The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [388]
And then? She spent the rest of the day driving round the Forest. First she went down to Buckler’s Hard. There was a maritime museum by its grassy banks now. There was a model of the shipyard as it would have been during the building of one of Nelson’s ships, the Swiftsure, which caught her eye. She noted that sections of the great Mulberry Harbours used for the D-Day landings in World War II had also been built on the Beaulieu River. Interesting stuff, certainly.
East of Beaulieu lay Exbury Gardens and Lepe County Park. Along the edge of the Forest on the Southampton side were a nature centre and a model farm. A little further north she found a leisure park with children’s rides. The message was clear. The modern New Forest had equipped itself in a very professional way to attract large numbers of visitors. Nor was this only a matter for the larger operators. When Dottie drove across to the dark little enclave of Burley in the afternoon, she found that the village was busily trading on its reputation for witchcraft with at least three shops selling witch’s trinkets of every kind. Tourism and recreation: was that the future of the king’s old hunting ground?
Monday morning was bright. Dottie was quite excited as she made her way up the steep curve of Lyndhurst’s main street. On her left, the high Victorian tower of the church soared into a pale blue spring sky.
When she had telephoned the New Forest Museum, she had not only been told she should go to this morning’s meeting, but they had offered to have someone there to meet her. ‘Don’t worry,’ the voice on the telephone had laughed. ‘We’ll find you.’
As she came to the top of the street, she saw why. The Queen’s House, the ancient royal lodge and manor, was a handsome old red-brick building. Outside a door to the side of it, a group of about twenty people had already gathered to wait. It was obvious from the way they were talking that they all knew each other. She was the only stranger. She looked around.
‘Would you be Dottie Pride?’ a voice asked behind her.
‘Yes.’ She turned. A hand was held out. A nod. A smile. Did he say his name? If so, she did not catch it.
All she knew was that she was looking at the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. He was tall and slim, Celtic-looking. He might have been Irish. His hair fell in dark ringlets to his shoulders. With his pale, sensitive face, he looked like the pictures of the metaphysical poets of the seventeenth century. His brown eyes were soft, wonderfully intelligent. He was wearing a brown leather jacket.
‘We can go in now,’ he said pleasantly. ‘The door’s opening.’
The Verderers’ Hall was a large rectangular chamber. At the far end a raised dais ran the width of the room like a magistrate’s bench, with the royal coat of arms on the bare wall behind it. Round the walls were deers’ heads and antlers and glass-fronted showcases. In a place of honour, the ancient stirrup was displayed through which dogs had to pass unless they were to be lawed. The floor was taken up with wooden benches except for the space at the front where there was a table and a witness stand. Old oak beams crossed the ceiling. Dottie, somewhat dazed, sat at the back, trying not to stare at her companion.
‘The Verderers’ Court meets on the third Monday of the month, ten months a year,’ he murmured. ‘The Official Verderer’s appointed; a few represent official bodies; the rest are elected. They have to have commoning rights to stand.’
‘This is the court set up in 1877 to replace the old medieval court?’ She’d done her homework. She wondered if it impressed him.
‘Modified once or twice, but basically, yes. Here they come.’ The verderers were filing in. He gave her quick sketches of them as they appeared. Two had published books on the New Forest. The Official Verderer was a prominent landowner. Most of them had roots in the Forest that went back centuries. There were eight present on the dais that morning. In front, in green uniforms, stood the two agisters. The Head Agister, by the witness stand, called out:
‘Oyez, oyez,