Chapter 2 #2
The other men laughed. Yes, after all they’d been through Robert had nearly forgot that particular skirmish.
Who would have thought the four of them survived treachery and war all through the Continent, then were nearly brought down by a pair of petty ruffians at the wharf?
It was a healthy lesson in never letting one’s guard down, that much was certain.
“I still say those men were waiting for us,” John declared, as he had a dozen times since the event several days ago.
“You’re still on about that?” Will asked. “It’s fustian. Why should anyone have been waiting for us? No one even knew when we’d arrive.”
“But they did,” Alan pointed out. “Rob sent word to his man of business. He would have known exactly when we’d be docking.”
Robert corrected him. “No, I sent word to my steward here at Greenwood. I gave him an approximation of when we would return. Figured I’d best give my staff fair warning that I’d be bringing along the raggy lot of you four!”
“That sounds like reason enough to send brutes to do away with us, then,” Alan teased, jabbing John in the ribs. “They figured on how much they’d have to cook for this one!”
Robert joined their laughter and dismissed the topic altogether.
“Then they should have sent an army rather than two incompetent ruffians. We took care of them straight enough, didn’t we?
Come lads, enjoy the view. Greenwood Manor will be your home until you tire of it. Not a Frenchman or cannon in sight!”
By now they were rolling up the lane toward the broad steps that led to the grand front doors.
The thrill of being home began to subside slightly and Robert took note of a few odd imperfections.
The manicured shrubbery flanking the lane, for instance, was in obvious need of pruning.
Small piles of dead leaves and debris had gathered in the corners of the building and the angles of the steps.
Had no one swept recently? He would have to mention this to the staff.
If there were any staff. As the carriage rolled to stop, Robert expected to see the wide oak doors fling open and footmen bustle out to assist them. None of that happened.
“Not a Frenchman, cannon, or servant in sight, either,” John noted. “Perhaps they did take warning when you sent word. They’ve all made themselves scarce!”
“They simply didn’t know what time we’d arrive,” Robert explained. “Come along, we can certainly manage for ourselves, can we not?”
He opened the latch and swung open the carriage door.
The driver was already climbing down to secure the horses, but Robert hopped out and unfolded the steps ahead of him.
His men followed and made chatter of how good it was to know where they would take their next meal or make their bed for the night.
Robert tried to join in, but he couldn’t help noticing the lack of attention they were getting.
Was no one in the house looking for them?
He bounded up to the door to open it himself, only to find it locked. How odd! He rapped loudly on it, then waited. When no one responded, he pounded with full force.
His friends chuckled behind him, but even they sounded less amused and more concerned. This was not at all the welcome Robert expected. What the devil was going on in his home?
At last he heard footsteps from inside. Someone was fumbling at the lock. Finally! Robert clenched his fists and forced himself to be calm—it was likely just a misunderstanding. No need to chastise his help over such a trifle as a locked door.
He stepped back to wait. The door opened slowly, only partially. An elderly face peered out.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Balford! It’s me,” Robert declared, recognizing his butler. “Why the devil have you locked me out?”
Balford’s pale eyes grew round and he pulled the door wider. His mouth opened, but no words issued from it. Instead he stared at Robert as if he were seeing a ghost.
“Where is everyone?” Robert asked. “Has it been a holiday here since I’ve been gone? Why are the shrubberies so overgrown?”
His attempt at levity failed. Balford still stared in ashen silence.
“Balford? Why are you not happy to see me?”
Finally, the older man found his voice. “Because you are dead, sir!”
Now it was Robert’s turn to stammer for words. “Er, what’s that? I’m dead?”
“You are, sir! For two months, or more! We just took the wreath down last week, as a matter of fact.”
“But as you see, Balford, I am not dead.”
“It appears that way, sir. But your whole regiment was… the war, and all… we got the news of it and Mr. Gisborn told us that… well, we’ve all grieved you dreadfully.”
“Ah, so that’s what happened.” Robert sighed.
