#story thieves incorrect quotes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

immergladsss · 4 months

Text

Maria and The King of Thieves

For @incorrect-quotes-of-moonacre, thank you for all the work you put into the fandom and Moonacre Week every year ❤️

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 1:

Our story begins, as many typically do, with misfortune falling upon our protagonist and thrusting them into a new journey, irrespective of the protagonist’s feelings on the whole matter; for that is exactly how Maria Merryweather, just sixteen years of age and freshly debuted, found herself living neck deep in the countryside begging for work at the wash house.

“I know your lot!” The head laundry maid, Mrs. Miller, said with a scowl. “You come around here looking for work, only to quit within the first day!”

“Please I–”

“Just look at your hands! They’ve never seen a day of work. There’s no way you’re a commoner! Probably the bride of a failed elopement. I will not be having any trouble at my door.”

“Please!” Maria all but fell on her knees as she implored. “Please just listen! Yes, I’ve been fortunate enough to not know work, but no! I'm not some runaway bride! I’m an orphan who was robbed before arriving with my family! Whatever fortune I once had has left me crawling for crumbs and I am paying for it threefold! I promise I will not cause trouble. I simply need work to afford the replacement of my stolen garments.”

“Hmm…” The lady, Mrs. Miller, studied her. Maria was wearing a simple brown linen dress, faded with age. Her hair was hidden by a once-white bonnet, though a few light-red strands stuck out. Not many around here had red hair. There were a few families…one of which could get her into trouble, though the redheaded brother hadn't been seen in over two decades… “What family are you from?”

“The Trotters.”

Mrs. Miller looked over her shoulder and shouted at her workers. “Which of you is willing to teach her?”

Most of the girls looked away, finding they already had enough work to keep them busy, but one girl raised her hand. She was tall, with blonde hair slicked into a bun and bright blue eyes. “I can help her.”

“Ah, Ms. Swann. Perfect. Come over here. This is Ms. Maria Trotter.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Trotter. Please, call me Jane.”

Maria’s journey began with the first of three misfortunes: her father’s unexpected passing after her debut into proper society. This unfortunate event only left her with her governess, and whatever belongings she could carry while everything else was repossessed to settle her father’s outstanding debt. A fact that brought her great shame.

But like the highbred lady that she was, she took it with grace. She held her faith in her heart and her governess's hand for support, genuinely believing that matters would sort themselves out with time. After all, she believed herself fortunate to still have an estranged uncle generous enough to take them in. She believed their move to the countryside would simply afford them new opportunities. She believed gentlemen could be found everywhere, not just in the city, and that one day she’d find a proper suitor.

Little did she know a second misfortune was about to befall her. Just before arriving at the gates of Moonacre Manor, they were accosted by four masked bandits, who in a matter of seconds, took all of their luggage except for the carpet bag she had carried with her inside. She wasn’t able to take a good look at them, only that they wore bowler hats, black leather garb, and darkened eyes.

Though incredibly shaken, and feeling her resolve crack, she managed to restore her optimism at the thought that none of the bandits had managed to open their carriage. No doubt all due to her quick thinking and her handy needle that she used to slash the hand that came through her window. At least she and Ms. Heliotrope were safe and sound.

But Maria’s silent prayers were to remain unanswered as a third misfortune came upon her.

“I’m afraid you'll both have to find means of financing your purchases,” Her uncle, Sir Benjamin, told them during supper that night. “Unfortunately, our coffers have run dry trying to replace all that the De Noirs have stolen from us.”

“The De Noirs?”

“Yes, I believe those were the very bandits that robbed you and your governess. Unfortunately, there is nothing to be done. Moonacre is too small and unimportant for London to care about. And Lord knows our own magistrate can barely keep order. All I can offer you is shelter and food.”

“But I don't know how to work! I've never worked a day in my life, and I need clothes!”

“The laundry is always in search of workers. I’m sure they’ll readily teach you, their ways. However, for your safety, you mustn’t tell anyone you're a Merryweather. With their propensity, the De Noirs are bound to kidnap you too. Present yourself as a Miller or Trotter. Those are fairly common around here.”

And that is how she found herself the very next day, clutching a meager shilling between cracked and bleeding palms, sobbing with all her heart, outside the gates of Silverydew after her first day of work.

