Romancing Robin Hood (28 page)

Pleased that her sense of humour hadn't completely died, albeit in a self-deprecating way, Grace said, ‘I thought I'd be getting some physical activity this morning, but not from mucking out horses!'

They'd been cleaning and re-spreading hay for half an hour before Grace said, ‘Do you think I should call Aggie and ask her to tell Malcolm I won't be there for dinner tonight?'

‘Nope. It'll do him good to be stood up. This Malcolm sounds as though his ego could use some bruising.'

‘It isn't his fault though; it's mine, I should have turned him down from the off.'

‘But you tried and no one was listening.'

Grace dragged an unused hay bale to the doorway, ‘I think I will call Aggie though. She was only trying to help, and she'll be wondering where I am.'

‘I thought you were allowed to work anywhere you wanted to out of term-time?'

‘I am, but I never stray far from my office. She'll think I'm ill.'

‘OK, but for goodness sake don't let her persuade you that inviting Malcolm to my wedding would be a good idea!'

‘As if I would!'

Watching as her friend left the stable to make her call, Daisy was sure if Grace would explain to Rob what had gone on with Malcolm – which was nothing at all really – they'd be all right. But Grace had decided it was pointless, and when Grace had made that sort of decision experience told Daisy, that it would be difficult budge her opinion.

Ten minutes later, with the stable's temporary resident happily reinstalled, Grace reported back to Daisy. ‘Aggie was fine. I told her you needed wedding help and I was here. Hope that's OK? I don't like lying really.'

‘Honey, that isn't a lie. I really do need help. You were right about me and making lists at the moment. Every time I cross something off, there is something else to add to it. And Marcus's mother is being …'

Grace found herself on the edge of a genuine laugh, ‘Deep breath, Daze. Tell me what's next to clean out, and you can have a proper panic while we work.'

‘Well I could, but to be honest, I'd rather just get on with it. Tell me about the book instead. How is Mathilda getting on in Folville-land right now? I hope you're sticking to your guns and making it more story than historical textbook.'

Mathilda was kneading the dough for the day's bread so roughly that Sarah was beginning to think it would only be fit for the pigs. ‘Have you never made bread before?'

‘Sorry, Sarah.' Mathilda stopped her elbows pumping, but kept her hands moving over the mixture. ‘I was thinking about tonight.'

Continuing to work at a far more sedate place, lightening her touch so she aerated the dough properly, Mathilda was aware that the housekeeper was watching her. ‘Do you know what they want me to do, Sarah?'

‘Yes.'

‘Oh.' Mathilda didn't know what else to say, the tone of Sarah's single word response had seemed final, and was obviously not going to be elaborated on.

Knocking the bread into shape before leaving it to rest, Mathilda went to a pail of clean water Allward had provided, and washed the flour from her hands. All the time she scrubbed at her skin, Mathilda ran the instructions Robert had given her through her mind. They seemed straightforward. Too straightforward.

The meeting with the Coterels was to be at midnight that night. As the sun began to go down, she and Robert would ride to a midpoint between Ashby Folville and Derby. When they were about a mile from the meeting place, they would split up, and she would continue alone until she met one of the Coterels. Probably Nicholas. While Robert kept as close to her as possible, but in the shadows. Keeping a sensible distance, he assured her, not from the Coterel brothers, who knew he'd be there, but from the law and unwanted questioning should the sheriff's men be lurking in the area after Hugo's death. Mathilda had to concede that, although she didn't want to go alone, this was a sensible move in the current climate.

Once she'd located the Coterels, Mathilda wouldn't have to say anything. There was no message to verbally recall. All that was asked of her would be the handing over of the package Robert would entrust to her when they were ready to go. Then an item would be given to her in return, and she would proceed back along the path she'd come from, before Robert returned her to the safety of the Folville manor.

Pointing to a pile of apples that needed peeling, Sarah nodded with satisfaction as Mathilda set to work without complaint. ‘I hope you don't mind that I persuaded Robert to let you help me today. As you're here, providing I keep an eye on you, I told him you are of more use around the house than trapped in a cell.'

