Marblestone Mansion, Book 7 Read online

  “Are there farms in America?”

  “Of course, and fruit orchards, and fields of green, and lochs, and the mountains are much higher than ours. Most Colorado mountains dinna lose their snow all year round.”

  “You like it there?”

  “‘Tis not nearly as much rain,” said Alistair.

  “Not as much rain,” the provost softly repeated.

  “Will you come, then?”

  “Perhaps…and then again, perhaps not.”

  *

  In London, Lady Bayington got up early so she could call America first thing.

  Late in the American afternoon, Leesil and her sister were with Abigail in the upstairs sitting room when the call came through. “Cathleen, I am so sorry to hear about the fire. Is everyone truly safe? I have fretted so over Alistair and Sarah, but there is no way to reach them?”

  “Alistair assures us everyone got out in time,” Just talking about it made Cathleen want to cry again.

  “My dearest, news of the fire is in all the papers.”

  “Already?” Cathleen asked. “Does it say how it started?”

  “No, but they printed a picture. Brace yourselves, it is ghastly to see. I shall send a copy directly.”

  “Thank you. We get the London papers, but of course, it takes weeks.”

  In her writing room, Laura took a much needed sip of morning tea. “How are you holding up?”

  “We are so devastated we cannae think what to do. Cameron is torn. He feels he should go back and I can hardly blame him.”

  “How are the children?”

  “They are both well. Blair loves it here, although it is much hotter than in Scotland. She was fascinated with the ocean waves and found several her age to play with aboard ship. Naturally, Anna slept through it all.”

  “You must send me a post and tell me all about it when you can. Cathleen, I have other news.”

  “What?”

  “The duchess is in New York City. Lady Morison’s lady’s maid saw her in the company of Bernie Hathaway, a very wealthy New York businessman.”

  At the news, Cathleen turned to look at her sister and then at Abigail. Both had stopped sewing to listen. “Should we warn Mr. Hathaway about the duchess, do you think?”

  “Someone should, but not us this time,” said Laura. “It is not worth raising her ire again.”

  “Perhaps not. How dreadful to have her so close.”

  “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

  “I can think of nothin’ any of us can do,” said Cathleen.

  “My darling, Blair is mentioned in the newspaper article.”

  Cathleen closed her eyes. “Oh, dear. Well, we can but pray the duchess no longer knows how to read.”

  “Read, walk or talk,” Laura giggled. She paused, but Cathleen was not laughing and she did not blame her. “We talk of going to see your beautiful Colorado soon.”

  “How I would love it if you could.”

  “I best get off the line. Give all my love to everyone there.”

  “The same to you and yours. Thank you, Laura.” Cathleen calmly hung up the telephone and then turned to face the others.

  “Did I hear mention of the duchess,” Abigail could hardly wait to ask.

  Cathleen walked back to her chair and sat down. “Aye, she was seen in New York City.”

  Leesil got up, rang the bell for tea and then puffed her cheeks. “Is murder truly against the law?”

  “We must ask the judge straight away,” said Abigail. “Perhaps he can grant us clemency before we do the horrible deed.”

  Cathleen sighed. “There is an article in the London paper about the fire and Blair is mentioned.”

  “Oh, no,” said Leesil. “All we need is for the duchess to claim her daughter.”

  “Did you not adopt her?” Abigail asked Cathleen.

  “Aye, here in America.”

  Leesil picked up her sewing. “The duchess dinna want her daughter before, and she shall not want her now. She is only in want of money, which is what she demanded when she thought Lord Bayington would pay to have Blair.”

  “Yes, and look what happened when he denied her,” Cathleen pointed out. “The duchess came to their residence daily demandin’ her due. If she did that here…”

  Abigail was happy to finish the sentence, “We could shoot her for trespassing.”

  Leesil couldn’t help but giggle. “Do you know how to shoot, Abigail?”

  “Of course. When we first laid claim to our gold mines, both Claymore and I carried a gun.”

