furzey looked at old Stephen now – the sight of him, it seemed, only infuriated them more – and after William had taken time, with careful deliberation, to spit on the ground, George summarized his position with a shout: ‘I’ll tell you who’s going to pay, Jim Pride. You’re going to pay. You and that old hag Lisle! You and that witch. You’re the ones that are going to pay.’
With that, the two Furzeys turned and stamped back to their cottage.
Colonel Thomas Penruddock sat on his horse and coolly observed the crowd which, whatever it really felt, showed signs of rejoicing. His cousin from Hale was beside him.
Behind the two Penruddocks was Ringwood church with its broad, cheerful square tower. In front of them was the vicarage with guards on the door. Inside the vicarage, being questioned by Lord Lumley, was the Duke of Monmouth. There was no small excitement in the air. Ringwood had never been at the centre of English history before.
The last two days had been hectic. As soon as it was known that Monmouth was on the run a huge reward – five thousand pounds – had been offered for his capture. Even a sighting would be worth something. Half the south-western counties were out looking for him. Lord Lumley and his soldiers had clattered into Ringwood and had been scouring the New Forest. They had raided several houses in Lymington, where the mayor had already taken ship and fled abroad.