The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [242]
‘Don’t you worry about that.’ George was in a transport of delight. The Lisles and the Prides. All humiliated. All in one go. ‘That’s easy, that is. Don’t you worry.’
Moyles Court was bigger than Albion House. It had a number of large brick chimneys rising from its various parts and a large open courtyard. It was set in a clearing, with trees all around, although there were two small paddocks on the slope up to the Forest opposite. The manor’s main fields lay on the Avon valley floor, not far away.
Betty was standing in the courtyard when the letter from Peter Albion was brought on Monday morning. The messenger who delivered it had already gone to Albion House and been sent on there.
It was brief. Peter’s business in Kent had been cut short and he had returned to London only the day after they had left. He had been shocked to find them gone, because he had an important matter to discuss with her. He was following in person and expected to arrive at Albion House on Tuesday afternoon.
As she read, Betty felt her heart quicken. She had no doubt what this must mean. In her mind there was only one question, therefore: should she tell her mother before she went to Albion House, or not? She realized that the servants at Albion House would surely send him on to Moyles Court anyway. He’d be there by Tuesday evening. And whatever her feelings, Dame Alice could hardly send him away. She was receiving other visitors that evening, wasn’t she? But all the same, the thought of going to meet him was attractive.
George Furzey waited until Tuesday morning before going over to Jim Pride’s. He found the underkeeper leaving his lodge.
Jim wasn’t particularly pleased to see him, but he was civil enough, as George delivered his message: ‘Dame Alice wants to see you at Moyles Court.’
‘Moyles Court?’ Pride frowned. ‘I can’t get over there till evening. I’ve got things to do.’
‘She don’t want you there till evening. She said she’s out till dusk anyway but wants you to come by after that. She said sorry to ask you to come so late but it’s urgent.’ He felt pretty pleased with this.
‘What does she want me for?’ the puzzled underkeeper asked.
‘I don’t know, do I?’
‘How come it’s you bringing me this message?’ Pride demanded with a trace of irritation.
‘How come it’s me? ’Cause I was going by Albion House, that’s why. And the groom said he had to go on with a message, but he was late, so I said I’d take it for him. That’s why. I’m just being helpful, aren’t I? There something wrong with that?’
No. No, Pride allowed, there was nothing wrong with that.
‘You be sure to go, mind. I don’t want to get blamed if you don’t show up.’
‘I’ll go,’ Pride promised.
‘All right then,’ said Furzey. ‘I’m off.’
The early evening was warm as William Furzey rode out of Ringwood, where he had borrowed a horse from a blacksmith he knew. There were two hours to go before dusk, so he took his time.
The River Avon between Ringwood and Fordingbridge is particularly lovely. Often, towards evening, when the fishermen come out, there is a magical mist that drifts across its watery meadows, as if the silence itself had coalesced into a damp but tangible form. The first hint of such a mist was just beginning to arise on the water as Furzey rode northwards through the dappled shadows cast, like fishermen’s lines, across the lane.
Would they come? He certainly hoped so. He wondered how much the authorities would think they were worth. Five pounds, perhaps? Ten? What if they were captured on the way, though? Possible, but it seemed to him unlikely. He guessed the authorities would rather take them together with Dame Alice, whom they could not possibly like, at Moyles Court.
He rode along cheerfully, therefore.
Stephen Pride had been feeling his age a bit that day, but he kept himself cheerful. A few aches and pains were to be expected. A walk usually eased the stiffness in his leg. It was because of the pain there, although he didn’t care to admit it, that he had set off in the afternoon to call upon his son.
Jim Pride had been out when his father arrived, but his