Marblestone Mansion, Book 7 Read online

  For once, Elaine had nothing to say. As most did, she stared at the painting of the castle that hung on the parlor wall. She had never seen Scotland, but she had heard plenty about it and their way of life. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected the painting of Glenartair Castle did it justice. It depicted a round rose garden planter in the front, much like the one at Marblestone Mansion. As well, the castle had three-stories, enormous wooden double doors, and a tower on each corner with a cone shaped roof. The painting even included part of the vine-covered carriage house. Elaine hardly noticed when Cook Jessie came to sit in a chair beside her.

  “That room,” Jessie said pointing to one end of the castle, “is the Great Hall where the MacGreagor lairds ate, drank, planned their wars, and carried out the business of their day. Thousands of MacGreagors lived and died in that glen over the centuries, and it breaks my heart to think of it ablaze.”

  “Tis not the first time it burned,” Dugan added. He was glad for the distraction.

  “True,” Jessie admitted, “but ‘tis the first in our lifetime.”

  “It looks very much like Marblestone,” said Elaine. “I had not realized that before.”

  “Aye, it is.” Ronan agreed. “‘Tis our home away from home.”

  “Do you miss Scotland?” Elaine asked.

  “Everyone misses home,” Ronan answered.

  “I do not miss mine in the least,” said Elaine. She did not elaborate and no one asked about it. Instead, they all went back to silently waiting for the telephone to ring again. It didn’t, and another hour passed.

  Still, the food prepared to welcome McKenna back remained un-eaten, the servant’s meal sat cold in their dining room, and the dishes went unwashed. Cathleen couldn’t seem to stop the tears from flowing, and no one was able to comfort her. Hannish paced the floor, while Cameron tried to concentrate on an old newspaper, but he ended up folding it and laying it aside.

  Suddenly, the doorbell rang and nearly everyone jumped. Prescot hurried off to answer it and was not surprised to find the Whitfields had arrived.

  “We simply could not stay away another minute,” Abigail announced, rushing through the foyer. As soon as McKenna stood up, Abigail rushed into her arms.

  “She means,” Claymore corrected, removing his hat and handing it to Prescot, “my dearest wife was listening when the call came through, and would still be there listening, if I had not suggested we come instead.”

  “Oh, never mind that,” said Abigail. “Did the Provost call back while we were in route?”

  “Not yet,” Cameron answered. He waited until she pulled off her gloves and sat down, before he returned to his seat.

  “What the devil is a Provost anyway?” Abigail asked.

  McKenna needed a reason to smile, and Abigail always managed to accomplish just that. “He is Glenartair’s mayor.”

  “Oh, of course…a town mayor. By the way, welcome home, McKenna, although these are the worst of circumstances to come home to. I do offer my sincerest condolences. Is there no one else in Scotland we can call?”

  Cameron puffed his cheeks. “There are several, but I’d not like tyin’ up the line.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said Abigail. “Yet, the waiting is such misery.”

  “Perhaps some tea?” Leesil suggested.

  “Perhaps somethin’ stronger?” Hannish asked. When he nodded, Brookton hurried off to get two more glasses and another bottle of rum.

  Cathleen finally pulled herself together enough to say, “Come sit by me, Abigail.”

  Abigail looked at her red eyes and frowned, “Only if you promise to stop crying. It is not good for your baby’s milk, my dear.”

  “I promise,” said Cathleen, and she really did try to pull herself together.

  The fourth hour after they got the call seemed even more endless, and all of them feared the worst. Cathleen complained of a headache, and baby Kate wanted to be fed, so Leesil went upstairs, and then came back down when the baby was asleep again. Dugan went to the nursery occasionally to report the lack of news to Beverly and to see that all the children were sleeping peacefully.

  Still, the telephone did not ring.

  From time to time, each of them stood up, wandered around the room, and then sat back down. Even Abigail ran out of things to say.

  “It must be bad news,” said Elaine finally.

  “Elaine, please,” Cook Halen scolded.

