Chapter 19
Robert hated to leave her. It was physical pain to pry his hands off of her and send her back to Gisborn’s dining table. But it was the only thing he could do.
He was sending her back to a murderer, placing her in the middle of Gisborn’s dark schemes. He hated to do it, but he had to get word to his men. They were in grave danger, even now the net could be tightening around them.
Cursing himself for not seeing things sooner, he crept deeper into the dark, unused parts of the house.
He was a cad for leaving Marianne to fend for herself, and he was a scoundrel for leading his men into such danger.
The very moment he knew he was out of earshot of the dining hall, Robert broke into a run.
He hoped to find Will still searching the library.
He did not. He rounded a corner before he got there and nearly collided with his friend.
“What the devil is going on?” Will asked.
“We’ve got trouble,” Robert replied.
“I know. I was just coming to find you.”
“What has happened?”
“A signal from Alan.”
Damn it! This likely meant the sheriff’s men were already closing in. Robert and his friends had best get to their designated meeting place and hope all four of them were still free.
Racing through the empty house, Robert led the way to a rear door. It opened into a walled garden that had once been used by the servants for their own vegetables but was mostly overgrown and forgotten now. To his great relief, John and Alan were there. They had another young man with them.
“You’re safe,” John breathed. “Thank God—when we saw a pack of Reeve’s men arriving, we were worried about you.”
“They were here to report a murder, I’m afraid,” Robert said.
To his surprise, John and Alan already know about this.
“Yes, it was some fellow named Dent,” Alan said.
“How do you know about that?” Robert asked.
Now John pushed the young man with him forward and introduced him. “This is Davey Grover.”
It took Robert a moment to recognize the name. “Grover… as in one of Mrs. Grover’s sons?”
“The same,” John explained. “He’s been in London, working to save up money to help his family.
When he came back to town, he found they’d been evicted.
Friends told him last they knew, the family came out to the forest. So, Davey’s been out here looking for them.
Instead, he happened to find a secret meeting between Dent and the man who murdered him. ”
Robert was amazed. “You witnessed the murder?”
The young man nodded, clearly still affected by what he had seen.
“I did, sir. This lawyer fellow, he’s there talking with the other.
The man calls him Dent, so I know that’s who he is.
Well, he’s laughing about shamming the magistrate over a payment he’s going to say got stolen from him, then all of a sudden, the other fellow pulls out a pistol.
Bam! Just like that, Dent’s murdered and the other fellow takes his comrades and goes. ”
“That other fellow—would you recognize him again?” Robert asked.
Mr. Grover was most definite in his reply. “Of course I would! It’s the same man that threw my family out of our house. The ruddy Sheriff of Nottingham!”
John was grinning and slapped Robert on the back. “It’s a gift from above! Reeve himself did the murder, Rob. We’ve got him.”
Robert had to pause for a moment to let it all sink in. He’d been so sure all was lost, that Gisborn had a near perfect scheme. Finally, he allowed himself to breathe. His smile wasn’t quite as broad as John’s, but it was there.
“Very well, men. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Marianne returned to the dining table and did not have to work very hard to appear confused to find half a dozen of Reeve’s brutish men cluttering the room.
The shocked looks on everyone’s face—everyone other than Gisborn and Reeve—were easy to mirror.
From Uncle Prinley’s frustration and confusion, she was quite sure this was a surprise to him, too.
He had no part in the murder—and no realization that his might be next.
He sputtered when he spoke. “What’s this about, Gisborn? I expected a payment and now you tell me it’s gone?”
“I’m sorry, St. John. That was everything I could manage for now. You’ll have to find the thieves who stole it or wait until I can make another.”
Now Uncle Prinley turned on Mr. Reeve. “Where were you? Gisborn said you and your men would personally attend my man to see that the money was delivered safely.”
Mr. Reeve simply shrugged. “We were off searching for Robin Hood, of course. You heard that he tried to murder us in the churchyard today.”
“I know you say that this happened… but I’m finding it more and more difficult to believe anything. Where is my money, Gisborn?”
“Stolen, of course. I’m truly heartsick over it.”
“I’ll bet you are. You own me a payment, Gisborn!” Uncle Prinley insisted.
Mr. Gisborn flicked a crumb off the table. “I simply haven’t got it.”
