The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [91]
At its eastern end, the hamlet gave on to a green with a pond at the side. The last homestead here, somewhat larger than the others and with a field beside it, belonged, he knew, to Pride. There were some stunted oak, small ash and willows dotted along the edges of the pond, which was covered with white water crowfoot.
The track went past Pride’s, then out on to the heath.
He rode slowly across. It was marshy in places. Had he crossed further to the north it would have been drier.
He was sorry he had not seen the woman.
When he was halfway across, he saw the dull light catching the pale mud walls of a sheepcote out on the heath. Beyond, lay the fields of Beufre grange.
Soon he would be back at the abbey.
Acedia.
Tom Furzey was so pleased with himself that when he was alone he would sit there silently hugging himself with joy. He was honestly astonished that he’d been able to think of it all. The plan was so subtle, so full of irony, it had such perfect symmetry; Tom might not know such words as these, but he would have understood them, every one.
The thing had come out of the blue sky. John Pride’s wife had a brother who had gone to Ringwood and now he was getting married there; a good marriage, to a butcher’s daughter with money. The whole Pride family were going. Better yet, Tom’s sister had informed him: ‘They’ll be staying late at Ringwood. Won’t come back till next day at dawn.’
‘All of them?’ he’d asked.
‘Except young John.’ This was Pride’s eldest son, a boy of twelve. ‘He’s got to look after the animals. And the pony.’ She had given him a little look when she said that.
‘Set me thinking, that did,’ he had said to her proudly, later, when he told her his plan.
She was the only one who knew, because he needed her help. She had been impressed by it, too. ‘I reckon you’ve thought of everything, Tom,’ she said.
Sure enough, on the day, the Prides departed early to Ringwood in their cart. The morning was warm and sunny. Tom went about his business as usual. In the middle of the day he mended the door of the chicken house. It wasn’t until late afternoon that he told Mary: ‘We’re going to get my pony back today.’
He had been looking forward to her reaction and it was just as he had foreseen.
‘You can’t, Tom. It’ll never work.’
‘It’ll work.’
‘But John. He’ll …’
‘Nothing he can do.’
‘But he’ll be angry, Tom …’
‘Really? Seem to remember I was, too.’ He paused while she digested this. The best was yet to come. ‘There’s one other thing,’ he added placidly. ‘You’re the one that’s going to take it.’
‘No!’ She was horrified. ‘He’s my brother, Tom.’
‘It’s part of the plan. Vital, you might say.’ He took his time now, before delivering the final blow. ‘There’s something else you’ve got to do.’ And then he told her the rest of the plan.
She didn’t look at him, after he was done, as he had guessed she wouldn’t. She just looked down at the ground. She could refuse, of course. But if she did her life would hardly be worth living. It was no good pleading, pointing out how humiliating it would be for her. He didn’t care. He wanted it to be so. It was his revenge against them all. She wondered, when it was all over, where this would leave her. He’ll be cock of the walk, she thought. But he doesn’t really love me. And with this proof of his feelings she bowed her head. She would do it, to keep the family peace. But she would despise him. That would be her defence.
‘It’ll work,’ she heard him say quietly.
As the sun began to set, young John Pride felt quite pleased with himself. Of course, he’d fed the chickens and the pigs, cleaned out the cowshed and done every other job about the place a thousand times before. But he’d never been left in charge for a whole day and he’d been understandably nervous. Now all he had to do was bring the pony in from the field.
He’d been careful of the pony, exactly as his father had told him. Never let it out of his sight all day. Just to