Not knowing what else to say, Mathilda said, ‘Thank you, Sarah.'

‘He needed reminding that now, more than ever, it is vital to give the local community the impression that he is interested in you as a future wife. Robert can hardly do that if you are in a cell, and helping with the domestic chores will support the subterfuge.'

Mathilda was shocked for a second. With all that had happened in the last forty-eight hours she'd forgotten about the front she and Robert were supposed to be presenting to the world. She was about to ask why it was it was even more important now, but Sarah had changed the subject. ‘I see you must have been a good housekeeper for your family when you're not being distracted by darker issues.'

Mathilda looked up from her work, ‘Thank you, Sarah. I hope I was. My mother was very efficient; I try to be like her.'

Heading to the door to check they wouldn't be overheard, Sarah moved to Mathilda's side. ‘Don't react, just in case we are watched. I'm about to tell you something that I don't think the brothers know about.'

With a prickle of perspiration dotting the back of her neck, Mathilda exhaled softly, ‘Yes, Sarah.'

‘I was concerned for your safety in tonight's mission. It all seems too easy somehow. So I sent the stable boy to look at another location yesterday.'

Mathilda's knife slipped, nicking her finger, causing her to drop the fruit. Sucking at the tiny cut, she said, ‘Please Sarah, is there news of Oswin?'

‘I believe so. The lad rode to the Coterel manor. He entered the stable block and asked for directions he didn't really need so he could look around a little. He spied a young man answering to your brother's description working as a servant in the Coterel household.'

‘Oswin is with the Coterels! Are you sure?'

‘No, Mathilda, I'm not sure, but it is likely.'

Mathilda suddenly remembered the feeling of being watched she'd had when she was talking to Nicholas Coterel. It had been merely a feeling of being observed, not a sinister sensation that being observed by a stranger can give you. It had to have been Oswin!

‘And you don't think the Folvilles know about this?'

‘As I said, I don't know for sure. If they do, then I can't think why they haven't told you.'

Mathilda suspected they probably did know, and it was likely that they hadn't told her because it suited them to keep her worried about Oswin. If she had more than one family member to be concerned for it would make doubly sure of her obedience to them.

Keeping this theory to herself, Mathilda said, ‘Sarah, please don't think me ungrateful, but why are you helping me like this? It's such a risk for you and Allward, not to mention the stable lad.'

Sarah's usual austere countenance broke into a hitherto unseen gentle concern. ‘I told you that I raised almost all the brothers.' She peered around her, alert and wary even in her more soften state, ‘and I know it's wrong to have a favourite, but I do.'

‘Robert?'

Inclining her head, Sarah's tone was full of regret, ‘I have tried to keep him safe. Tried to look after him and his family, but they walk into trouble, those men.'

‘Their intentions are good.'

Sarah's expression reverted to its usual shrewd state. ‘You really believe that, Mathilda?'

‘I wasn't sure, not at first. But, now, I think we can assume that the sheriff's men will be sniffing around my family; and knowing full well how the sheriff likes to find a perpetrator for the crimes in his jurisdiction, even if it isn't the right one – well, some justice seems better than none.'

‘Have you heard of Folville's Law, Mathilda?'

‘No.'

‘What you're doing here, that's Folville's Law. The meeting tonight, that's Folville's Law as well. Just as, if my suspicions are correct, the killer of Master Hugo will be found using Folville's Law.'

‘You mean this family takes the law into their own hands and administers its own justice. A more direct form of justice.'

‘I mean exactly that.'

‘Like in the Robyn Hode stories.'

Sarah smiled. ‘You've heard the travelling players sing the Robyn Hode stories?'

‘Yes, at the fair last year. I'd heard a few before then as well though. My mother used to sing them to me.'

‘They are complex tales, you remember them well?'

‘I've always had a good memory for words.'

‘Is that so?' The housekeeper picked up some firewood and gestured to Mathilda to follow suit.

Moving into the deserted hall, Sarah knelt to the grate, and tapped the floor for Mathilda to sit with her. ‘My grandfather taught me many such songs. Not the Hode ones of course, they're too modern; but the lines he sang with his fellow soldiers after the failure of De Montfort's revolt were fairly similar in sentiment.'

