Chapter 15
“There it is, sir!” Henry whispered as their destination came into view.
The boy had been overjoyed when Will and Alan arrived back at the lodge, bringing his father.
The reunion had been sweet. As expected, Henry’s father was quick to offer any information he had about the factory Gisborn and St. John had set up and the workings there.
No one questioned Robert’s determination to set out to investigate this dark place, even as the hour grew late.
Cloaked in the dim light from a waning moon, the motley group had headed out. They kept to the shadows of the forest as they made their way along the river. They found the factory exactly as Henry had described it. He pointed to it now.
An ugly square building, it sat in a freshly cleared area near the stream.
It was made entirely of brick, with a row of small windows high up, just below the eaves.
Light would enter, but no one inside would see out.
Obviously, the factory foremen did not want their workers to be distracted.
Or warm, apparently. Only one chimney rose from the peaked roof, at one end of the building.
Probably the end where Gisborn and his foremen would meet.
A wooden dock at the water’s edge was cluttered with the evidence of frequent use.
The bank of the stream had been carelessly excavated to allow for canal boats to come and go easily.
The waterway that had once been a quiet, natural stream had been turned into a veritable highway for Gisborn’s product to be carried to the Trent and shipped onward from there.
How had the man built such a complex operation without Robert’s knowledge? Where had he found the funding? He must have drained the Locksley coffers while sending falsified reports to Robert in his absence. Robert kicked himself for not paying closer attention to his responsibilities at home.
The factory building was but one construction on the site.
Behind the large brick building were a pair of smaller facilities, likely for storage.
Another building was set off to the side.
This did not appear to be a warehouse, but more likely it housed the people who worked in the factory.
The few windows in this structure were dark… and barred.
It wasn’t a legitimate factory, it was St. John’s private work house.
“That’s where my mum is,” Henry said. “They don’t run the factory at night, so she sleeps in there with the other workers.”
“It’s as bad as the ruddy gaol,” Henry’s father grumbled.
Henry pointed at various sections of the building. “The men and the boys sleep in that part back there, and my mum is up front with the ladies and the girls. The littler ones get pallets in the attic, up there.”
“Littler children?” Robert asked. “Younger than you?”
“There’s practically toddlers in there,” Henry declared. “I seen ‘em crawling under the looms, fetching and dragging things. My mum says it’s dangerous work, that’s why she took care not to let them get a hold of me when they took her and my pa.”
John crouched at Robert’s side and swore under his breath. “Locking children up, working them as fodder for the damn machines... it isn’t right.”
Henry’s father swore and shook his grimy head. “I hate to think of poor Milly locked up in there, working her little fingers to the bone for the likes of Gisborn and Reeve.”
“You’ll have your wife back, Dowling,” Robert said. “But we need to wait a bit, take some time to plan for—”
Movement and a flicker of light at the dormitory building caught their attention. Robert motioned for everyone to stay still. As they watched, a door opened, and two men stepped out. They brought a woman with them.
“It’s my mum!” Henry said almost too loudly.
Robert shushed him, then glanced to Mr. Dowling for confirmation. He nodded.
“That’s Milly. My God… she’s thin as a rail!”
She didn’t seem to move very well, either. And she was coughing.
“Stop that,” one of the men grumbled at her. “You’re waking the others.”
The woman made a feeble reply and one of the two men grabbed her arm. He nearly dragged her toward that last building on sight—a tiny hut, set apart from the others. It was obvious from the woman’s weak refusal that she did not wish to go there.
Robert felt the tension and anger radiating from Fred Dowling as he watched his wife treated in this manner.
Robert quickly laid a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
He honestly wouldn’t blame the man if he launched an attack on the men, but it was doubtful that such a rash action could have any positive outcome.
There was no telling how many more guards might come pouring out of the dormitory, fully armed.
“Wait… let’s wait for an opportunity,” Robert cautioned.
“But where are they taking her? What are they going to do?”
The answer to that became obvious in a moment or two. The woman was walking slowly, roughly assisted by the men. She was wracked by a fit of coughing, though the men cared little for her distress. They shoved her along, making it clear that the hut was their destination.
