The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [238]
Of course, he had known it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. On the other hand, it would have been foolish not to try. And, as he thought about it, William Furzey reckoned he had a chance.
After all, Monmouth had to be looking for a port. Lymington, therefore, was still his best bet. True, the king’s troops were watching the place, but Lymington was full of sympathizers and you could hide an army of fugitives in the Forest. He’d only need to get word to some of the people down by the quay. The Seagulls, to William Furzey’s knowledge, would take the devil himself as long as he paid.
How would the fugitive get to Lymington? He’d certainly avoid Fordingbridge and Ringwood, but he’d have to cross the river Avon.
Tyrrell’s Ford, then. It was the obvious place.
So Furzey had sidled up to a group of troops gathered in Ringwood market place and asked casually if any of their number had gone south along the river. They had told him no. He’d already noticed that not one of the troops who had arrived was a local man. Typical, he thought, of the authorities to conduct a search with soldiers unfamiliar with the territory.
But it was good for him. Without another word, he’d set off for Tyrrell’s Ford.
He’d waited down there a day and a night before he heard that his quest was in vain and Monmouth was already found: due west of Ringwood, though, and heading south. Monmouth had been heading for Tyrrell’s Ford all right.
The thought that he’d been cheated of his reward so narrowly did nothing to improve his temper.
Colonel Penruddock and his men continued to search the area around Sarum for several more days. They found no one. Meanwhile, however, the numbers taken in the west went to over a thousand.
Then the search slowed and stopped. There was a watch kept at every town, of course, but all seemed quiet.
Figures in the landscape. There were still fugitives out there, however: men of the Protestant cause; men who had vanished into houses where they could find shelter; men who must keep moving on, cautiously, towards the Forest.
Two weeks after the arrest of Monmouth, Alice Lisle could bear it no longer. Peter Albion had been calling almost every day.
Although Monmouth had written to King James and even had an interview with him, it hadn’t done him any good. A week after his capture, on the little green in the Tower of London, he was executed. Meanwhile, preparations were in hand to deal with the huge mass of his followers who had been captured down in the West Country. A huge assize, at which they would all be tried, was to be held in August, with James’s hand-picked man, Lord Chief Justice Jeffreys, presiding.
Yet none of this seemed to alter Peter Albion’s view. ‘The king is just going to make himself more hated. I predict nothing but trouble,’ he announced.
And I predict nothing but trouble for you, Alice thought, if you don’t keep your mouth shut.
Her terror was that he was going to propose marriage. She had no doubt that Betty would want him. And then what was she to do? Refuse her consent? Cut Betty off?
When she confided her fears to Tryphena and even that she was afraid Betty might elope, Tryphena with her usual tact, nodded sagely. ‘We must consider, Mother, that although Betty loves you, if she had to choose between you and a young man she will certainly choose him.’
The best course, surely, was to keep the two apart. Once Monmouth was executed and the search for his followers dying down, Alice felt she could safely return to the Forest. Indeed, it was looking a safer place than London every day, with the threat of Peter Albion so present. But she also feared that, if she announced their departure, it might bring matters to a head with Albion and provoke a proposal.
A week after Monmouth’s execution, however, he announced that he must go down into Kent for a few days upon business. Telling him that she looked forward to seeing him on his return, Alice said a fond