Chapter 8
Meg was too upset for conversation on most of their hurried walk home. Marianne tried to engage her, but the poor girl was very distraught. When she did speak, all she would do was moan about how Robin Hood was going to murder her father.
It was no sense trying to reason with her, so Marianne could do nothing more than offer sympathy and a listening ear.
“No matter what those men were discussing at the mill, I’m sure no one has any plans to murder your father,” she said when they were far enough from any passersby to ensure no one might eavesdrop.
“Oh, but he has so many enemies! Truly, Marianne, it’s as I told you before; you don’t know him like I do. Papa can be kind and generous, but he is a very ambitious man and he will let nothing stand in his way. I fear he has done awful things to people who have not supported him.”
“What sort of things?”
Meg glanced around, nervous and trembling.
“I’ve heard things; people in town talk about Papa sometimes.
They say their friends and family just disappear sometimes—they turn up in gaol for all sorts of reasons, or they are forced to work in factory to pay for their crime.
I’m sure Papa is to blame; it is why he has all the secret meetings with Mr. Reeve and Mr. Gisborn.
They are in business together, you know. But I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
“Oh, Meg, I just can’t understand all of this. How could Uncle Prinley be involved in something like this?”
“It is something that makes a lot of money for him, and makes the people of Nottingham poor,” Meg replied. “That’s all I know; that’s all George would tell me.”
“You discussed this with George? Was that wise?”
“I want to marry him! Why should I not discuss everything with him?”
“But if you believe that he might be using that information to plot against your father—”
“Oh gracious! Do you think that is why he has been so interested in me?” Meg froze in her step, her eyes going wide. “All this time… I thought he loved me!”
Marianne could have kicked herself for adding to her cousin’s misery. “No, no… that is not what I’m saying—surely he has never plotted against your father.”
“But it makes perfect sense!” Meg went on, covering her face in her hands and moaning loudly. “I should have known. What could such a man see in me? It must all be a part of the scheme.”
“Surely not! There has to be some other explanation.”
Now Meg’s head popped up with a wild look in her eyes. “I must warn Father!”
“No! Hush now, you cannot talk like this.”
“But Papa is in danger!”
“You cannot know that,” Marianne said, glancing around to see that they were beginning to be noticed by passers-by.
She shushed Meg and ushered her into the shadowed threshold of a shop.
“Please, calm yourself, dearest. Let’s think about this.
Has George Muchleigh given you any reason—other than what you think we may have just overheard—that he has reason to plot against your father? ”
“I should have seen it! Why, George has been forced to pay outrageous taxes that my father and Mr. Reeve have invented. They said he must pay, or else his father’s mill will be shuttered—or worse, perhaps burned to the ground.
He says it’s like that for everyone in Nottingham.
My father sets the local taxes, then sends the sheriff’s men around to collect it.
If people can’t pay, Mr. Reeve shows up to throw them in gaol and they must pay the tax plus fines on top of it. ”
“But that sounds like extortion! Uncle Prinley would never do such a thing.”
“He’s not what he seems, I keep telling you. Papa has developed a cruel side. It’s quite terrifying, really…”
The sorrow and fear evident on Meg’s face was proof enough that she believed all that she said.
Marianne was finding it difficult to doubt.
Indeed, she had noticed that the people of Nottingham crossed to the other side of the road and looked away when Uncle Prinley passed, but she had always assumed this was out of awe or respect. Apparently her assumption was wrong.
So what did this mean? Was Meg’s true love using her simply to plot against her father? That would be tragic indeed! And if that was true… well, Robert Locksley was involved, as well. It explained everything about why he was hiding in Sherwood, why he begged for her secrecy.
She could no longer doubt what was painfully clear; there really was a plot against Uncle Prinley! Even worse, it seemed he had brought it on himself. Now Marianne had to decide what to do about it. Should she let it continue, or allow Meg to speak out?
“Here’s what I suggest,” she said after a moment, putting her arm over Meg’s quaking shoulders and comforting her as best she could. “We should say nothing of this, not to your father or anyone.”
“Not warn Papa?”
“It seems to me that whatever scheme might be brewing, it is not to the point of murder… not yet, at least. Let us keep watch. Did you recognize the men with Mr. Muchleigh?”