Maria knew no one was meant to know her true identity. The laundry gossip informed her plenty of how dangerous the De Noirs could be, especially their leader whom they simply referred to as the king of thieves, but when Jane found her crying and handed her a freshly baked roll of bread and a small tin of salve for her hands, Maria couldn’t help herself.

She had tried so hard to remain strong and keep up with the rest of the ladies, but it was impossible. She was weak and her entire body was in pain. She was exhausted. She was hungry. She had never felt as low as she did then.

She tried, she really did try to maintain her resolve, but when Jane wrapped an arm around her shoulders, Maria broke and released all that she had bottled in her heart. She confessed what had transpired in her life to have driven her to such a wretched state.

..oOo..

“How are you doing?” Jane asked as she came to join her at the wash bin.

Maria was finishing her third day in the laundry house. She had learned much, but still struggled against the feelings of incompetence, the aches of her body, and her wounded pride. She sighed, “I believe I am managing. Though my arms are still threatening to desert me.”

“It's all a con, don’t fall for it,” Jane giggled. “Do you think you could help me load this onto the carriage? The magistrate seems to be in a bit of a rush and the other girls are busy.”

“Yes, of course!”

At the count of three, the two heaved the trunk of freshly laundered garments and carried it out into the gravel road where the carriage awaited.

Maria glowered at the coachman who was fully aware of their efforts but refused to come down from his seat and help them.

As they lifted the trunk to load it onto the carriage’s rack, Maria’s grip slipped, and a burr in the iron handle tore open a newly healed crack in her palm. She yelped as the trunk came crashing down. Fortunately, none of the contents spilled.

“Careful there!” The coachman yelled, but he received no response aside from Jane’s furious glare that shut him right up.

“Goodness! Are you ok?” Jane asked, rushing to her side.

“Yes,” Maria mumbled, wishing to hide from humiliation. She dropped her head as Jane proceeded to use her handkerchief as a wrap for her palm. “I'm so sorry. I’ll return this to you as soon as I can wash it.”

“It happens to the best of us. Don't fret. Once, the garments I was carrying fell onto the floor and I had to wash them all over again!”

Maria smiled sheepishly but her mind was distracted by a dash of white paint only visible on a small portion of the flat steel tyre on one of the carriage’s back wheels. “Why would someone paint their wheel?”

“What do you mean?” Jane asked, peering over Maria’s shoulder. “Strange. I don't think I’ve noticed that before. Who knows. Come now, let's get on with this.”

After that, Maria began to notice certain carriages had that same mark. She spotted it on the magistrate's carriages, on the constable’s, and on some of the farmers.

..oOo..

“Are you ready to leave?” Jane asked Maria, who was busy hanging someone’s night clothes to dry. They had grown quite close over the days. Jane was trustworthy, clever, and readily lent an ear without any judgment, unlike the rest of the laundry maids. The majority of them still believed her to be a runaway bride and kept a guarded distance. As though her very presence would tarnish their reputation. The only benefit to their company was the gossip. Oh, how they loved to gossip! That is how she came to learn her uncle was once engaged to a Lady Loveday De Noir. He hadn't known of her identity at the time of engagement, but he broke it off when discovered the truth, believing she was there to steal from him.

“Don’t wait for me today,” Maria replied as she picked up another nightgown. “I need to stop by the apothecary. I've finished my salve.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Maria wasn’t eager to return home. Though she had grown fond of Wrolf, Sir Benjamin’s giant Irish wolfhound, and her pony Periwinkle, an unexpected gift from her uncle, Sir Benjamin’s never ending dour mood was a constant reminder that things just weren't right.

But she also didn't want to return too late. The few times that she had, she had arrived to the sound of melancholic piano music and her uncle’s sobs, no doubt over his failed engagement. She was fortunate her room in one of the manor’s towers was too far to hear her uncle’s cries, though she could not help but feel pity for Ms. Heliotrope whose room was on the first floor.

At the end of her workday, she always faced the same predicament: either she returned early in the day to find him storming about the manor and cursing the De Noirs, or late in the evening to find him sobbing by the piano and wailing for Loveday. There was no neutral ground with that man, it's no wonder his engagement failed.

