The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [246]
On any other errand his heart would have filled with joy at such a sight – the open heath of the Forest under starlight, the Forest he loved. His heart was pounding. He took deep gasps of the warm August air. The hoofs of his pony were beating, beating upon the path.
There was something out there, ahead of him. He felt a little strange. Something pale out on the heath: cattle probably. No, the moon. The moon was on the heath. He shook his head to clear it. And then a great white flash, like lightning came with an awesome thunder into his head.
And just short of Rhinefield, Stephen Pride, having suffered a single stroke, fell on to the gentle warmth of the Forest floor.
Alice Lisle stood at the open window and looked out.
Above the trees on the small ridge opposite the starlit sky had clouded over, as though it had been muffled with a blanket. Moyles Court was quiet in the silence before the dawn.
No one had come since the visitors had arrived that evening. She had not been surprised when Betty did not arrive back, for the simple reason that she knew exactly where Betty was. A message from Tryphena on Sunday had warned her that young Mr Albion had arrived back in London early and that, having called at the house, he was almost certainly on his way to the Forest. Betty’s suggestion that she should ride to Albion House hadn’t deceived her mother for a moment.
She hadn’t tried to stop her. If young Peter Albion was as determined as that, and if her twenty-four-year-old daughter had deceived her in order to meet him, it was clear that there was nothing more she could do. Albion House, quite likely, would return to the Albions. It was fate. Whatever her reservations, young Peter was actually a better match than any of her other daughters had found: better placed to succeed, more gently born. Perhaps it was the result of being back in the familiar surroundings of the Forest, but it seemed to her now that if this was what Betty chose it was useless to fight it any more.
But now, suddenly, there was shouting in the dark. Men were moving outside. There was a bang at the door. She heard a voice.
‘Open! In the name of the king.’
More bangs. Alice ran to the next chamber. Dunne and Hicks were in there. ‘Wake up!’ she cried. ‘Quickly. You must hide.’ The other man, Nelthorpe, was in the next room. She found him roused already, pulling on his boots.
They ran down the oak staircase, all four of them, in the darkness, the men clumping so loudly in their boots that it was hard to believe they wouldn’t be heard at Ringwood.
‘The back,’ she hissed, leading the way to the kitchens. But even as they got there they could see shadows outside the window there. ‘Hide as best you can,’ she told them and hurried to the stairs. Running up, her heart beating wildly, she found two of the servants already standing on the landing, looking pale and frightened. ‘Close the beds,’ she whispered, indicating the two rooms where the men had been. ‘Leave no sign. Quickly.’ The hammering on the doors, both front and back, was growing louder. Another minute and they might start to break them down. Again she raced downstairs, seized a candle from a table where she had left it the night before, lit it from the glowing embers of the fire and went to the door. Taking a deep breath she began to turn the heavy key and slip the big iron bolt. The last thing she thought, before she opened the door, was that she must not show fear.
Thomas Penruddock looked down at the woman before him.
She was in her nightdress, a shawl covering her shoulders. Her hair, mostly grey, was hanging loose. Even in the candlelight she looked pale. She stared at him. ‘What is the meaning of this, Sir?’
‘In the king’s name, Madam, we are to search your house.’
‘Search my house, Sir? In the middle of the night?’
‘Yes, Madam. And you will let us in.’
There were two large troopers behind the colonel