“No, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen then before.”
“Then we can hardly tell your father who they are, can we? All he can do at this point is toss George Muchleigh in gaol while those other men continue with their plans. That doesn’t help your father, and it certainly doesn’t help your George.”
“I suppose you are right about that…”
“We need to stay silent until we know more, until we are certain about what’s going on and who is involved. Doesn’t that make sense?”
“Yes… I think so…”
“Good,” Marianne said, digging in her reticule for her handkerchief. “Now here, dry your eyes and let us act as if nothing in the world could be wrong. After all, you have just become engaged to the Sheriff of Nottingham!”
“You mean I must go through with it?”
“You must pretend to go through with it. If your father really is as devious as you say, then you must play the part that he expects of you.”
“But he expects me to marry Mr. Reeve! Oh Marianne, I truly cannot go through with that.”
“Of course not. But the banns must be read three times. That will take two weeks, at least. Surely by then we will find a way to rescue you.”
“Do you think so?”
“Of course! Now come along. Give no one any indication that you suspect a thing. Tomorrow I will go back to see this Mr. Muchleigh and determine where things stand with him.”
“You? But shouldn’t I be the one who—”
“Poor Meg! Look how emotional you are; wouldn’t seeing him again before things are sorted merely cause you more pain and confusion? I think it will be best if I see him for you.”
“You will tell him that I don’t wish to accept Mr. Reeve, that it is all of my parents’ doing?”
“I will. Perhaps Mr. Muchleigh will suggest a solution, or perhaps he will divulge some of his plans regarding your father. Either way, we will learn where he stands.”
“Yes, that is a good idea. If you’re sure you don’t mind…”
“Not at all. I’m sure this is the best way to protect your secret.”
And Robert Locksley’s, too. Though why on earth she should be concerned about that, she had no idea.
Robert welcomed his friends back from their visit into town. They’d been successful in locating a few needed provisions, but more importantly they’d brought back two men Robert trusted with his life. It was good to see old friends, especially now.
“Much! You’re looking as dusty as ever,” he laughed, greeting George Muchleigh with an embrace.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you, Rob,” Much replied, slapping him on the back. “When these fellows showed up saying you’d sent them, I scarcely could believe it. We all thought you were dead!”
“So I have heard. But look, you’ve brought me a vicar as well!”
Robert grasped the firm hand of his good friend, the venerable—and well-fed—Mr. Fraytuck.
The vicar had been in the local parish for at least a decade now and Robert was glad to see him still here.
With so many things changed in Nottingham, it was comforting to know that the people still had a good man to look out for them.
“It’s a miracle to have you back home with us, Robert,” Mr. Fraytuck said. “Your death was quite a source of grief for many, I assure you.”
“I’m almost sorry I missed it,” Robert laughed. “But I’m not fully back home yet, as you see. Until I learn what hold my fool steward has over my estate, I’m afraid I’ll have to remain dead.”
Mr. Fraytuck shook his head. “Bad things are happening, Robert. I don’t know what you’ve seen, but I have a feeling it’s worse than you know.”
“Worse? We’ve seen hungry boys masquerading as highwaymen, we’ve seen cottages empty of the families they once housed, fields fallen to neglect, we’ve seen my loyal butler turn us away at the door for fear of my steward, and young Henry here has been telling us of a sheriff who casts people in gaol on trumped up charges and impossible taxes. What could be worse?”
“Children, I’m afraid,” Mr. Fraytuck said, growling with anger.
“Our tyrannical magistrate has built himself a factory—on your very land! It’s more like his own personal workhouse, though.
He’s set these onerous taxes and when our men can’t pay, St. John takes their wives and children to work for him and pay off the debt. ”
“Children?” Robert was not quite sure he had heard the man correctly. “But that’s barbaric. Why make children pay for the parents’ debt?”
“Because he can pay them at a lower rate, of course. Keep them working while still bleeding the parents to cover their upkeep.”
Robert glanced toward Much and then on to Henry.
They both nodded in confirmation. Of course, Mr. Fraytuck would never lie about such horrors, but Robert had a hard time believing it.
He knew St. John was no humanitarian, but to take children from their homes and exploit them for labor! It was unthinkable.
“This factory,” he asked. “You are sure it is on Locksley land?”