“Come on, don’t take all night about it,” one of the men demanded, tugging at Mrs. Dowling’s arm.
“Can’t have you waking everyone up… or sharing your plague,” the other said. “We’ll ask the manager what to do with ye tomorrow.”
“I’m fine! Let me go,” she argued before being taken by another wave of coughing.
The men merely grumbled at her frailty and pulled her up to the door of the smal building.
It was locked, but one of the men seemed to have the key and he fumbled at the latch.
No doubt once Mrs. Dowling was inside, the door would be locked again and she would remain a prisoner.
She was intentionally being housed apart from the others.
“It’s a quarantine house,” Robert said.
It was not a happy pronouncement. Mr. Dowling understood the meaning and a dark shadow came over his expression. His son was not familiar with the term.
“What is that?” Henry whispered. “What are they going to do to her?”
“She’s come down with a cough and they’re afraid she’s got something the other workers might catch,” the father explained. “They’ll keep her locked up here until she gets better, or…”
All the members of their party were silent.
Everyone knew the hazards of working in this sort of place—the air was full of dust and smoke and particles that would inflame the lungs.
It was not at all uncommon for factory workers to contract dangerous ailments.
It was also not at all uncommon for them to go untreated until it was too late.
“Will they call a doctor for her?” Henry asked.
“If she’s willing to pay for it, they might,” Robert said.
“She won’t,” Mr. Dowling declared. “The only doctor who will treat us is Mr. Green, and he’s still locked up in the gaol. No, she won’t ask for a doctor, not while she thinks she’s still got to give money to Henry and earn my way out of gaol.”
“But she doesn’t have to do that, Pa! She doesn’t have to stay here; she can come home now, right?”
Robert knew his plans for the night had just changed. He had expected to merely view the facility, to study the layout and learn the patterns of the guards. Obviously, things had gotten quite a bit more complicated.
“Rob, we’re just here for reconnaissance,” John reminded him quietly. “We haven’t planned for anything more.”
No, they hadn’t. Launching into a rescue operation would be added risk that no one was prepared for. Could he ask it of them, even for such a noble cause?
Robert glanced at his little band of newly-turned rogues.
Henry was a mere lad, eager to take on any foe to rescue his mother, but completely innocent of violence.
Fred Dowling was drawn and dirty from too many days in Reeve’s gaol, but his eyes shone with the energy of fury; he was ready to use what meager strength he had to save his wife.
George Muchleigh had returned to join them on this mission.
Mr. Fraytuck came along also, despite Robert’s encouragement that this sort of thing was no matter for a vicar to get mixed up in.
Robert’s butler had sent along a groom from the Greenwood stable, too.
Balford swore Bert was a trustworthy sort, and had no love for their cruel master.
And of course, there were Robert’s three trusted friends.
As always, John, Alan, and Will were at his side, awaiting his instruction.
And that was the full measure of their force: one homeless gentleman, three weary spies, a miller, a vicar, a groom, a prisoner, and a boy.
Eight and a half men against whatever force Gisborn maintained here.
Without planning or practice, what could they accomplish?
Perhaps they could rescue Henry’s mother, but what would they sacrifice?
Gisborn would raise his guard. He was suspicious already; a breakout would cause increased alarm.
More patrols would be sent into Sherwood, more innocent villagers would be taken for questioning.
The workers here might be punished if Gisborn thought they knew something of Mrs. Dowling’s escape.
Everyone would be in greater danger if they acted impulsively now.
But how could they not? The two guards from the factory shoved Henry’s poor mother into the shabby hut. She could be heard tumbling to the floor as the door slammed behind her. Henry let out a quiet whimper.
The guards locked the door, showing little concern at all for what condition they had left her in as they grumbled their way back toward the dormitory. They cursed the inconvenience of having to tend a sick woman when they ought to be drinking with friends by the fire.
“Don’t worry, Henry,” Robert said quietly. “We’ll get your mother. She’ll be right as rain.”
The boy beamed, but his father showed a more guarded hope. “Do we dare, sir?”
“You know Gisborn is unlikely to ignore losing one of his workers,” Will pointed out.