The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [370]
It might have seemed odd that Albion should keep these items, which really belonged in his dressing room and the gun room, in the place where he did his paperwork. But his wife was probably correct in thinking that they were there to comfort him with the thought of future pleasure while he attended to all the letters he so hated writing.
It was while Albion fiddled with some papers on his desk that Minimus caught sight, on a leather chair, of the game book in which the Colonel recorded the results of his shooting, and began to turn its pages.
Minimus had only drunk a little port: just enough to let him think that he was on more friendly terms with Colonel Albion than was truly the case. It did not occur to him therefore that he must still be careful.
‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed.
‘What’s that?’ the Colonel looked up.
‘I’m just looking at what you’ve been killing. It’s astounding.’ The Colonel’s record was certainly one that any sportsman of his day would have been proud of. His bag for the previous year, as well as the usual snipe, geese, duck, wigeon and plovers included: 1 wild swan; 6 pintail; 4 curlew and 1 oystercatcher. ‘It’s wholesale massacre,’ said Minimus. ‘A few more years of this and there won’t be any game left. Do you know how many oystercatchers there still are in the British Isles?’
‘No,’ said the Colonel, ‘I do not.’
‘Nor do I. But it isn’t many.’ Minimus sighed. ‘You’ll have to be stopped, you know, if you go on like this,’ he said in a friendly way.
‘You are not a sporting man, I gather,’ said the Colonel through gritted teeth.
‘More a naturalist,’ said Minimus. ‘By the way,’ he turned to face Albion, ‘now that we’re getting on so much better, do you mind if I say something about saving the Forest?’
The Colonel indicated that he was listening.
‘You’re doing it all wrong, you know,’ said Minimus blithely. ‘You see,’ he continued, ‘if you want to influence the government then you’ve got to get public opinion on your side. That’s the key.’
‘Public opinion?’ Like many of his kind, Colonel Albion’s views on political matters were not as consistent as he supposed. If he was faced by the commoners like Pride, with a concrete grievance, he was on their side. Had he read a newspaper account of the same business which referred to Pride’s complaint by any general term, even one so mild as public opinion, then to Albion it sounded like revolution and he became suspicious.
‘Exactly. What does the public know of the Forest? What they can see from the train. Its beauty, its wildness, its untouched nature. They don’t understand Pride grazing his cows, though I dare say they like the look of it. But they do understand if you say that Pride and the heritage he represents are being taken away from them. Because the Forest belongs to them, you see. The Forest belongs to the public.’
If, during the beginning of this speech, Albion had seen a glimmer of interest, this final statement snuffed it out at once. ‘No it does not belong to the public!’ He glowered at Minimus, then with an effort at self-control: ‘To be precise, it belongs to the Crown and the commoners.’
‘But the public comes here, don’t you see? It’s not only the gentlemen who take the train down here to go shooting. Ordinary people are starting to move about. Shopkeepers from Southampton or London; even working men, skilled labourers and their families. They’re starting to visit the Forest for the day.’
Colonel Albion had noticed this trickle of folk coming from Brockenhurst station, wandering out across the big open spaces of Balmer Lawn, and paddling in the gravelly streams. He wasn’t sure what he felt about them.