Page 56 of Rogue of the Greenwood
“It’s happier now that Robin Hood has come back! When the law can’t help us, Miss, we’re left with our outlaws.”
Uncle Prinley’s footsteps in the corridor outside her chamber sounded and interrupted their conversation. Betsy was suddenly nervous, dartingabout, focusing on her duties and saying nothing more about Robin Hood or the law. Uncle Prinley passed by, but Betsy was clearly done speaking about things that would make trouble for her.
She finished her work, gave Marianne a polite nod, then wished her well for the night. Even if she had tried, Marianne knew she could not have talked the women into revealing more about her knowledge of Robin Hood. It was a wonder she said as much as she did, here in the very home of the magistrate. The worry for her family must have been a tremendous burden for Betsy that she should forget her place and speak out so.
How many other struggling folks in Nottingham tonight were now able to speak of hope and good fortune after receiving help from Robert and his men? How many other households were becoming aware of these secret actions? News like this would certainly spread swiftly. It was only a matter of time before someone told the wrong person and Robert would be discovered.
With all these things spinning through her brain, how on earth was Marianne going to get any sleep tonight? She finally had her dream come true—she’d been face to face with the Robin Hood of her fantasies. How did one simply sleep when a childhood fairy tale turned into a real, flesh-and-blood man?
Chapter 15
“There it is, sir!” Henry whispered as their destination came into view.
The boy had been overjoyed when Will and Alan arrived back at the lodge, bringing his father. The reunion had been sweet. As expected, Henry’s father was quick to offer any information he had about the factory Gisborn and St. John had set up and the workings there. No one questioned Robert’s determination to set out to investigate this dark place, even as the hour grew late.
Cloaked in the dim light from a waning moon, the motley group had headed out. They kept to the shadows of the forest as they made their way along the river. They found the factory exactly as Henry had described it. He pointed to it now.
An ugly square building, it sat in a freshly cleared area near the stream. It was made entirely of brick, with a row of small windows high up, just below the eaves. Light would enter, but no one inside would see out. Obviously, the factory foremen did not want their workers to be distracted. Or warm, apparently. Only one chimney rose from the peaked roof, at one end of the building. Probably the end where Gisborn and his foremen would meet.
A wooden dock at the water’s edge was cluttered with the evidence of frequent use. The bank of thestream had been carelessly excavated to allow for canal boats to come and go easily. The waterway that had once been a quiet, natural stream had been turned into a veritable highway for Gisborn’s product to be carried to the Trent and shipped onward from there.
How had the man built such a complex operation without Robert’s knowledge? Where had he found the funding? He must have drained the Locksley coffers while sending falsified reports to Robert in his absence. Robert kicked himself for not paying closer attention to his responsibilities at home.
The factory building was but one construction on the site. Behind the large brick building were a pair of smaller facilities, likely for storage. Another building was set off to the side. This did not appear to be a warehouse, but more likely it housed the people who worked in the factory. The few windows in this structure were dark… and barred.
It wasn’t a legitimate factory, it was St. John’s private work house.
“That’s where my mum is,” Henry said. “They don’t run the factory at night, so she sleeps in there with the other workers.”
“It’s as bad as the ruddy gaol,” Henry’s father grumbled.
Henry pointed at various sections of the building. “The men and the boys sleep in that part back there, and my mum is up front with the ladies and the girls. The littler ones get pallets in the attic, up there.”
“Littlerchildren?” Robert asked. “Younger than you?”
“There’s practically toddlers in there,” Henry declared. “I seen ‘em crawling under the looms,fetching and dragging things. My mum says it’s dangerous work, that’s why she took care not to let them get a hold of me when they took her and my pa.”
John crouched at Robert’s side and swore under his breath. “Locking children up, working them as fodder for the damn machines... it isn’t right.”
Henry’s father swore and shook his grimy head. “I hate to think of poor Milly locked up in there, working her little fingers to the bone for the likes of Gisborn and Reeve.”
“You’ll have your wife back, Dowling,” Robert said. “But we need to wait a bit, take some time to plan for—”
Movement and a flicker of light at the dormitory building caught their attention. Robert motioned for everyone to stay still. As they watched, a door opened, and two men stepped out. They brought a woman with them.
“It’s my mum!” Henry said almost too loudly.
Robert shushed him, then glanced to Mr. Dowling for confirmation. He nodded.
“That’s Milly. My God… she’s thin as a rail!”
She didn’t seem to move very well, either. And she was coughing.
“Stop that,” one of the men grumbled at her. “You’re waking the others.”
The woman made a feeble reply and one of the two men grabbed her arm. He nearly dragged her toward that last building on sight—a tiny hut, set apart from the others. It was obvious from the woman’s weak refusal that she did not wish to go there.
Robert felt the tension and anger radiating from Fred Dowling as he watched his wife treated in this manner. Robert quickly laid a hand on his shoulder tosteady him. He honestly wouldn’t blame the man if he launched an attack on the men, but it was doubtful that such a rash action could have any positive outcome. There was no telling how many more guards might come pouring out of the dormitory, fully armed.