  “Have you shot anyone?”

  “Not yet, but after what the duchess did to my poor Charles, I’d like the opportunity to correct that record.” Abigail picked up her teacup, remembered it was empty and set it back down. “She is a plague – a blight on the soul of us all. There must be some way to get that woman out of our lives for good.”

  “If there is, we have not yet found it,” Leesil confessed.

  “Well, Charles hopes to attend the University of Edinburgh, and…”Abigail paused.

  “And what?” Cathleen asked.

  “Yes, and what?” Abigail muttered. “There is nothing he can do from there.”

  Leesil took another stich in her embroidery. “Has Charles divorced her yet?”

  “They were never truly married. Why should he have to?” Abigail asked.

  “Because Hannish is afraid if he passes, the Duchess might have just cause to claim his fortune,” Leesil answered.

  Abigail caught her breath. “And Charles’ inheritance?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Oh dear, Charles must see to a divorce this instant.”

  “You need not fret too awfully much,” said Leesil. “Hannish dinna believe the duchess smart enough to think of it.”

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “Oh, I would put nothing past that woman. If only I could get my hands on her, I would…”

  “We can get our hands on her now that we know the name of the wealthy lad she is with,” Cathleen put in, “but then what do we do?”

  Abigail bit her lower lip. “Something, surely. Do you know, I still have those smelly clothes of hers?”

  “You dinna burn them?” Leesil asked.

  “Not yet, and perhaps it is a good thing I neglected to. Suppose I take them to her?”

  Cathleen giggled. “Filled with itchin’ powder?”

  Abigail laughed right along with the sisters, and then abruptly frowned. “Claymore would never allow me to go off to New York alone, and he certainly would not let me seek her out if he is there. I suppose the duchess is best left to her own demise.”

  “Do not count on it,” said Leesil. “She has not done herself in thus far, and that kind seems always to have immeasurable luck.”

  *

  The next week was filled with phone calls to and from Scotland, but it was not until the week after that the family became fully aware of what was happening. Alistair and Sarah were still residing as guests of Provost MacGreagor, but they were eager to head for America. Instead of a convenient handset telephone, the one on Provost MacGreagor’s wall was a wooden box with a short cord to the earpiece, making it necessary for Alistair to stand up when he talked.

  “I managed to recover a few thin’s from the castle…silver trays and such that are not too badly damaged,” Alistair reported. “Your Grace, the villagers want permission to put them on display.”

  “On display?” Cameron asked. He had just finished eating breakfast with the family, and went to the parlor telephone to take the call. “Are they not comin’ to America?”

  “They cannae fully decide,” Alistair answered. “One moment, they are ready to pack up and the next, they think not. Provost MacGreagor insists on bringin’ his cannon and his cow.”

  Incredulous, Cameron sat down. “His cow?”

  “Aye. Your Grace, the article in the newspapers brings adventurers to see the ruins.”

  “Trespassers, you mean.”

 
“Forgive my impertinence, but ‘tis just what the village needs. Provost MacGreagor thinks to sell food and drinks, and charge admission.”

  “What? Do you mean the glen is to become little more than a circus ground?”

  “There is hardly any way to prevent it from bein’ overrun anyway. They are comin’ by the carriage full, and we cannae stop them – unless we build high fences and you hire the lads necessary to guard it.”

  Cameron thoughtfully rubbed his brow for a moment.

  “Your Grace,” Alistair continued, “the trespassers, as you call them, are buyin’ from all the shops. ‘Tis…”

  “‘Tis precisely what the village needs to survive?” Cameron asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Can the graveyard be protected at least?”

  “The lads can build a fence around it, and prevent them from enterin’ what remains of the castle. Provost MacGreagor thinks they can make enough to pay the guards. ‘Tis much needed employment for the village, Your Grace.”

  “That is true. Alistair, tell them how much I…we, regret not bein’ there.”

  “I shall. Do you think to rebuild?”

  “We have talked about it.”