“But I… I’ll call in the loan tomorrow, I will! What sort of game are you playing?”
“You can’t call in that loan. We have a contract—it’s legally binding.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Uncle Prinley growled. “I demand proof that you were authorized to take a loan on Greenwood in the first place!”
Mr. Gisborn sat up, insulted. “I’m the legal representative of my employer’s estate. I control Greenwood.”
“Your authority is merely to act according to your employer’s wishes. I was willing to overlook that gray area once we heard Locksley had died, but I’m beginning to wonder if I made a mistake. I need proof, Gisborn, that our agreement still holds.”
“Of course it still holds. Who’s to dispute it? Locksley is dead.”
Uncle Prinley reached into his coat and pulled out a paper. Marianne peered closer and realized what it was. Emma’s letter! How did Uncle Prinley get it? She tried to recall what she did with it… she read it in that little room, but then she was distracted by Mr. Gisborn and Mr. Dent.
In her haste, what had she done with the letter?
Yes, she recalled… she put it in her pocket.
But she was still wearing that silly costume and all the layers over it.
She couldn’t recall finding the letter when she made it up to her room to change.
Indeed, she’d forgotten all about it by then.
She’d become so upset over what she’d heard the men discussing that she could only think about that.
Perhaps the letter had fallen out somewhere and Uncle Prinley had found it.
Whatever happened to it, obviously he had it now. And clearly he had read it!
“I happen to know that Locksley is not dead,” Uncle Prinley announced loudly. “This letter to proves it! One of my servants found it on the floor and returned it to me.”
“What letter is that?” Gisborn spat.
“It’s addressed to my niece, from a friend of hers whose father is in some sort of diplomatic service, in Paris. It plainly states that Robert Locksley is not dead, but that he will be returning to Nottingham any day!”
But Gisborn just laughed at him. “So you discovered he did not die in the war, did you? Well, I’ve known that all along!
But I can assure you, dear magistrate, the man won’t be coming back to Nottingham.
He is dead now; very dead. I had some friends take care of that for me the minute he got off a ship. ”
The ladies gasped. Uncle Prinley stammered.
“You… I don’t believe it. You had him murdered?
Why… because he would have put an end to your schemes?
Oh, what a fool I’ve been! You never had the authority to take that mortgage, did you?
You convinced me to give you my money as an investment, to build up that factory.
The land was cheap you said—do you even have title to it?
No, of course you don’t! That is still Locksley’s land, no doubt.
Damnation, Gisborn, but you have bankrupted me! ”
“What do I care about that?” Gisborn said, rising to stand beside the sheriff’s men.
“All my life I’ve had nothing! But now… now look at me.
I am master of Greenwood! I have a sheriff in my pocket, I have access to the full coffers of the proud and honorable Mr. Prinley St. John.
Ha! You are a fool, but wise enough to understand something.
You clearly know that I have no intention of paying you back for any of it. ”
One of Reeve’s men had been holding a pistol.
Gisborn grabbed it from him and aimed it straight at Uncle Prinley’s heart.
Meg squealed in terror and Aunt Regina threw herself in front of her husband.
Marianne leaped to her feet and would have run at Gisborn, but now he swung the pistol around to aim it at her.
A deep voice boomed from the far end of the huge dining hall. Gisborn froze.
“Drop it now or you’re a dead man, Gisborn!”
It was Robert. He stood at the back of the room beside Mr. Muchleigh. The miller held up a truly ancient looking musket, and Robert held a bow. An arrow was nocked at the ready and his eye was on Gisborn’s heart.
Gisborn took in the sight and only registered mild shock. If anything, his expression showed more signs of annoyance.
“I’m not quite as dead as you hoped I would be,” Robert snarled.
“What sort of world is it when hired help can’t even carry out a simple task?” Mr. Gisborn grumbled. “Welcome back, sir. In case you don’t know it, I’ve left your employment. I’m the master now! And this… this is my mistress.”
He lunged for Marianne and grabbed her by the arm.
He dragged her to stand next to him, the pistol jammed under her chin.
It was cold and sent shivers over every inch of her.
Robert seemed to have good control over that arrow, but she realized it would do little good as long as Gisborn was using her as a shield.
“Arrest them,” Gisborn ordered.