As she walked to the apothecary, Maria took a moment to appreciate the town of Silverydew. It was a quaint little town, and despite their hardships and occasional dealings with theft, the people were hardy, kind, and hopeful. Children ran about the square playing games with hoops and sticks. Mothers formed groups and shared recipes or the latest news. Men huddled around the tavern, commenting on the weather and their crops or businesses. Young ladies walked around the square, arm-in-arm, giggling over the young men who watched from a distance. Yes, Silverydew was certainly a better ambiance than the desolate and rundown manor that barely stood on its foundations, especially now that the town was preparing for the Harvest Festival.

Perhaps if her circumstances were different, she too would be as excited as the townspeople. She had an inkling her uncle would not even consider attending, much less allow her to attend unchaperoned. Though perhaps she could convince Ms. Heliotrope–that is if she wasn't too tired from tutoring the magistrate’s children or staying up late from her uncle’s incessant mourning over his life.

Maria sighed wistfully, wishing she could do something to help her uncle and brighten his mood. She wished to restore herself and the manor to its rightful state. However, she had yet to learn what caused the great feud between the Merryweathers and the De Noirs. It seemed no one knew, or at least would not openly talk about it.

“Oh!” Maria cried as her face came crashing against someone’s back. She was so lost in her thoughts she failed to notice the person in front of her. She would’ve fallen to the ground were it not for the strong arms of said person. “Oh, excuse me!” she yelped, disentangling herself from his arms. “I didn’t–”

Maria froze under his gaze. Dark eyes were alight with mischief as the ghost of a smile broke into a dashing grin. “I-I’m sorry,” she finished with a bright blush as she straightened herself and took a step back.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.” He adjusted his coat then stuffed his right hand into his pocket and with his left, awkwardly brushed his hair back. A fruitless effort as his curls bounced right back into place and casted a sultry shadow across his handsome face.

“Oh, I’ve only been here for a few weeks. I don’t make it a habit to stay out very long.”

“Reckon you’re not missing much then. Silverydew isn't known for its nightlife,” he teased. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”

“Trotter!” Maria chirped. “It's Maria Trotter. And your name?”

“Robin.”

Maria didn’t miss the fact that he failed to offer her his hand which showed no sign of leaving his pocket, but she decided he had his reasons and she had more urgent matters to attend to. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Now if you’ll excuse me, I'm on my way to the apothecary before it closes for the night.”

“What a coincidence, I am too. Allow me to join you.”

It was not a long walk, but it allowed Maria to ask her own set of questions, “I haven’t seen you around either. Do you live outside of Silverydew?”

“Yes, I live on the outskirts of the valley. I don't make it a habit of coming into town quite often.”

“Why is that?” Maria asked.

Robin held open the apothecary door and gestured for her to walk in first. Then he leaned over her shoulder and whispered. “As you may have learned, these townspeople busy themselves by sticking their noses in other people’s business.”

“You must forgive them, for what else are they to do,” Maria stiffed her giggle but continued, “There’s only so much to say about the day-to-day life here.”

Robin grinned crookedly. “Reckon I can come up with a few ideas,” he said in such a way that sent her heart racing.

“-How can I help you?” The pharmacist asked, stepping up to the counter and startling Maria, prompting her to take a step away from Robin.

Maria cleared her throat and tried to steady her thoughts as she said. “I’m here to purchase some salve.”

“That’ll be five shillings.”

“But…last week it was three.”

“I’m sorry dear. As summer wanes, the herbs become rare, and the price goes up.”

Maria’s heart sank and she solemnly reached for her purse, pulling out all that she had: three shillings. A wave of embarrassment washed over her. “I'll come back tomorrow then,” she muttered.

“Now, hang on. Keep your shillings,” Robin said. “Charge it to my account–”

“--I can’t possibly–”

“Ms. Trotter, it's fine. If it makes you feel any better, simply pay me back whenever you can.” Then turning to the shopkeeper he said, “I’ll also need three needles, a roll of surgical silk, gauze, and antiseptic.”

It was then Maria noticed he had taken out his right hand from his pocket. It was bandaged and blood had seeped through the fabric. “Goodness, are you ok?”

“Yes,” Robin reassured. “It's a common occurrence in my line of work.”

Maria was appalled. Granted she didn’t know much about jobs in general, but she wondered what type of work could lead to such nasty wounds. “Well then as gratitude, please allow me to stitch you up.”

Robin did not protest when after their purchases, Maria took him by the arm, led him outside to the nearest bench, and then motioned for him to sit. He watched with rapt attention as she expertly unwrapped his hand and wiped it clean with her own handkerchief and the antiseptic. “Goodness! When did you get this? It looks feverish!”