  “Well, everyone is thinking it.”

  “The castle,” Dugan explained, “is quite a piece from the village, and the lads shall make certain the forest is not on fire before they leave.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Elaine. “Thank you for explaining it.”

  “I hadn’t thought about the forest,” Millie muttered.

  “Is it like ours?” Elaine asked.

  “The forests in Scotland, the few that are left, are thick with trees and bushes. Colorado has many trees, but they dinna grow as close together.” Hannish explained. “It rains far more in Scotland. We always feared the reverse – that lightnin’ would set the forest on fire and spread to the castle.” He got up, went to the phone and picked it up, just to make certain it was working. It was, so he put it back in the handset and returned to his seat.

  By the time the telephone finally rang, all the American servants had gone to clean up for the night, leaving the Scots in the parlor to wait with the family.

  It was nearly six in the Scottish morning when the call came through and Cameron instantly grabbed the telephone. “Hello…Alistair? Thank God. Did everyone make it out?” His eyes went to those of his wife’s when he nodded.

  Nearly everyone closed their eyes and released their tension with a sigh. Cathleen could hold back her tears no longer, and Leesil couldn’t help but cry as well. At least this time they were tears of joy. They were both so overjoyed, they barely heard Cameron’s end of the conversation.

  “They are all safe,” Cameron confirmed after he hung up. “Moan scorched his arm getting Young Mr. Wade out, but it is not badly burned. Provost MacGreagor covered his arm with butter, and wrapped it with cloth.”

  Dugan couldn’t wait around to hear the rest, got up and ran up the stairs to tell Beverly.

  “Does Alistair know what happened?” Cook Jessie asked.

  “Alistair dinna know for sure. The dogs smelled the smoke, barked and woke them all up. They got out with nothin’ more than their bed clothes, but they are all safe.”

  “Poor Sarah,” Cook Halen said, “she must have been terrified.”

  “No doubt they all were,” Hannish agreed. “The castle?” he asked his brother.

  “Gone, Alistair suspects. He means to go back later and have a look see.” Cameron paused to let the words register in his mind. “‘Twas all they could do to get out. By the time the fire wagon came, even the bridge over the river was on fire.”

  “Even the bridge?” McKenna whispered. “I love that bridge.” When her husband put his arm around her, she snuggled closer. It was all she could do to keep the tears out of her eyes too.

  “Where are they now?” Hannish asked.

  Cameron answered, “Alistair and Sarah are at the church. The Provost gave Alistair a kilt to wear over his nightshirt and Sarah is wrapped in a blanket. He is worried about her, naturally, and they hope to get a little sleep, if they can. Sarah wants to come home.”

  “I dinna blame her,” said Leesil.

  Hannish put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I shall make the arrangements first thing in the mornin’.”

  “Thank…” Cameron’s voice cracked, so he cleared his throat. “Thank you. We are so far away, I cannae think what more we can do for them.”

  “I for one am as hungry as a bear,” Cook Jessie said, at last easing the mood. Brookton took her hand and pretended it was very hard work to pull her out of her chair. She smacked his arm, and followed all the Scottish servants to the kitchen.

  Cameron bowed his head and lightly bit his bottom lip. “I dinna bring U
ncle’s maps. I thought…”

  “You could not have known they would burn,” Hannish comforted.

  “I know, but all the ancient maps and the old books he collected over the years are gone now. Brother, we no longer have a home in Scotland.”

  “We still have the cottage we were born in,” said McKenna, “and the land.”

  “Aye, we have that still,” Cameron agreed. “I caught young Mr. Wade lightin’ matches and had them put out of reach, but he might have found them.”

  McKenna took a deep breath and let the judge help her up. “How does such a good lad have such a wretched child?”

  “I know not,” Hannish answered. “I suppose we could let Moan and his family live in the cottage for now.”

  “Have you gone daft?” Cameron asked.

  Hannish half smiled, “Apparently so. I dinna say a word about the cottage to Moan, did you?”