  “Then why not let the villagers make a profit until you do?” Alistair asked. Tired of standing in one position, he shifted his weight to the other foot.

  “You fancy this idea?”

  “I do. Your Grace, if you could see how forlorn they were before the visitors came, you would fancy it too.”

  “Where are Moan and his family?”

  “Mr. Moan suspects young Mr. Wade set the fire, and he is beside himself with grief. He has taken his family to live with a sister in London.”

  “I see. Did Wade set the fire?”

  “I dinna ask. There was no point.”

  “You are right, what is done is done.” Cameron paused to think for a minute more. “Tell Provost MacGreagor to go ahead with his plans. I doubt the visitors shall come for very long, and then perhaps the clan will decide to come to America. Did you tell them we have houses for them to live in?”

  “I have told them repeatedly.”

  “Is Sarah well?”

  “Aye, and excited to be goin’ home in the mornin’. I dinna know how much she missed it.”

  “The tickets are waitin’ for you at the ship dock. Have you enough funds?”

  “Banker MacGreagor has given us all we could possibly need.”

  “Call when you get to New York.”

  “I shall, Your Grace.” With that, Alistair hung up the telephone.

  *

  It did not take long for word of the castle fire to spread throughout Colorado Springs, with Abigail’s help. At least, she stopped talking about Slippery Jack Walker at every turn. Local newspaper reporters, from as far away as Denver, asked for interviews, but the duke declined – it was too painful.

  The MacGreagors in Scotland still had not decided if they were coming, and a telephone call from Provost MacGreagor that morning caused Hannish and Cameron to come to work later than usual. In the construction office, Claymore bemoaned not having a reason to put ‘sold’ signs on all the houses yet, just for the sake of irking the union picketers. He was hopeful when the brothers finally arrived, but the answer was still no answer at all.

  “They are afraid of gettin’ lost,” Hannish said.

  “Perhaps we might sweeten the pot,” Claymore suggested.

  “How so?” Cameron asked.

  “Well, I could meet their ship, see they do not get lost, and escort them the rest of the way.”

  “That might truly tempt them,” Hannish agreed. “‘Tis not easy bein’ a stranger in a strange land. Some have never seen London, and New York City can be quite imposin’.”

  “I’d not be doing all the work naturally. The two of you would have to keep Abigail from delivering her baskets to Colorado City.”

  “She is makin’ baskets?” Hannish asked. He took a seat in Claymore’s office and picked up the latest London paper.

  Claymore lifted a pile of invoices off his desk. “Of course she is. How she thinks to keep me from finding out, is a mystery to us all. She is gone all day and comes home exhausted. Oh, I truly care not, so long as she keeps herself out of harm’s way, but if I am gone, she might think an excursion or two without my knowing, a fine prospect. She is too kind hearted, that wife of mine.”

  “Are Leesil and Cathleen contributin’?” Hannish asked. He studied the way his brother refused to look him in the eye. “Apparently so; I suspected as much.”

  Cameron finally nodded. “‘Tis money mostly, as they cannae leave the babies for long, and I forbid them to take the children to town constantly. They write short notes of encouragement to be put in the baskets.”

  “I see,” said Hannish. “I suppose I dinna object to that.”

  “What say you, then?” Claymore asked. “Shall you make the offer and see if that convinces the Scots to come?”

  “I see no reason not to,” Cameron answered.

  With that settled, Claymore opened his newspaper, only to abruptly put it back down. “Have you heard what happened at the El Paso mine?”

  “Mr. Lester mentioned somethin’ about it to the servants this mornin’,” Hannish answered. “What have you heard?”

  “The owners had the strikebreakers build a fence around the property to protect them from the union workers,” Claymore explained. “That finished, they reopened the mine just yesterday. Last night, the home of one of the union bosses burned down while the guards cheered. It is shameful, I tell you, grown men cheering the destruction of a man’s home. I cannot think what the world is coming to.”