Robin scratched his head as he sheepishly laughed, “It was a few days ago. My mate tried to stitch me up, but clearly, he failed spectacularly. The stitches tore today on a new job.”

Maria tutted with a shake of her head but made no further comment as she readied the suture. Unfortunately, the silk was unruly with her gloves, and she was forced to unsheathe her hands, praying he wouldn't notice their state. Then she quickly stitched the gash across the back of his hand. She was so dexterous he hardly felt the sting of pain he was normally accustomed to.

“Incredible,” he murmured, admiring her handiwork. “That’s quite a talent you have there. I may be needing more of your services.”

“I’ll give my regards to my governess. After all, she's the one who taught me French Needlepoint,” Maria teased. Then she hurriedly reached for her gloves but froze when his hand gently encased hers. Her breathing hitched when he raised the back of her hand to his lips, his eyes gazing into hers. Her heart skipped a beat when he placed a soft kiss upon her bare and scabbed knuckles.

“Thank you,” he breathed into her skin before releasing her hold.

“Y-you’re welcome,” Maria barely managed to say. She nervously slipped her gloves back on, gathered her belongings, and stood to leave. “Have a good day Mr. Robin. And thank you for the salve.”

She hurried out of Silverydew with a fluttering heart, entirely unaware of how intensely he studied her retreat.

Maria’s mind was occupied with thoughts of Robin her entire way home. Even the melancholic piano music that could already be heard outside the manor gates could not dampen her mood, but she wasn’t quite ready to go inside just yet. Instead, she headed to the stable to brush Periwinkle. It had quickly become her favorite pastime when she needed a place to settle her mind or heart.

She searched all over the stables looking for her brush, but it was missing. “Digweed!” She called out. “Where is Periwinkle’s brush?”

“It’ll be in the carriage house, apologies miss!” Digweed shouted from the garden.

“Ahh, there you are!” Maria spotted the brush on the floor near the carriage wheel. She bent over to pick it up, then her heart dropped, the wheel also had a white streak. This development was enough to wipe her mind clear of Robin and send her into a sleepless night.

The very next day, Maria approached Jane and asked her. “Is there a pattern to the De Noir’s robberies?”

“I’m not sure honestly. At times it does seem certain people are robbed more often, but I’ve never looked into it.”

“Has the magistrate been a victim?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“What about the farmer Mr. Smith?” She listed another who had a white streak on their carriage wheel.

“Yes, all the time. The poor man has lost much on his harvests.”

“And Mr. Johnson?” Their carriages hadn’t had the white streak.

“Now that you mention it, no. He’s one of the fortunate few who hasn't been robbed.”

The next two days, Maria took her journal to work, and in her free time, cataloged all the carriages with the white streak. She concluded those that were painted, were the targets for robberies.

This perplexed Maria. If her observations were correct, the De Noirs were purposefully targeting certain people. It was not random at all. This caused Maria to feel a wave of indignation. This would mean their robberies were no longer an act of survival, but of intentional harm. How dare they!

She just knew she had to put a stop to this. That same evening, she went to the hardware shop and bought a pint of white paint and a paintbrush with all of her earnings. Then she waited.

She waited at the outskirts of the woods until the sun had set and a crescent moon was high in the sky, and then she got to work. She went around every carriage and cart she could access and discretely marked a back wheel with the paint.

She finished late into the night, exhausted, but proud of herself. She happily walked home and hid her paint in Periwinkle’s stall, before heading off to bed.

It was a few days later that she was rewarded with the fruits of her labor. Rumors were circulating about, wondering if the De Noirs were beginning to soften their ways. A few times, carriages that had been stopped were released without a single item taken. That was all the confirmation Maria needed to know that the De Noirs were not acting randomly. There was a method behind their madness. They were targeting specific people, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

“You’re in a bright mood today,” Jane remarked.

“Yes,” Maria said, scrubbing a stubborn stain on a coachman’s coat. “Yes, I believe I finally know what I am meant to do.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, but I can’t tell you just yet.”

…oOo…

Robin wasn't one to visit Silveryday without reason. Due to its close association with the Merrwweathers, he could only ever go under disguise, and it was a massive inconvenience.

