Chapter 6 #2
They both froze when there was another knock at the door. Without waiting, Aunt Regina swung the door open and entered the room. Meg hid her eyes quickly and instantly Marianne realized she was smack in the center of high domestic drama. The tension between her aunt and cousin filled the room.
“Meg, what are you doing here?” Aunt Regina said sharply. “Your father told me you went to your room. I thought I would find you there.”
“I decided to visit with Marianne for a moment.”
“Marianne has other things to do. Shouldn’t you let her alone to take a rest?”
“If you say so, Mamma…”
Meg hung her head and seemed utterly defeated. It tore at Marianne’s heart to see her cousin so broken. Could Aunt Regina really be so cruel to force Meg into a marriage she obviously did not want? This was beyond awful.
“I do say so,” Aunt Regina said sternly. “Now run along to your room. You seem pale, dearest. An afternoon resting will help you feel better.”
Obviously, Aunt Regina was eager to keep Meg from confiding in Marianne. But what if Aunt Regina could be made to think Marianne was her ally? Perhaps she would not banish Meg to her room. She might, instead, trust Marianne to help Meg see things from their perspective.
“She’s a bundle of nerves,” Marianne said, shaking her head with a matronly tsk. “But who can blame her? What wonderful news! It’s all so exciting.”
Aunt Regina eyed her suspiciously. “Meg told you the wonderful news?”
“She and Mr. Reeve are to be married! I’m so very happy for her. Oh, but you look upset, Auntie. Was it to be a secret? I’m sorry, I promise I won’t say a word to anyone. I suppose Meg was just too excited to keep the news to herself. Why, the very Sheriff of Nottingham! Such a catch.”
Now Aunt Regina turned her curious gaze on her daughter. “You told Marianne that you are happy with the match?”
Meg stammered, words not quite forming as her wide, red-rimmed eyes darted back and forth between the others. Marianne quickly spoke for her.
“Look, she is so affected she cannot even speak. Poor dear, we are embarrassing her.”
Marianne put her arm around Meg and patted her shoulder. Meg sagged against her, not any closer to forming coherent language, but noticeably relieved. Aunt Regina’s expression softened.
“Her father said that she was upset,” Aunt Regina said. Her voice reflected a much more serene attitude. “I suppose he does not understand what a proposal can do to a woman’s sensibilities.”
Meg glanced up at Marianne. She nodded, encouraging her cousin and hoping she understood that now was not the time to argue about things or make a scene. Meg drew a deep breath and forced a smile for her mother.
“I’m sorry, Mamma. I was quite caught off guard when Papa told me Mr. Reeve had offered for me; I should not have reacted so strangely. After all, Mr. Reeve is a such an important man in our town—I’m a bit in awe of him. What an honor that he has taken notice of me.”
Aunt Regina did not seem fully convinced by Meg’s weak declaration, but she was not ready to dispute it, either. Marianne persevered with her false enthusiasm.
“Indeed, all the girls in the village will be quite envious when they hear of your news! But oh my, there is so much to do. Aunt Regina, I know you are worried for her, but perhaps instead of sitting alone in her room with nothing to do but worry over all the preparations to be made, I should take Meg out for some shopping? Surely the fresh air will help clear her mind, so full of butterflies it must be just now.”
She gave a light laugh and it seemed to be contagious. Aunt Regina smiled at them both. She gave her permission, as long as Marianne promised not to keep Meg out for too long. Marianne nearly crowed in victory when Aunt Regina spared a few words of praise before she left them.
“Meg is so lucky to have a sensible cousin like you. We are all so very glad that you’ve come to stay with us.”
“And you have been so very gracious to me,” Marianne said. “I will do everything I can to see that dear Meg makes the prettiest, happiest bride in all Nottingham!”
Aunt Regina beamed. Meg dried her eyes. Marianne grabbed up her shawl and wondered just how on earth she was going to keep such an outrageous promise.
Robert paced at the window. Sunlight streamed in, dappled by the leaves of the branches that brushed the panes. The old hunting box was dusty and cold, but they’d made the best of things. A fire in the grate, fish from the stream, and a few hours of sleep allowed him to wake hopeful and fresh.
But that was hours ago. Now it was late afternoon and he was crawling out of his skin with boredom.
He didn’t dare leave the lodge for worry that someone might spot him; not that this corner of Sherwood saw many visitors.
Clearly, they were alone here, and it was nearly an hour’s travel into Nottingham.
“Stop fretting,” Alan called from the corner where he’d been strumming on the oddly-shaped little guitar he’d collected somewhere back on the Continent. “What do you think you’ll see out there, anyway?”
“I thought the others would be back by now,” Robert replied quickly.
He’d sent John and Will into town earlier.
They were to look around a bit to get a feel for things, and perhaps ask questions of a few people Robert deemed safe.
The plan was for them not to be gone long and Robert expected they’d return soon with food, needed supplies, and news of some sort.
He hoped to learn anything more about Gisborn’s claim of a mortgage on Greenwood.
He needed information so he could formulate a plan.
Not that he didn’t have more than enough things to think about already.
