Page 52 of Rogue of the Greenwood
“Meg is right, my aunt and uncle are far too proud to allow rumors of this to spread. They will be only too happy to keep silent about this. I daresay it will work; this arrangement will allow us to return home, yet it protects everyone involved.”
Mr. Fraytuck slapped his ample belly in excitement. “Excellent! Then I will say that I found you at the mill as I came by—it will only be the smallest of falsehoods, and for a good purpose, you know. When I confirm all that you say, that should put a seal on it.”
“Indeed it should,” Robert said. “So we have a plan. Let us get the ladies into the cart, and my men will quickly scout the area to make sure it is safe for you to venture out. We’ll give you a good hour before Much sets for home—he should be safely uninvolved at that point.”
“I know just where Mr. Fraytuck should say that he found us,” Miss St. John offered. “There’s a beautiful spot just near the mill, perfect for a broken-hearted soul to cast herself into the Trent.”
“You are not really going to drown yourself!” Miss Maidland reminded her.
“I know… but I do think we should both visit the spot, for authenticity. And possibly wet our skirts, don’t you think? It must be believable, after all.”
They were getting into details that Robert did not want to know about. The thought of an even more dampened Marianne Maidland, water running over her body and her skirts clinging to every curve, was more than he wanted to think of. It was best to get her safely home.
And out of his reach.
Chapter 14
Marianne looked quite the horror. She was hideous, cold, and wet. Her hair was in every sort of disarray, her face was smudged with dirt, and her gown was ruined by mud and, now, river water. Just as they had planned, Mr. Fraytuck had stopped his carriage near the mill and notified the girls that all was safe. The two had tumbled out of their hiding place and scurried down to the water.
Meg threw herself into the river with wild abandon, and Marianne could do nothing but actually leap in to save her. Mr. Fraytuck pretended to discover their plight and, as fortune would have it, a pair of Mr. Reeve’s men were passing by just as he was helping the ladies up out of the water. They rushed to assist the vicar and even escorted the shivering ladies to their home with him.
The whole charade had gone remarkably well. Better than expected, really. Meg played her part with frightening realism. She bemoaned her fate, cried of a broken heart, and showed the soggy note that Mr. Muchleigh had written for her. It did indeed seem to put an end to any worries the parents had that she still loved the man. Poor Meg appeared truly distraught, weeping on her mother’s shoulder as she related their fanciful tale of woe.
“I was such a fool, Mamma! I thought I could go to Mr. Muchleigh and convince him to marry me even without Papa’s blessing, but he has made it very clearI was nothing more than a trifle to him.”
Aunt Regina patted her dripping daughter and showed far more compassion than Marianne had ever thought her capable of. It was rather tender and sweet, if not for the fact that all of it was a boldface lie. What an actress Meg could be! My goodness, but Marianne began to question everything she thought she knew of her meek and gentle cousin.
“I will make that useless miller’s son pay for this treatment!” Uncle Prinley raged.
Mr. Fraytuck still lingered, offering whatever support that he could. “I daresay he will give you no further trouble, sir. Surely the girl would not like any additional reminder of him—he deserves not one more minute of St. John attentions.”
Marianne was quick to add to his careful suggestion. “Indeed! Too many people know of this embarrassment already, Uncle. If you pursue legal actions, the whole matter will become public. Oh, but how that will hurt Meg!”
“This must certainlynotbecome public,” Aunt Regina said sharply, glaring at her husband. “Assure me right now that you will do nothing to make this incident any worse than it is!”
Uncle Prinley acquiesced. “Yes, very well. I’ll leave that cur alone—for Meg’s sake—but you can be damned sure I’ll never buy another bag of flour from him!”
Meg pretended to need additional comforting, Aunt Regina scolded her husband for his harsh language, Mr. Fraytuck continued to spout platitudes and comfort, and Marianne took advantage of the lull to excuse herself up to her room to change into dry clothes.
Mr. Fraytuck had carefully carried her bow and quiver into the house and she casually took them up to her room. While the maid was at the wardrobe selecting a fresh gown, Marianne shifted the arrows to the side and peeked in. Ah, just as she had left it.
She’d been foolish, of course, but the temptation was too great. After discovering that costume in the drawer in their room at the lodge, she hadn’t known quite what to do with it. The last thing Mr. Locksley needed was to be found hiding in the forest in possession of the very clothing of Robin Hood! So, Marianne had stuffed the whole bundle into her quiver and brought it home with her.
It would be safe here; no one would dare search Uncle Prinley’s house. Should Mr. Reeve’s men happen to find Mr. Locksley in his secret lodge, no one would see it and accuse him of plotting to become some nefarious Robin Hood.
But of course, hewasRobin Hood. How odd—all these years she had goaded him, secretly longed to see him take on his ancestor’s illustrious mantle, yet now that he had finally done so, all she felt for him was worry. This was not some fairy tale, some childish game as she had once thought. This was a much riskier reality.
He was plotting to unmask dangerous criminals, to steal legal documents from Mr. Gisborn, and help Meg thwart her father’s marriage plans for her. True, Robert Locksley would be justified in all the things he was doing, but Uncle Prinley would certainly not thank him for them. He would be labeled an outlaw. Mr. Reeve would find some reason to arrest him. He was risking it all and there was no reason for it, except that he cared.
Oddly enough, she found that she cared a bit, too. What if their plan to keep Mr. Gisborn occupied at his dinner tomorrow did not work? Robert would be caught! What would happen to him then? Everyone thought he was dead; what would stop Mr. Gisborn from making that true?
Perhaps she should go back on her promise to provide the distraction at their dinner. She should insist that Robert find a better, safer way to resurrect himself and take back what was rightfully his. Wouldn’t she serve him better by encouraging that course rather than the more perilous one they had planned?
No, of course she would not. The corruption around them ran deep. Good people were suffering, she could not deny it. Perilous times required perilous actions. There could be no question about it; she knew what had to be done.
Robert Locksley would have to be Robin Hood. He would break into his own home, using stealth and trickery to set things right again. She applauded the man’s boldness, especially as she knew he had spent his life avoiding violence and adventure. Heavens, even when he’d gone to war, he’d somehow managed to evade the battles that had left so many others wounded or worse. Indeed, she could hardly think of anyone more ill-suited to playing Robin Hood, yet he was willing to do it.
The least she could do was to help the poor man.
