The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [244]
George Furzey really couldn’t help it. All his life, it seemed to him, the Pride family had been looking down at him. But not any more. Not after tonight. ‘Maybe I am cheerful. I reckon I can be cheerful if I want,’ he replied.
‘You be as happy as you like,’ said Pride. Was there a hint of contempt in his voice?
Even if there wasn’t, this was what Furzey heard. ‘Some people may be laughing the other side of their faces, Stephen Pride,’ he said with a note of malicious triumph that couldn’t be mistaken. ‘Some may, before long.’
‘Oh?’ Pride looked at him carefully. ‘And what do you mean by that?’
‘Never you mind. I don’t mean nothing. Or if I do, it ain’t none of your concern. Or if it is’ – Furzey warmed to his theme – ‘you’ll find out when you find out, won’t you?’
And rather pleased with this bit of high diplomacy, Furzey gave him a look which, even in the fading light, plainly said ‘You’ve got something coming to you’.
Stephen Pride shrugged and walked on. This unexpected aggression left him feeling suddenly very tired.
When he reached the door of his home, his wife took one look at him and made him sit down at once. ‘I’ll bring you some broth. You rest a while,’ she commanded.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. Perhaps, he thought, he’d just sleep a few minutes. But instead of sleeping he found the events of the last few hours passing through his mind: playing with his grandchildren, talking to Jim, meeting Betty; the strange fact that she knew nothing about the message Furzey had brought; the visitors coming to Moyles Court that night; Furzey’s unusual air of triumph.
Suddenly, he sat bold upright, with a shock – as though a flash of lightning had passed, with a great thunderclap, through his brain. A moment later a tide of cold panic surged through him. He was horribly awake. ‘Lord Jesus,’ he cried and stood up, as his wife hurried anxiously to his side. ‘That devil!’ he exclaimed. He did not know exactly what this business meant, but he saw the shape of it. The message Furzey had delivered must be a fake. That’s why he was so pleased with himself. He had Jim going over to Moyles Court where visitors were expected. No doubt they were dissenters. Dissenters? Fugitives, more like. That was it. The Forest man’s instincts told him at once that it was a trap.
‘Got to get the ponies,’ he cried, pushing past his wife. ‘Don’t worry,’ he explained, as he checked himself and gave her a kiss. ‘I haven’t lost my wits. Come with me.’
By the barn, saddling up both their ponies with feverish haste he explained to her what he knew. ‘You better take the small pony. Get up to Jim’s, fast as you can. If he hasn’t gone, tell him to stay home, but don’t tell him why. I don’t want him coming after me, see? Just tell him George Furzey made a mistake.’
‘What’ll you do?’
‘Go and warn them at Albion House. Tell them to stay put if they haven’t gone.’
‘And then?’
‘I’ll ride across the Forest. Cut Jim off if you miss him. Then I’ll go on to Moyles Court.’
‘Oh, Stephen …’
‘I’ve got to. If it’s a trap, that means Dame Alice …’
She nodded. There was no argument. Minutes later, husband and wife were cantering along the edge of the heath northwards. The dusk was gathering, but even the stars would be enough for these two, who knew every inch of the Forest. At the place where the track led towards Albion House, Stephen Pride and his wife of fifty years paused for a moment and kissed, before riding their separate ways.
‘God protect you,’ she murmured, as she glanced back, with love and fear in her heart, at the dark path through the trees into which he had vanished.
Colonel Thomas Penruddock stared at William Furzey in the candlelight of the hall of the magistrate’s house at Hale.
Although he had looked pleased with himself when he first arrived, Furzey was a little nervous now. With their braided uniforms and yellow sashes, their huge riding boots with folding tops, their broad leather belts and clanking swords the colonel and his dozen men seemed larger than life.
‘You are sure these men are at Moyles