Yes, their regiment was wiped out, almost to the man.
What no one at home knew, of course, was that Robert and his companions had not been with their regiment for that battle.
They had actually been recruited for something much more dangerous…
and secret. While the official word was that they had been soldiers, in truth they had been spies.
Not the most glorious or noble thing to be, but Wellington had needed them and they’d stepped up for the sake of the greater good.
Living with the guilt of surviving the battle that killed so many good men had not been easy.
The cold knot of dread in his gut and the wave of sickness he felt in his chest told him it was not getting any easier.
Robert would have to live his whole life carrying that guilt.
He had hoped to ignore it a while longer, not dredge it up on his very doorstep.
“Yes, we lost most of the regiment,” he said quietly. “But I survived, with my friends. And now we’ve come home.”
Balford smiled. “And I’m so glad to see you, sir. Everyone will be, but…”
“But?”
“It’ll come as a shock, and Mr. Gisborn will… well, you should have sent word that you were coming back here.”
“I did send word,” Robert assured him, confused. “And Gisborn replied. Yes, I sent a letter before I even sailed from the Continent and received his reply there. I sent another the day we departed so he would know when to expect me. Did he truly not tell you that I was alive?”
Balford frowned. “No. He did not. I don’t know… well, perhaps I’m speaking out of turn, sir, but…”
“What is it?”
“I’m not privy to things of business, sir, but it seems to me that Mr. Gisborn expected to inherit Greenwood Manor. He might not be very happy to have you back.”
“Inherit it? Ridiculous, he is not my heir or any part of my family.” Robert was more than perplexed. “Never mind that I am not dead yet, but he’s nothing more than my steward. How could he possibly think to inherit?”
Balford shrugged. “I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot know what he has planned, other than I’ve heard whispers of a mortgage. Could he perhaps hold the mortgage on your estate?”
“There’s no mortgage on the manor. What in blazes are you talking about, Balford?”
“I know nothing more, sir. Things have been… different since you’ve been gone. All I can tell you is that everyone here believes you are dead, and Mr. Gisborn is our master now.”
“Preposterous. Where is the man? I’ll have words with him!”
“He’s out, sir. Gone riding with Miss Maidland.”
“Miss Maidland? Marianne Maidland?”
“Yes sir. They ride out together very often.”
“But she’s been gone for years now, gone to London and probably married to whatever mutton-headed dandy would be fool enough to have her.”
“No, sir. She’s come back. She lives with her uncle, Mr. St. John. He’s the magistrate now.”
Robert bristled at the man’s name. He clenched his fists when Balford announced the man’s position.
Magistrate St. John; just as it had been years ago, when another St. John nearly ruined the Locksley family and sent Grandfather to gaol.
So Marianne’s blustering uncle had taken his father’s place, had he? No wonder everything was upside-down.
“I see, Balford,” Robert said, although he really was only beginning to.
“Clearly there are some things that ought to be sorted out. Perhaps I could better accomplish that if my trusted steward was unaware of my return. Do you suppose you could manage to keep my secret for a while, until at least I know what I am dealing with?”
“But sir… where will you go?”
Robert thought about that for a moment. “What about my father’s old hunting box? Has Gisborn been using that?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. He’s been rather inclined to allow things to fall into disrepair. He claims there is no money and has given many of us the sack. I would highly doubt he’s paid any attention to that hunting box.”
“Then we will go there,” Robert decided. “Thank you for your honesty, Balford. I’m sorry for your troubles, truly I am. I will see what I uncover about my steward’s dealings and I will keep you informed. Thank you for not revealing my presence in the meantime.”
“It won’t be easy, sir. Mrs. Coe is going to have my hide once she finds out I knew you were back and didn’t tell her.”
Robert chuckled. Yes indeed, the old housekeeper could be quite a formidable force.
She’d been on staff here since even before Robert was born—she probably felt his supposed loss very deeply.