  “I did not,” Cameron answered. “I’ve a better idea. Let Charles live in it while he attends the university.”

  “Splendid idea,” said Claymore. “Is it far from the university?”

  “Not far at all,” Hannish answered. “And we yet have a lad and a lass there caring for the place. They shall be happy to have someone to look after.”

  “In that case, I shall gladly pay their wages,” said Claymore. “I never thought Charles would amount to much, but it appears I was wrong, and happily so. We must go see him soon.”

  McKenna walked to a book that lay on a table and picked it up. “I might have mentioned the cottage, but I cannae remember if I said where it was. We cannae simply tell them to go away, Hannish. They are members of the clan still.” She flipped through a couple of pages, realized she did not know what she was doing, closed the book and set it down.

  “Can you not rebuild?” Claymore asked.

  “From thousands of miles away?” Cameron asked. “One of us would have to go back and Cathleen loves it here. ‘Twould break her heart to be separated from Leesil again.”

  “Aye, ‘tis the same reason I cannae go,” said Hannish. “Besides, I built this home and this is where I mean to stay.”

  “We have all chosen to stay in Colorado,” McKenna said, turning to face them. “My place is with my husband and since we cannae go back to Scotland, I say we bring Scotland to us?”

  Hannish wrinkled his brow. “What do you propose?”

  McKenna shrugged. “Without us, the clan has little revenue and few prospects for the future.”

  “Bring all of them to America?” Hannish incredulously asked. “The entire village?”

  Cameron thoughtfully wrinkled his brow. “I would pay half their expenses, gladly.”

  “Money is the least of it,” Hannish said. “Will they come?”

  “They will come,” Cathleen answered, wiping the last of her tears away and finally going into the arms of her husband. “They ask questions constantly and the truth be told, the clan is lost without us…without you, in particular, Hannish. They miss their laird and speak of you often.”

  Leesil studied her husband’s face. “Could we…I mean is it possible to bring an entire village to America?”

  “I suppose it is. We might need an entire ship and…”

  “And an entire train,” Claymore interrupted, “but it can be done.”

  Abigail had been oddly quiet the whole time. “We must make them all a basket.”

  Claymore rolled his eyes, and then ignored her comment. “As I recall, we have houses for them to live in.”

  Hannish’s eyes lit up. “Indeed we do, fifteen to be precise.”

  “I cannot think of a thing I would like better, than to tell the union picketers all our houses are sold.” Claymore offered his hand to his wife. “Come, my dear, it is past our bedtime.”

  Abigail took his hand, stood up and then turned to Cameron. “May I tell it…about the fire, I mean.”

  “I do not object,” Cameron answered. “Everyone will know eventually anyway.”

  “Thank you.” She started to go and then thought of something. “I do not believe I have ever asked permission before.” Abigail took Claymore’s arm, waited for Prescot to open the foyer door and then went out to their waiting carriage.

  At last, only the family remained in the parlor. “We should all get some sleep,” said Cathleen. Baby Kate began to cry, so when Leesil started up the stairs, Cathleen went with her.

  “We thought to bring the dogs with us,” said Cathleen, “but Cameron said the journey would be too much for them.”

  “Are they not the dogs the black stallion led you to?”

  “Aye. They were such good company after you left, and I miss them so. ‘Tis good we left them, is it not?”

  “Very good indeed, lest we be mournin’ considerably more than a lost castle.”

  “We should go home too,” said the judge. He excused himself and then went to the nursery to collect his sleeping son.

  “Call if there is anythin’ I can do,” McKenna said. She hugged both her brothers and then left with her husband.

  It was not something Gretchen normally would do, but before she went to her room on the third floor, she briefly returned to the parlor. “Mr. Hannish?”

  “Aye, what is it Gretchen?”

  “Well, I haven’t enough to do lately and I thought since…well, Alistair and Sarah shall need new clothing and things for their baby.”

  Hannish smiled. “How good you are to think of it. Of course, put all that you need on my account at the store.”

  “Thank you, I shall.”