Marianne Maidland, for one. Finding her in the forest yesterday had certainly caught him off guard.
What the devil had she been doing, careening through the woods, screaming to alert anyone within earshot?
Just whom had she hoped to attract? Certainly not Gisborn, she’d left him behind. Just what was the mad woman up to?
He couldn’t help but smile as he recalled how she looked, towering over him, standing tall in that curricle with her bow pulled sure and taut. The way she glared fire at him… well, he was thankful she hadn’t let her arrow fly. She’d been aiming straight for his heart.
But how did she fit into all this? She was in it, he had no doubt. She confirmed she was close to Gisborn, and St. John was her own uncle, after all. That put her square in the middle of Gisborn’s schemes, St. John’s hunger for power, and—very likely—the attempt on Robert’s life back in London.
At first he had considered that merely a case of random violence.
But now… it was impossible not to recognize how convenient it would have been for Gisborn if Robert had been killed the moment he stepped onto English soil.
Gisborn had been proclaiming him dead all along; no one would ever question Robert’s disappearance.
He and his men could have been dispatched, stripped of anything that might identify their bodies, and then thrown into the Thames.
They would have been forever nameless. Yes, that would have worked out nicely for Gisborn, wouldn’t it?
Robert wished to God he had saved the correspondence he’d received from the man discussing plans for their return.
Another glance at them might have provided clues to positively convict Gisborn of treachery.
He’d seen no need to doubt his own steward, though, and those letters had been discarded before they even boarded the ship in France. If only he would have known…
“You’re still pacing,” Alan noted. “You’ll make yourself mad stalking that way all day. Rest a bit; our fellows will return with something useful soon enough.”
“I hate being idle,” Robert complained. “I should have gone with them. It isn’t fair for me to ask everyone to do my errands for me this way.”
“You’d be recognized for sure and then what would all this be for? Your man Gisborn would cover his activities and likely hire more ruffians to kill you. Sit down, Rob. Pick up this pipe and play along with me.”
“Dash it all, Alan! I know you seem to think music and laughter is the cure for every ailment, but I cannot be so sanguine.”
“I know, old man, this certainly affects you far more than it does me. But trust your friends; we’ll catch this Gisborn in his schemes. We’ve all been through much worse than this, haven’t we? And none of us let the others down.”
Robert sighed. Alan was right. They’d all been through far worse.
Robert had been eager to leave Nottingham, to escape the stigma of his supposed heritage and his grandfather’s dementia.
After his parent’s deaths, there was just too much sadness here for Robert to remain.
When his mother’s brother—Lord Forgall—suggested a military career, Robert jumped at the chance.
Unknown to everyone, though, Forgall was involved in far more than simple command or diplomatic relations. Lord Forgall was a spy. Or rather, he was a Spy Master. He served as head over an entire department of spies. Robert turned out to be his most successful protégé.
Under the tutelage and guidance of his uncle, Robert had put together a team that proved nearly unstoppable.
As far as anyone else knew, they were simple soldiers attached to a rather ordinary regiment.
In truth, they spent little time in that role, assigned instead to infiltrate the enemy and ferret out sensitive information.
In fact, the very day their regiment was brutally wiped out by the enemy, Robert and his men had been off gathering important intelligence.
In the end their risky efforts had proved invaluable to Wellington’s victory, but Robert still carried guilt that he had not been there to do more for the good men who perished.
Now he had promised his few remaining friends a comfortable place to recover and regain their balance after the horrors of war. Was he not even able to provide that for these good men who had risked their lives for him?
He scanned the forest outside the window, wondering how long they’d have to stay in this dusty old lodge.
He recalled it had been quite nice at one time and could be again if any effort was put into it.
He cursed Gisborn for not keeping up with things while he’d been gone.
Then he cursed himself for relinquishing his responsibilities in the first place.
The building was impressive, quite larger than it needed to be. His father insisted it provide ample rooms for hosting elaborate hunting parties. Robert remembered happier days, before all the troubles with Grandfather began, before his family was reduced to shame.
His father had presided over boisterous events here and Robert had felt quite grown up to be allowed to participate in some of them. All sorts of family and friends gathered here then. There were games, friendly archery competitions, and of course wonderful meals. Those were good times.
Would Greenwood ever see happy days again?
Robert tried to remain hopeful. He pictured this large drawing room as it once had been—open and inviting.
When fitted with proper furnishings and an efficient staff, this would be the perfect place to spend a few quiet days.
But now, having to get by with sagging mattresses, creaking chairs, and an empty larder, it was merely quiet.
Movement outside the window caught his eye.
He could barely make out the grounds through the dense trees, but flashes of color came into view every now and then.
Most likely John and Will were returning.
He almost announced the news to Alan, but something made him pause.
He watched just a while longer—and was surprised by what he saw.
The figure darting through the trees below was clearly not John or Will.
Much too small. A chill of warning ran down his spine.
“Someone is below,” he said quietly.
“Who?” Alan questioned, laying aside his guitar.
“I don’t know...” Robert replied and reached for his knife.