But someone was thwarting his revenge. Which left him no choice. So, for the second time that week, he headed to Silverydew and straight to the hardware shop.

“Hello!” Robin called towards the back room. He didn't have to wait too long before a large burly and bearded man came out.

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I need to know who’s purchased white paint in the last week or so.”

The shopkeeper was confused but told Robin all that he knew. Which unfortunately for him, wasn’t much. A customer's name wasn’t recorded unless the item was paid for in the form of credit. As a result, all he learned was that the shop had sold 10 cans of white paint, only three of which could be identifiable.

“Thank you for your time,” Robin tossed him a coin. “I have a request though, keep note of who buys red paint.”

The only merit to visiting Silverydew was the possibility of running into the new laundry maid in town, and as luck would have it, he spotted her leaving the wash house with another maid. He frowned when he noticed that once again, she was wearing a very old dress. At one point it must have been a dark blue color, but it was now washed out to a greyish color.

The long day had loosened her bun, and from beneath her old bonnet, curls bounced freely behind her. He watched her dry her hands on her apron, then slip on some silk gloves.

Though she quickly learned the names of the townspeople, readily greeted them with a kind smile, and adapted to their customs, it was clear to anyone with a working brain that she was not a commoner.

She held herself too proudly, behaved with a gracefulness that could only be taught, and spoke with words only seen in books or in sprawling cities like London.

Even without those observations, she had admitted to having a governess and knowing French needlepoint.

Robin followed from a distance, wondering who was to blame for the misfortune that forced her to break the softness of her hands with water and lye every day.

When she finally parted from her friend, he snuck up to walk beside her and said, “Fancy seeing you here. It must be fate.”

Maria nearly jumped out of her skin, then rolled her eyes in false annoyance. “Or perhaps simply the result of living in a small village.”

“I take it you’ve lived in bigger, more crowded places?” he asked, adjusting his steps to match her pace.

“Not a large city, but yes... Bigger than Silverydew,” she said, picking her words carefully. “How is your hand?”

“It's mended quite nicely.”

“Are you here for more sutures,” Maria said as she appraised his body, bringing about a sense of shyness he wasn't accustomed to.

“Er- n-no,” he managed with an awkward cough. “Fortunately, no injuries today. My work has been slow recently.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Maria frowned, “So if it's not an injury, what brings you here?”

Robin smiled crookedly, “Business. Though, now that I have you here, there is something I’d like to ask. There are some interesting rumors floating about you...”

“Really?” Maria asked with amusement. “Pray tell, what is this information you've gathered.”

“They say you’re a runaway bride. Some say you’re a witch. Others say you’re a noble who has eloped with a lowly hunter and is living in the forest. Hiding from your royal family with your husband.”

Maria could not hold her laughter. She laughed like this was the funniest thing she’d heard since arriving at Moonacre.

“Oh dear,” she managed in between breaths. “Please tell me where my rich family is so I can beg them to take me back! I’m weary of masquerading as a commoner!”

“So, it’s not true then?” Robin asked. They had long exited Silverydew and were now walking down the gravel road towards the outskirts of the valley.

“No,” Maria wheezed. “Unfortunately for me, none of that is true.”

“And the bit about the husband–”

“--Especially the bit about the husband!” Maria cackled. “Oh, do forgive me for my uncouth behavior. I-I just can't help it. Out of all the lies!”

Robin had stopped and watched her with appreciation. “I’m relieved to hear that bit is also untrue.”

His words sent a jolt through Maria’s body, immediately ending her fit of laughter. “A-And why would that be?”

“Well, as you know. The harvest festival is in a couple of weeks. If you’re unaccounted for, I’d love to be your escort. I heard there’s a circus coming this year. What do you say?”

“A circus! Oh, I’d love to go! But I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you just yet. You see… My guardians are incredibly overbearing, so I doubt they’ll let me go. Can I let you know next time I see you?”

“I’ll keep you to your word,” he said. Then he leaned down near her shoulder and whispered, “And if they say no, I am talented in the art of sneaking about.”

Continue Reading on AO3

@theargopriestess, @maybeamagpie, @hotpotatoburn, @stabat-mater, @bedofthistles

#the secret of moonacre #robin de noir #maria merryweather #the little white horse #ali baba and the forty thieves inspired #IM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY #I wrote more than i intended and even then i still feel like its missing stuff

12 notes · View notes