Then one evening George had come home with a worried look on his face. 'You know this register of claims? Stephen Pride says we were never on it, Dad. Is that right?'

'Stephen Pride says that, does he?'

'Yes, Dad. This is serious.'

'What does Stephen Pride know?'

'You mean he's got it wrong?'

''Course he has. I fixed all that. Years ago.'

'You sure, Dad?'

''Course I'm sure. Don't you worry about that.'

'Oh. That's all right then. Had me worried.'

So George had stopped worrying and Gabriel Furzey had started.

It had to be all right, though, didn't it? A commoner's rights were his, weren't they? Always had been, long before all this writing of things down. All through the spring and summer Furzey had meant to do something about it; week after week he had put it off. He had half expected Alice or her steward to come and check the village; but Oakley was just the same now as it had been thirty-five years ago, so they probably assumed there was nothing to alter. Alice Lisle had many things to think about; she had probably forgotten about Furzey's failure to turn up all those years ago. The court had met, but he had heard that Alice was not presenting her claims until later. The court had met again. But now time had run out. He had to do something. He rode up to the house.

As it happened, his timing could not have been better.

John Hancock the lawyer would be presenting Alice's and numerous other landowners' claims before the court. As Furzey stood before him with his hat in his hand, he understood the situation at once. 'The claims for Mast and Pasture will not be a difficulty,' he reassured the villager. 'Nor, I think, will the right of Turbary. These clearly belong to your cottage. However,' he continued, 'the right of Estovers is not so straightforward.' And when Furzey looked mystified and mumbled that he'd always had that right the lawyer explained: 'You may think you have, but I shall have to examine the records.'