Page 69 of Rogue of the Greenwood
“I will hope for the best. I suppose I will learn tonight if they managed their goal.”
“Tonight?”
“At Mr. Gisborn’s dinner,” she said, frowning. “You are still planning to enter his home—your home—and search for those documents?”
“Yes, yes of course. But surely you are not up for attending… not after all this.”
“Do you not wish me to attend?”
“Of course you may do whatever you like.”
“Then I would like to attend and provide further distraction—for Mr. Gisborn, of course.”
“You are not too exhausted, then?”
She cocked her eyebrow at him. “Exhausted by what, exactly? I have used staircases and walked about town many days without swooning from exhaustion.”
“Er, of course. Well, if you are content to continue with plans, then of course I—and my men—willappreciate it.”
“Provided they are not all locked in gaol.”
“Yes, provided that.”
“Very well, then. You should go see about them, and I will continue home with some excuse about taking a walk. Good day, Mr. Locksley.”
“Good day, Miss Maidland,” he said with a very proper bow. “I shall definitely look forward to meeting you again.”
The smile that he gave her before turning to leave was everythingbutproper.
She struggled not to return that sort of smile. Giving a slight nod, she turned back toward home and hurried along. It was devastatingly lonely to have him no longer at her side, but much more practical. It would be difficult to explain to Uncle Prinley why she had been out walking with a dead man.
Arriving at home, she let herself in through the servants’ door. It would be simpler than to have to stand at the front and ring, where anyone might see her and take the time to notice her untidy appearance. No one was around, so she dashed up to the main floor and peeked around corners to make sure no family members were present.
On her way to the staircase in the entrance hall, she noticed the morning post laid out on the table. A letter on top displayed her name in familiar handwriting. Ah, but what a lovely distraction this would be! A letter from her dear school friend, Emma Forgall. She snatched it up and was about to go and read it in her room.
At the top of the stairs, she heard Aunt Regina’s voice. Oh, but she could not stand that woman’s scrutiny just now. Her aunt would certainly recognizethat something was amiss and demand an explanation. Marianne was fresh out of believable excuses, so the only thing to do was to hide.
Instead of going up the stairs, she ducked into the lower drawing room. It would prevent Aunt Regina from seeing her as she descended the stairs, but what if it was the woman’s destination? Her needlework was laid out on her favorite chair; perhaps her aunt might be coming to sit quietly and stitch.
Obviously she’d have to hide better. At the rear of the room was a narrow access door. She quietly slipped through it, putting herself in an area that allowed the servants to move from one part of the house to another without being seen. Off to the side was a small room used for mending or folding linens or various purposes. Marianne stepped inside, happily concealed from anyone who might happen by. She would wait here a few moments, then leave by the other way, hopefully avoiding her aunt.
There was a small window in the room and sunlight filtered through. Marianne took a deep breath and tried to relax. If she did encounter any of her family, she must not let them see how nervous she was.
The letter in her hand begged for attention. She traced her finger over the lettering on it, admiring Emma’s distinctive hand. Her friend’s letters always carried interesting news. But then Marianne wondered… hadn’t it been just a few days ago that she posted her own letter to Emma? She could not have received it already. The letter Marianne had been responding to had arrived only days before. Why would Emma send her another so quickly? Had something happened?
Her mind flashed with all sorts of worrisome things. Emma was not in England but on the Continent. Surely now that the war was over and a lasting peace was being settled between nations, Emma and her family were out of danger… but what if they weren’t?
Marianne stepped into the sunlight and pulled the letter open. Emma always did have such unique writing. The young lady was a cryptographer, after all. She could read all manner of odd scratching. What did she care how impossible her own hand was to decipher? Marianne leaned against the wall, tucked in the corner between the window and a tall cupboard. Pulling the letter open, she found the beginning.
With a sigh of relief, she found Emma’s letter nothing out of the ordinary. It began with an apology for writing too often, then went on with a delightful description of the scandalous fashions she was encountering in Paris. Apparently, ladies were wearing stockinet pantaloons that were colored to be mistaken for their very flesh. That was shocking, indeed. Even more—and Marianne had to read this part twice—the muslin they wore over these pantaloons was notedly sheer.Sheer?Good heavens, perhaps things in Paris truly were quite devastated after the war.
But Emma was well. She and her sister, Fiona, seemed to be finding great humor in these ridiculous fashions. They were becoming“a la mode”although Emma assured Marianne there would be no flesh-colored pantaloons for them.
The real purpose for the letter became clear in the next paragraph:
I know that you will remember my cousin, Capt. Robert Locksley. When we heard that his regiment had been cut down on the battlefield, we all despaired of ever seeing him again. However, I recently got word that Robert is alive! Thanks to merciful Providence, he was spared. Not only that, but he is to receive a commendation for “extreme bravery in battle.” It is typical of him that he refused to come to Paris to receive his commendation but has decided to return immediately to Nottingham.
Therefore, it seems very likely that you will see him before his own loving cousins do. I hope you will tell him that we are thinking of him and praying for him, and thank him for his brave service.