It was a shame to prolong her grief, but for now Robert believed it was the best. The fewer people who knew he was alive, the better chance he’d have of uncovering just what Gisborn was up to.
“I will look forward to having my ears boxed,” Robert said. “For the meanwhile, do nothing until you hear from me. If you do need to send me a message, be sure to send someone can be trusted. Do you have such a person?”
“I believe so, sir. I’ve got a nephew who’s come to work in the stables. His name is Bert; he’s a good lad, you can trust him. There’s a boy in the kitchens now, too. No one will miss him if I send him off with a message.”
“Perfect. Send one of them to me tomorrow and I’ll send him back with further instructions, once we are settled in with a plan.”
Balford agreed and Robert knew beyond doubt this man was his ally.
Whatever scheme Gisborne might have, Balford was not a part of it.
It was a shame the old man had to be placed in such a position, but Robert would make it up to him later.
He would learn what claim Gisborn thought he had on the estate and then roust him.
Things at Greenwood Manor would be made right again in no time.
The only real difficulty now would be breaking the news to his friends. He’d promised them a comfortable home with plenty of food on the table. Unfortunately, that would not be the case. Not right away.
Giving a fond farewell to Balford, he turned back to his companions. They waited at the carriage, puzzled looks on their faces. How much had they overheard? Enough to know not to unload their meager belongings, at least.
Robert drew a deep breath and informed them of the situation.
“An old, abandoned hunting box?” John asked once Robert explained where they would go.
“I’m sorry, my friend. It’s the best I can offer you now—at least until I learn what my treacherous steward has been playing at.”
“The butler says he holds a mortgage on your estate,” Will stated. “Not a wise move on your part, old man.”
“I never took a mortgage on my estate,” Robert snapped. “If there is such a thing, it’s obviously fraudulent.”
“Sounds like you ought to go straight to the magistrate,” Alan suggested.
Robert grumbled in frustration. “There’s a new magistrate and I wouldn’t trust him to sort out a child’s quarrel. He’s the son of the very man who nearly ruined my family when I was a lad. No, Prinley St. John is the last person a Locksley would want to oversee legal matters.”
John shook his head and gave a low whistle. “Sounds like you’re in quite a tangle, my friend.”
“Indeed, and I’m sorry for bringing you lot into it with me,” Robert said. “Once we get back onto the road, you three can decide if you want to go on to the box with me, or if you want to continue with the coachman back to where we started.”
He expected some hesitation, or at least for his friends to consider their predicament, but they gave quick glances at each other and all nodded in agreement. John spoke for them all and no one interrupted.
“We’re not leaving you, Rob. If you’re in this, then we’re in it with you.”
“That’s right,” Will declared. “Besides, if we go back where we started, who says we won’t encounter more cutthroats set on murdering us?”
His companions laughed as they clambered back into their seats, but Robert was struck by Will’s words.
He’d meant them in jest, of course, but suddenly Robert wondered.
Was it merely coincidence that those ruffians at the wharf ambushed their group?
It had seemed just a random act, but now Robert wasn’t so certain.
They had been particularly violent—armed with pistols and knives. They didn’t even attempt to steal from them. No, the murderous villains simply leapt out and started their attack, almost as if they’d been lying in wait as John had suggested.
Robert ignored his suspicions, but perhaps John had been right all along.
A chill ran through Robert’s blood as he thought about it.
Gisborn had been notified of the date to expect Robert’s arrival, yet he clearly had not shared that information with the staff here at Greenwood Manor.
Had he informed those cutthroats at the wharf, perhaps?
If Gisborn wanted to make the false reports of Robert’s death into reality, hiring nameless assassins to do the job would be a fairly good idea.
No one would ever search for Robert as he was already thought dead.
Well, if that had been the scheme it hadn’t worked. Robert and his friends had bested the scoundrels. Their swift—and permanent—defense assured that none of those criminals would be able to report their failure to Gisborn. For now, Robert had the upper hand.
“Come then, lads,” he said, swinging up into the carriage with his friends. “Let us go play dead.”