Chapter Eighteen

When Charlotte had risen from her bed, Marian had expected her to be searching for a chamber pot. One hour later, when Charlotte still hadn't returned, Marian sighed.

"That girl is going to be the death of me, I swear."

Marian had ridden around the countryside for hours since after breakfast, but to no avail. Charlotte was simply nowhere to be seen. Thinking of giving up, she headed towards her home, Knighton Hall.

A funny shaped lump blocked the path ahead of her, making Marian curious. She approached cautiously, wary in case it was something dangerous. Realising what it was, Marian dismounted and sighed in annoyance, nudging the figure with her foot.

"Ungh!" Charlotte groaned, rolling on to her back. "Gerroff!"

"What on earth are you doing here?"

"Lying down," Charlotte replied crossly. "What does it look like?"

"What if a guard had come thundering down this path on his horse and hadn't realised that you were there until it was too late?" Marian chided.

"Then I'd be pretty flat," Charlotte chuckled, propping herself up into a sitting position.

"Grow up," Marian said, her glare scathing. Charlotte leapt to her feet and put her hands on her hips.

"Amazing!" Charlotte cried. Marian rolled her eyes.

"We had best get back to the castle. Where did you leave your horse?"

"Bother," Charlotte muttered under her breath, remembering that the horse had been left free to wander.

It least three hours later, after Charlotte had finally located her horse, the two women were astride their mounts and heading into Nottingham. Like deja-vu, Sir Guy was waiting for them in the courtyard. This time, though, his expression was grim.

"Guy?" Marian asked, dismounting. "What's wrong?"

"We've been robbed," Sir Guy spat, his fists clenched. "Hood must have done it. He escaped before the thick guards realised what was going on. If I had been there, I would have finished him off," Guy assured himself, turning away from Marian.

"That's terrible," Marian replied, her voice sympathetic but her expression amused.

"Yeah," Charlotte agreed, stifling a laugh. Sir Guy turned to face them again.

"I will catch Hood," he swore, stroking Marian's cheek with a gloved hand. There was a silence, broken by Guy. "The Sheriff is furious… Charlotte, would you be able to placate him?"

"I'm not sure," Charlotte replied truthfully. "He's not very fond of me at the moment."

"Make an effort," Gisborne ordered. Marian shot Charlotte a sympathetic glance.

"Yes, my lord," Charlotte agreed reluctantly.

The Sheriff paced around his office, occasionally kicking or whacking any random object. He was even more furious than when he had figured out that Charlotte had set the alchemy room alight.

Years of bringing up boys told Charlotte to be patient. The Sheriff would open up when he wanted to. That is, if he wanted to. Charlotte supposed that he might be a while. To keep herself occupied, Charlotte began to draw.

"Blasted Hood!" the Sheriff yelled, pushing over a chair. "My savings gone! My plans ruined! Am I happy? A clue?"

"No?" Charlotte murmured to herself.

"No!" the Sheriff echoed. "What am I going to do now?" He continued to pace the room. Charlotte returned to her drawing, which was of a servant girl outside the window, completely unaware that she was being watched.

"Ah-ha!" the Sheriff cried out suddenly, making Charlotte jump. "We could raid the outlaws' camp and steal back… no. No, no, no!" He stamped his foot impatiently. "Far too obvious! Hood would see it coming from a mile away."

"Vaizey," Charlotte said gently, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"What?" the Sheriff snarled back, but he seemed out of breath.

"I have every faith in you; you'll think of something," Charlotte assured him. "You always do. You are by far the most evil, scheming person I have ever met."

"Oh?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Charlotte laughed, standing up. A twisted smile crept on to the Sheriff's reluctant lips. For some reason, Charlotte's confidence in him made him feel better than if anyone else had said the same thing. It made his tiny heart swell with pride. The Sheriff's heart had suffered from atrophy, becoming such an insignificant part of his body that it was rarely used. His conscience had also wasted away from lack of use, but when Charlotte turned up, it was like new blood coursed through his veins. Every day was a pleasant surprise, and he had become used to her sunny face and outlook on life.

But there was still one possibility that he refused to admit, no matter how lucid the answer appeared.

Never.