Mathilda gasped; even now, over six decades since Simon de Montfort and his barons had failed in their rebellion against the excesses of King Henry III, it wasn't sensible to mention any sympathies towards them. Mathilda felt oddly flattered that the initially hostile housekeeper was confiding in her in such a way.

‘There's one verse that has stayed with me. It's from a song I used to sing to the Folville boys when they were children. Sometimes I wonder if that was such a wise thing to do when they were so impressionable, still …' Then, much to the younger woman's surprise, Sarah began to sing.

Right and wrong march nearly on equal footing;

there is now scarcely one who is ashamed of doing what is unlawful;

the man is held dear who knows how to flatter;

and he enjoys a singular privilege …
¹³

There was a moment's quiet, and then Mathilda said, ‘Things haven't changed much, have they?'

‘Sadly, child, they have. It's worse now, much worse.' With a final placing of the cut wood on the fire, Sarah added, ‘I think it's time to answer the question you haven't asked me.'

‘Which one? I have a great many questions.'

Sarah grinned, ‘I am referring to the question that is most important at this moment in the light of Master Hugo's death. Why it is you need to be seen to be Robert's companion at this time, more than ever?'

‘Are you ready?'

Robert, dressed from head to toe in brown and grey to aid in his shadowy concealment, reined in his horse as the same bleary-eyed stable lad who'd located Oswin for her hoisted Mathilda into her saddle.

‘I am.' Mathilda didn't feel at all ready, but with a new resolve engendered by Sarah, and the knowledge that Oswin was very probably alive, even if he wasn't free to go home, she sat with all the confidence of a woman who fully expected to be Robert's future wife. A concept she was surprised to find didn't repulse her as she'd assumed it would; especially now she knew precisely why it was so vital to her survival, her father's success in paying his debt, and Robert de Folville's very life to appear convincing in the role.

Chapter Thirty

‘I can't possibly be in love with him. I barely know him.'

Grace stood at the little bedroom window staring out across Daisy's massive garden, stroking a baby guinea pig who'd been squeaking for attention from the second she had woken up.

Believing being busy was the best cure for the blues, Daisy had barely let up on the hard graft since she'd arrived, and Grace felt physically refreshed after a proper sleep bought on by sheer exhaustion.

Mentally however, she remained bruised and a little bit lost as once again she tried to reason the situation into a more coherent mess by adopting Daisy's newfound list-making skills.

Settling the guinea pig, which she'd decided to call Chutney in honour of his pickle-coloured coat, onto her lap, Grace tore a piece of paper from her notebook. ‘OK Chutney, I've proved that I am hopeless at explaining myself out loud, let's see if I can do a bit better with the written word. If I can't, then I might as well give up working on Mathilda's story right now!'

Writing the number 1 on the top left-hand corner of the piece of lined paper, Grace rested her pen next to it and sighed, ‘Come on, Chutney, help me out here. I don't know where to start. What should I put first?'

Understanding why the healing powers of stroking animals was considered so beneficial, Grace decided to forget working in a logical order and simply hammer out every feeling and thought she had concerning Rob. She could put them into some sort of sensible order later on.

1. I have lots in common with Rob

2. We get on – at least, I thought we did

3. Conversation is easy

4. He doesn't treat me like I'm weird

5. I feel good when I see his name in my inbox – well, I used to

6. I need to tell him about Malcolm – he may still hate me, but he
has
to know I didn't do anything wrong. In fact I was bored out of my mind with Malcolm!

7. No one has ever made me so sad that I didn't want to watch a RH film before!

8. He has nice eyes and smile

9. He makes me laugh

10. Our kiss in kitchen

Grace couldn't bring herself to write about exactly how she'd felt in the kitchen. After all, nothing had really happened; but there could be no denying that the air between them had been charged with so much sexual tension and promise (dashed promise now), that she wasn't sure she would ever feel the same cooking in there again. ‘Oh, crikey!' Grace lifted Chutney up to her face, ‘I've just remembered – the burnt dinner we abandoned is sat in the cold oven!'