  “Gretchen, are you unhappy here?”

  “No, Mr. Hannish. I love it here.”

  “I am pleased to hear it.” He watched her go and then turned to his brother. “She still seems troubled, but I can do nothin’ if she will not tell me how to help.”

  “In that case, we must keep her busy. ‘Tis the MacGreagor way.”

  “Indeed it is,” Hannish agreed as they climbed the stairs together. “What do you mean to do with your title?”

  “Give it to the next in line, I suppose.”

  “Justin?”

  “If he wants it, and wants to live in Scotland when he is old enough.”

  “We best not mention that to our wives.”

  “I agree,” said Cameron. He turned down the hall going in one direction while Hannish turned the other way.

  CHAPTER 6

  The small, ancient village of Glenartair, Scotland, had stone buildings with thatched roofs, and small shops that lined both sides of the main cobblestone street. It was mostly a farming community, yet, dependent to be sure on the needs of the family that lived in the castle. The Duke had taken his family to America, but management of the place was put into the hands of a cousin, Moan MacGreagor, his wife and six children. The new family gave the villagers plenty of opportunities to make a profit selling goods and services.

  All that changed when the castle burned.

  Scarcely a day went by before news of the fire spread, and reporters arrived to take pictures and hear all the details. Since the survivors were exhausted and not eager to recount the story, Provost Finnean MacGreagor became the spokesman. He praised the brave lads who put the fire out, thanked God that no one died, and gave off an attitude of hopefulness for the future.

  Privately, he believed just the opposite. “We are ruined,” he moaned. At his farm on the outskirts of the village, he sat at a small kitchen table in his cottage with a mug of beer in his hand. He took a long drink, set it down, wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, and then folded both arms.

  Seated across from him, a barefoot Alistair still wore Provost MacGreagor’s kilt over his white night shirt. He had dark circles under his eyes, smudges of soot on his arms and had yet to get some sleep. “Dinna upset yourself, Finnean,” Alistair tried. That morning, the villagers began to gather clothing, gave them breakfast, and found all of the survivors a place to stay for the time being. It was the provost who took Alistair and Sarah in, and just
now, Sarah was sound asleep in the next room.

  “I knew it; I knew the moment Laird MacGreagor set foot in America ‘twas the end of us. Now the duke is gone, the castle is burned and we are all ruined.”

  “Laird MacGreagor had no choice but to go to America,” Alistair reminded him. “His uncle left no funds.”

  “Aye, but he should have come back once he made his fortune.” The provost took another hardy drink of his beer and set the mug down hard on the table. “I’ve a good mind to fire me cannon. I’ll not let the Americans beat us again.”

  “‘Twas the Americans who beat the British. Since when do you side with the British?”

  The Provost wrinkled his brow. “Did they? ‘Tis the first I’ve heard of that.”

  Alistair smiled. “Started takin’ a nip or two at an early age, did you? It was in all the schoolbooks, though ‘tis not the same version the Americans tell.”

  “I suppose not,” the provost said. “Well, enough of schoolin’, when is this gatherin’ to take place?”

  “Tomorrow morn in the town square. The last time I talked to Laird MacGreagor, which was but an hour ago, he waits to see how many wish to go to America. What say you? Are you of a mind to go?”

  “Can I take me cannon?”

  “Your cannon?” Alistair asked.

  “And me cow?”

  “Which cow? Do you not have two?”

  “I do, but I dinna prefer one. She be as mean as a mule, that one.”

  “I shall ask Laird MacGreagor if ‘tis possible, though I do not care to be on a ship for a week, and then on a train for another, with a cow.”

  “Do they have cows in America?” the Provost asked.

  “Aplenty, but most be a different breed. They dinna have long hair.”

  Provost MacGreagor deeply wrinkled his brow again. “No long hair? Never have I heard of such a thing.”

  “Hardly any hair at all. They have short horns too. Some cows are red, some are spotted and some are brown, but I have yet to see one with a mane full of long hair like a Scottish cow.”