Page 57 of Rogue of the Greenwood
“Wait… let’s wait for an opportunity,” Robert cautioned.
“But where are they taking her? What are they going to do?”
The answer to that became obvious in a moment or two. The woman was walking slowly, roughly assisted by the men. She was wracked by a fit of coughing, though the men cared little for her distress. They shoved her along, making it clear that the hut was their destination.
“Come on, don’t take all night about it,” one of the men demanded, tugging at Mrs. Dowling’s arm.
“Can’t have you waking everyone up… or sharing your plague,” the other said. “We’ll ask the manager what to do with ye tomorrow.”
“I’m fine! Let me go,” she argued before being taken by another wave of coughing.
The men merely grumbled at her frailty and pulled her up to the door of the smal building. It was locked, but one of the men seemed to have the key and he fumbled at the latch. No doubt once Mrs. Dowling was inside, the door would be locked again and she would remain a prisoner. She was intentionally being housed apart from the others.
“It’s a quarantine house,” Robert said.
It was not a happy pronouncement. Mr. Dowling understood the meaning and a dark shadow came over his expression. His son was not familiar with the term.
“What is that?” Henry whispered. “What are they going to do to her?”
“She’s come down with a cough and they’re afraid she’s got something the other workers might catch,” the father explained. “They’ll keep her locked up here until she gets better, or…”
All the members of their party were silent. Everyone knew the hazards of working in this sort of place—the air was full of dust and smoke and particles that would inflame the lungs. It was not at all uncommon for factory workers to contract dangerous ailments. It was also not at all uncommon for them to go untreated until it was too late.
“Will they call a doctor for her?” Henry asked.
“If she’s willing to pay for it, they might,” Robert said.
“She won’t,” Mr. Dowling declared. “The only doctor who will treat us is Mr. Green, and he’s still locked up in the gaol. No, she won’t ask for a doctor, not while she thinks she’s still got to give money to Henry and earn my way out of gaol.”
“But she doesn’t have to do that, Pa! She doesn’t have to stay here; she can come home now, right?”
Robert knew his plans for the night had just changed. He had expected to merely view the facility, to study the layout and learn the patterns of the guards. Obviously, things had gotten quite a bit more complicated.
“Rob, we’re just here for reconnaissance,” John reminded him quietly. “We haven’t planned for anything more.”
No, they hadn’t. Launching into a rescue operation would be added risk that no one was prepared for. Could he ask it of them, even for such a noble cause?
Robert glanced at his little band of newly-turned rogues. Henry was a mere lad, eager to take on any foe to rescue his mother, but completely innocent of violence. Fred Dowling was drawn and dirty from too many days in Reeve’s gaol, but his eyes shone with the energy of fury; he was ready to use what meager strength he had to save his wife.
George Muchleigh had returned to join them on this mission. Mr. Fraytuck came along also, despite Robert’s encouragement that this sort of thing was no matter for a vicar to get mixed up in. Robert’s butler had sent along a groom from the Greenwood stable, too. Balford swore Bert was a trustworthy sort, and had no love for their cruel master. And of course, there were Robert’s three trusted friends. As always, John, Alan, and Will were at his side, awaiting his instruction.
And that was the full measure of their force: one homeless gentleman, three weary spies, a miller, a vicar, a groom, a prisoner, and a boy. Eight and a half men against whatever force Gisborn maintained here. Without planning or practice, what could they accomplish? Perhaps they could rescue Henry’s mother, but what would they sacrifice?
Gisborn would raise his guard. He was suspicious already; a breakout would cause increased alarm. More patrols would be sent into Sherwood, more innocent villagers would be taken for questioning. The workers here might be punished if Gisborn thought they knew something of Mrs. Dowling’s escape. Everyone would be in greater danger if they acted impulsively now.
But how could they not? The two guards from the factory shoved Henry’s poor mother into the shabbyhut. She could be heard tumbling to the floor as the door slammed behind her. Henry let out a quiet whimper.
The guards locked the door, showing little concern at all for what condition they had left her in as they grumbled their way back toward the dormitory. They cursed the inconvenience of having to tend a sick woman when they ought to be drinking with friends by the fire.
“Don’t worry, Henry,” Robert said quietly. “We’ll get your mother. She’ll be right as rain.”
The boy beamed, but his father showed a more guarded hope. “Do we dare, sir?”
“You know Gisborn is unlikely to ignore losing one of his workers,” Will pointed out.
“It’s true,” Mr. Dowling said. “Even with my fee paid to the bailiff, they’re going to claim Milly owes for her board while she’s been here. They pay the workers pennies, then charge them a shilling.”
Muchleigh confirmed this. “If we take her now, Gisborn will just send Mr. Reeve to collect on her debt. When she can’t pay, she goes off to gaol and it all starts over again.”
