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 clear I 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 certainly not become 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, he was Robin 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.
“Can you feel the energy in it? How it resists you?” Robert asked.
Henry struggled to hold the bow, pulling it tight. He was learning, though, and Robert was proud. The lad was bright and capable. Despite the hardships he had faced in his young life, he would go far.
“Can I shoot it now?” Henry asked, the arrow starting to quake as he held the bow high.
“Not yet. Breathe… calm yourself. Feel that arrow as part of you. Your eyes must lead it. Do you see your target?”
“Yes…”
“Then commit to it and when you are ready, let go.”
The target was one of the empty bags from Much’s supplies. Robert had filled it with dead leaves and brush he collected. Now the bag sat propped up on a stump some twenty yards away. It would be interesting to see if the boy could actually hit it.
Henry had found the old bow here at the lodge.
He was very excited, as any boy would be over such a find.
He begged Robert to help him restring it and at first Robert refused, but then he remembered how he had once felt with a bow.
It was a shame he’d given it up after Grandfather’s disastrous failing; he’d actually been fairly good.
But then Grandfather’s mind slipped, the costume wearing began, and people all over Nottingham were laughing about the old man from Greenwood, prancing about, making a fool of himself.
And then it got worse. Grandfather fancied himself the infamous rogue.
He began taking what wasn’t his, making trouble for others.
It all ended when the elder St. John tried to stop him and Grandfather used his bow to defend himself.
One of St. John’s men met the end of an arrow—not fatally, but near enough.
Grandfather went to gaol; his shame affecting the whole Locksley family.
The cruel magistrate took no mercy on Grandfather for his age or his ill health.
Robert’s childhood was over that day, and he set archery aside.
The thwack of Henry’s bowstring startled him. The arrow sailed toward the bag, wobbling in the air but not making a bad show for itself. It did indeed strike the bag, embedding itself deeply and not too far from the center.
“I did it!” Henry danced around, waving the bow in triumph.
Robert smiled. “You most certainly did.”
“I’m almost like Robin Hood!”
“Well, perhaps you might not want to say that…”
“I know, he was the best archer ever and I’m not nearly as good, but I’m going to practice.
Will you help me, Mr. Locksley? Every day we can work at it and soon I will be able to shoot rabbits and squirrels and all sorts of things so my family will never be hungry again.
We can give all our money to the sheriff and he’ll leave us alone. ”
It was sad that the boy had such simple hopes. Robert patted his shoulder.
“Of course, you will become a most expert archer. You want to learn? Very well. Now draw out another arrow.”
Henry eagerly did as instructed. Robert worked with him for the better part of the morning.
Indeed, the boy had potential. He was not half bad, and he was working with an old, unyielding bow and warped, frayed arrows from ages ago.
As soon as Robert could, he would see about getting the boy a decent bow.
“Now you do it!” Henry said, surprising him by shoving the bow into his hand.
“No, I’ve strung that for you,” he said quickly.
“But I want to see you! I’ll bet you are every bit as Robin Hood. Why, you are very much like him.”
“I’m nothing like Robin Hood,” Robert laughed, trying to ignore the panic that gripped at his chest to even suggest such a thing.
“But you are! You are helping so many people, you take from those who can spare it and help the rest of us who have nothing. You hide here in the forest, you avoid the scabby sheriff, and I think you’re even sweet on Maid Marianne.”