  “I see Mrs. Dane brought tea already,” Hannish mentioned. He got up to pour himself a cup. “How is she?”

  “She is most upset, and I do not blame her. She is as tired of this strike, as are we all. The fighting increases in Colorado City and some of the injuries are severe. The strikebreakers come, the union captures them, and off they go on a train until they are out of the county. More men in desperate need of employment come, and it begins again. It is madness.”

  “Is it true the sheriff took only a hand full of deputies to help?” Hannish asked.

  “So they say,” Claymore answered. “He assigned but one or two to each mine, thinking to contain thousands of strikers and strike breakers. Therefore, the union accuses the sheriff of taking the side of the owners. Yet, how many of us are willing to be deputized? Not I, that is for certain.”

  “Nor I,” Cameron agreed.

  Claymore’s voice was starting to rise enough to match his growing aggravation. “Rumor has it the governor is sending the National Guard on behalf of the owners. If he does, our own troops shall be ordered to fight fellow Americans on our own soil. Confounded unions. What I would give to get my hands on a few of them.” He stood up, went to the rack and grabbed his hat and jacket.

  “Where are you goin’?” Hannish asked.

  “To the drugstore to get a soda. A man needs a soda now and then to calm his nerves.” With that, he walked out and let the office door slam.

  *

  It was not like any whirlwind romance the duchess had ever encountered.

  Instead of fine dining and exquisite entertainment, Bernie took her to small, out-of-the-way restaurants, where simpleton waitresses served instead of tall, well-mannered men in immaculate uniforms. She found it completely distressing, but she bore it as bravely as she could. As well, she noticed he never called or asked to see her on Wednesdays or Saturdays. When they did meet, he offered no explanation and she dismissed it. She supposed he had a mistress somewhere, which suited her fine, since she had not taken a shine to the man at all. A mistress was just the thing for a wife with no intention of staying in the marriage bed for long.

  He took her to a circus where the animals smelled almost as bad as the common people she found herself sitting next to. The museum of art was enjoyable, and he seemed to know a great deal about the artists, alt
hough they perused the place so early in the day, there were hardly any other admirers there.

  Bernie was excited to take her to Coney Island, where she ate her first hotdog. She was not charmed. Furthermore, the place was hot, crowded, and the people were discourteous. Twice, someone stepped on her toes.

  He took her to neither a ball nor a Broadway show, which foiled her plan to rid herself of him, in favor of one of his wealthy friends. If he had wealthy friends, he was not about to introduce her to them.

  Perhaps she was getting too old after all.

  His attitude toward her was also perplexing. Not once, save when it was necessary, did he hold her hand. Nor did it appear he desired to kiss her. He was attentive enough, watching everything she did, but at the same time, he was not the least bit bashful about admiring other women. At any rate, she was being fed well, which eased her financial situation somewhat. She was about to give up when he brought her a lovely bouquet of flowers from the market in Union Square.

  Things were looking up, she hoped.

  Yet, their next outing proved to be the most boring of all. He took her to watch the construction of a suspension bridge. Amazingly, there were other people who came to stroll along the riverbank, sit on the grass or rest themselves on a short stonewall – just to watch something that promised little noticeable change. Never had she seen so many simpleminded people. On the other hand, there were some who were fashionably dressed, and even a few men who displayed gold watch chains from vest pockets. Those few strolled with women who shaded themselves with colorful parasols, and sickeningly smiled at their companions a great deal. Of course, they had something worth smiling about.

  By the time Bernie suggested they go somewhere for dinner, she was completely disenchanted, and she could see no improvement in the bridge at all. Yet, there was a chance Bernie would propose soon, even if all the indications were not there. If anyone knew the signs, the duchess did. Even that bored her, for all marriage proposals were the same. The place, the ring and the manner of the proposal varied slightly, but on every occasion, they fervently declared they could not live without her. It was the same, always the same, and she had forgotten most proposals, save for the way Jedidiah Tanner swept her off her feet.