Page 22 of Rogue of the Greenwood
“Meg, are you very certain that—”
Meg shushed her as they left the pastoral walking path and stepped out onto the road that ran along the edge of the bank, just along the river. They could see the mill down below. It was a much more expansive operation than Marianne had realized—she’d never paid much thought to it before, but now she took in the whole of it with great interest. Not simply one building, but two straddled a narrow canal that channeled water from the Trent. Two huge wooden wheels rattled and squeaked as the water rushed over them, turning them steadily.
Both mill buildings were large, imposing buildings of brick, but the one on this side of the canal was twice the size of the other. Off to the side were several other smaller buildings, that as Marianne considered, appeared to also be a part of the millworks. Somewhat downstream and high up on the bank was a fine, large house surrounded by well-kept gardens. Much grander than a cottage, it was quite picturesque as it presided over the watermill and the operation below.If this indeed was all owned by his father, then George Muchleigh was far from a man of no means.
They made their way closer, crossing the road and coming to a wooden walkway that went down the bank and to the mill. The house and its gardens rose up on one side of the walkway, while the other side sloped out into a pasture. An old mule stood there, ripping lazily at grass and watching them intently.
“But look at this mule! He has seen quite a few years,” Marianne noted, pausing to admire the ancient creature.
He brought his head up to study her, then took the two steps necessary for him to be close enough for her to pat his nose. It was a lighter color than the rest of his body, either white from the start, or gray from years of aging. He was a handsome fellow, though, and she enjoyed making his acquaintance.
His huge, dark eyes studied her and his soft lips searched her hand for any special morsels. Realizing she had none, he merely blinked his long lashes and dipped his head to accept scratches on his forehead. Marianne gladly obliged him. Long, pointed ears flicked when a sound came from one of the buildings at the mill.
“Look! George must be working inside!” Meg called, nudging Marianne and interrupting her moment with the mule.
Meg pointed to the broad doors on the larger of the two main buildings ahead of them. They were open wide. Marianne could not see inside, but it seemed likely that people were indeed in there. People who might carry word of their visit back home to Aunt Regina. That would not make for a pretty conversation, explaining why they had come. Megmight never be allowed out of the house again.
“Come quickly,” Meg said.
She took Marianne by the hand and began tugging her toward the mill. Marianne bid a quick adieu to the mule, then let herself be hurried along by her cousin. No one appeared as they approached the building, so perhaps they were not seen, after all.
“Over here!” Marianna whispered, urging Meg toward a row of privet growing at the side of the mill. “We should wait until we are sure your friend is alone.”
Meg nodded in agreement and quickly darted behind the shrubs. They were not a moment too soon, either. The hum of voices from inside the building became louder and footsteps shuffled on the worn cobblestone yard. The people from inside the mill had just now come outside and were moving around, very close by.
“Is one of those voices your beau?” Marianne asked softly.
Meg nodded and her eyes flashed with happy recognition as one particular voice spoke out.
“Are you sure this will be enough? I can send a cart round with more.”
From what Marianne could tell, Meg’s dearest was well-spoken and cheerful. She pushed a branch aside to steal a peek at him. He was easy to spot, standing tall in his dusty leather apron, strong hands offering out a bag of fresh flour.
There were two men with him. Marianne had never seen them before. One was very tall and appeared as strong as an ox, while the other was elegantly dressed and far too well-groomed for the company he was keeping. Mr. Muchleigh seemedperfectly comfortable with them, but the men had a tendency to glance over their shoulders, as if nervous of something. Marianne determined they were more than simple customers in this place. But who were they and why did they appear so very suspicious?
“This will be quite helpful,” the elegant man said as the taller man took the bag.
“It’s more than enough,” the taller one said. “Our thanks, truly… for the flourandfor keeping quiet about our friend.”
“Of course!” Mr. Muchleigh replied. “It’s happy news that you’ve brought, but I’ll not give him away. It’s about time someone puts a stop to what’s going on here. Things are not right in Nottingham; haven’t been for some time now.”
The tall one seemed unsure of such expectations. “He is quite eager to learn what is happening here. We’ve seen some desperate souls, help a few that we could, and heard of cruel punishments for petty offenses. I don’t know what he’ll be able to do about it all, though.”
“Just the fact that he’s back means we have hope again,” George said earnestly. “Won’t you take me to him? I can tell him what I know, what he’s up against.”
The men conferred quietly. At last, it seemed that they came to an agreement.
“I guess he wouldn’t have told us to come see you if he didn’t trust you,” the elegant man said. “And I suppose if we take you back with us, you might provide transportation. Walking all this way has been hell on my boots.”
George laughed easily. “Of course. I’ve got a cart readied to take a load to the church; we can use that.Just over here.”
Marianne and Meg ducked deeper into the foliage, pressed up against the rough brick of the building. The men did not even look their way, following George eagerly into one of the other buildings and commenting on their good fortune for attaining a ride.
Just before they were around a corner and out of earshot, the taller man slapped George on his back. His words were clear as day and confirmed everything Marianne had begun to suspect.
“Yes, sir, Much, he’ll be glad to see you. Any friend of Rob is a good friend of mine.”
Rob.That had to meanRobert Locksley!She was certain that’s who they were referring to. Marianne’s heart raced.
