Page 26 of Rogue of the Greenwood
“But he expects me to marry Mr. Reeve! Oh Marianne, I truly cannot go through with that.”
“Of course not. But the banns must be read three times. That will take two weeks, at least. Surely by then we will find a way to rescue you.”
“Do you think so?”
“Of course! Now come along. Give no one any indication that you suspect a thing. Tomorrow I will go back to see this Mr. Muchleigh and determine where things stand with him.”
“You? But shouldn’t I be the one who—”
“Poor Meg! Look how emotional you are; wouldn’t seeing him again before things are sorted merely cause you more pain and confusion? I think it will be best if I see him for you.”
“You will tell him that I don’t wish to accept Mr. Reeve, that it is all of my parents’ doing?”
“I will. Perhaps Mr. Muchleigh will suggest a solution, or perhaps he will divulge some of his plans regarding your father. Either way, we will learn where he stands.”
“Yes, that is a good idea. If you’re sure you don’t mind…”
“Not at all. I’m sure this is the best way to protect your secret.”
And Robert Locksley’s, too. Though why on earth she should be concerned about that, she had no idea.
Robert welcomed his friends back from their visit into town. They’d been successful in locating a few needed provisions, but more importantly they’d brought back two men Robert trusted with his life. It was good to see old friends, especially now.
“Much! You’re looking as dusty as ever,” helaughed, greeting George Muchleigh with an embrace.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you, Rob,” Much replied, slapping him on the back. “When these fellows showed up saying you’d sent them, I scarcely could believe it. We all thought you were dead!”
“So I have heard. But look, you’ve brought me a vicar as well!”
Robert grasped the firm hand of his good friend, the venerable—and well-fed—Mr. Fraytuck. The vicar had been in the local parish for at least a decade now and Robert was glad to see him still here. With so many things changed in Nottingham, it was comforting to know that the people still had a good man to look out for them.
“It’s a miracle to have you back home with us, Robert,” Mr. Fraytuck said. “Your death was quite a source of grief for many, I assure you.”
“I’m almost sorry I missed it,” Robert laughed. “But I’m not fully back home yet, as you see. Until I learn what hold my fool steward has over my estate, I’m afraid I’ll have to remain dead.”
Mr. Fraytuck shook his head. “Bad things are happening, Robert. I don’t know what you’ve seen, but I have a feeling it’s worse than you know.”
“Worse? We’ve seen hungry boys masquerading as highwaymen, we’ve seen cottages empty of the families they once housed, fields fallen to neglect, we’ve seen my loyal butler turn us away at the door for fear of my steward, and young Henry here has been telling us of a sheriff who casts people in gaol on trumped up charges and impossible taxes. What could be worse?”
“Children, I’m afraid,” Mr. Fraytuck said, growling with anger. “Our tyrannical magistrate has builthimself a factory—on your very land! It’s more like his own personal workhouse, though. He’s set these onerous taxes and when our men can’t pay, St. John takes their wives and children to work for him and pay off the debt.”
“Children?” Robert was not quite sure he had heard the man correctly. “But that’s barbaric. Why make children pay for the parents’ debt?”
“Because he can pay them at a lower rate, of course. Keep them working while still bleeding the parents to cover their upkeep.”
Robert glanced toward Much and then on to Henry. They both nodded in confirmation. Of course, Mr. Fraytuck would never lie about such horrors, but Robert had a hard time believing it. He knew St. John was no humanitarian, but to take children from their homes and exploit them for labor! It was unthinkable.
“This factory,” he asked. “You are sure it is on Locksley land?”
Mr. Fraytuck furrowed his brow. “I’m afraid so. Gisborn claimed you directed the construction. People wondered why you’d do such a thing, but as you weren’t here...”
Robert cursed under his breath.
“I’ve put up no factory,” he assured them all. “I should have been here to look after my own affairs.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Rob,” Much said. “It’s Gisborn and St. John who’ve done it all, with that eel of a sheriff, Mr. Reeve.”
Robert fumed. “It seems my steward has no end to his treachery. Balford mentioned a mortgage, too. Apparently Gisborn used his position to secure a mortgage on my estate, with St. John as the lender. Have either of you heard about that?”
