Marblestone Mansion, Book 5 Read online

  “Margaret sews quite nicely,” said the shopkeeper.

  “Can she make things for a baby?” Cathleen asked. “I would much rather have a MacGreagor make them than a stranger.”

  “Of course, she can,” the shopkeeper said. When asked to do so, he too got out paper and pencil, marked down the number of hats Leesil wished him to ship to Colorado. Before they left, the shopkeeper promised to bring Margaret to tea at the castle the following month. The baby would need absolutely everything.

  The sisters made a generous contribution to the church, told the butcher that the duke and duchess were planning a few gatherings at the castle, and asked him to send serving suggestions. They stopped at the booths, tasted Scottish dishes they had never seen before, and by the time they left town that evening, there wasn’t a single shopkeeper that wasn’t grinning ear to ear. Not one of them noticed a word out of place or one bit of shyness on the part of the duchess.

  *

  Her bedchamber was not in one of the Irish Castle’s towers as Catherin Kincaid, better known as the duchess, feared it would be, but it might as well have been. The yellow and orange, stained-glass windows opened only enough to let in a cool breeze when it got too warm in the afternoon. She had not considered jumping out of the fourth floor window anyway, even if she could get it open wide enough. It looked far too painful.

  She was indeed locked in, for she heard the latchkey turn after each time the maid left, and she was given nothing to wear but dreary nightshirts, even in the daytime. Worse than that, she was kept in solitude, and could but waste away the lonely hours day after day, waiting to see what would happen. As well, there was an utter lack of information concerning the outside world, particularly news of the three London balls she had so unhappily missed. Was her kidnapping reported to the constable? Had anyone even noticed she was gone, and if so, were they clamoring to find out what became of her? Was anyone… anyone at all trying to find her? What an odd twist of fate, for many were the days she wished not to be found, and specifically not by a constable. Now, she would give her right arm to see any man of authority. Why did nothing ever go her way?

  “How long am I to be held captive?”

  The duchess hoped, but didn’t really expect the chambermaid to answer her question. The sour looking older woman, wearing a brown uniform, white apron, and white lace cap, hadn’t answered any of her other questions. “I require a bath and something to wear other than this dreary…”

  The duchess was amazed when the maid opened a closet door. The inside was full of gowns and they weren’t there the night before – she looked.

  “Tell my husband I wish to see him.” Still there was no reply from the maid, but at least the irritating woman was kind enough to nod. The chagrinned duchess waited until the door was closed, listened as the key turned the lock, and then rushed into the closet.

  “There is a hidden door here, somewhere,” she guessed as she shoved clothes this way and that. “How else could he do this without waking me?”

  Alas, she could find no door, or even a small compartment access opening to a hand-pulley dumbwaiter. Discouraged, she grabbed something to wear, changed her mind, dropped it on the floor and grabbed another, more suitable, red velvet gown. She fully intended to be at her best, should her husband care to make an appearance. That settled, she looked just in case there was a string of pearls or two, but the jewelry box was empty. Even the jewels she wore when she was captured were gone.

  Apparently, Liam did not trust her.

  Her husband had made several improvements in the place since last she was there several years ago, including water closet toilets complete with British Perforated Paper Company squares, and a claw foot tub with hot and cold running water. It was a luxury only the wealthy could afford. Of course, clothes closets and bedchambers were made smaller to accommodate the new inventions. It was a vast improvement over outhouses, although the duchess found that to be inconvenient. Several trips a day to the outhouse was how she stashed the valuables she took with her, and going to the outhouse allowed her to escape. Now, escaping was virtually impossible.

  The duchess ran the water, took off her clothes and stepped into the porcelain claw foot tub. Unfortunately, even after she finished bathing, the inefficient maid did not return to help with her hair. The duchess was forced to towel dry it, and brush the tangles out herself. At last, she put on the gown, found shoes that matched it well enough, and then went to the sitting room to wait.

  Her two room suite was comfortable enough, there were books to read if she took the trouble, and hot tea in a pot apparently left for her while she bathed. Even so, she had no interest in Silas Marner, The House of Seven Gables or anything else written by Hawthorne, although The Scarlet Letter sounded a bit enticing. What she wanted was a London newspaper!

  “Where is he?” she moaned. She stood up, walked to the window and stared at a full moon, surrounded by a million glittering stars. It did nothing to improve her increasingly foul temper. When she heard the door open, she instantly turned around.

  Dressed in his finest trousers, a high collar white shirt and a black, silk evening jacket, Liam had not changed much, unless one considered the worry lines now deep across his forehead and between his eyebrows. Not as handsome as some of her husbands, he was pleasant enough looking with light brown hair and blue eyes. He entered the room and as if there was nothing at all wrong in the world, and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  The duchess was not about to miss the prospect of being let out, so she smiled her sweetest smile, casually walked to him and took the arm he offered. “Where are you taking me?”

  “You chose very well. Red becomes you.”

  It wasn’t an answer, but at least someone was speaking to her. “Am I to be beheaded?”

  He chuckled. “Not yet. I shall feed you first.”

  “Thank you, I fear I shall waste away if you do not, and quickly.”

  He opened the door and let her pass through. “You are a bit thinner than you were when…” Liam dropped that subject. “I hope roast beef shall please you.”

  The duchess had not eaten roast beef, and in fact, intentionally stayed away from it for the past few months. It reminded her of the magnificent first meal she shared with her beloved Jedediah, the train robber. For a moment, she wondered if Liam knew that, but how could he? The hotel in Denver was at least ten thousand miles away from Ireland.

  “Roast beef sounds divine,” she lied.

  The castle’s dining room had also seen some improvements. Now electric, the chandelier’s necessary wiring showed down the middle of the ceiling. A new, imported, carved oak table, with high-back chairs evenly spaced around it, was long enough to accommodate twelve. Along one wall stood an enormous china cabinet, and a long black marble sideboard.

  Liam’s table was set for four, one on opposite sides of the table and one on each end. It was set with crystal glasses, gold plated dinnerware and delicate pink roses decorated the Limoges Fine China. It was the best of everything and should have been more than a woman could possibly desire.

  It just wasn’t London.

  Liam walked her to one end of the table, where a footman waited to seat her, and continued on to the other end. That too had changed, for in the past he liked having her closer. Noticing the other two place setting, the duchess asked, “Are we expecting guests?”

  “Possibly,” he answered.

  “Might I ask who?”

  Liam said something to the footman in Irish Gaelic, which she didn’t catch, and failed to answer her question. Instead, he tasted the wine his footman poured into his glass, decided it was acceptable and nodded his consent to fill his wife’s glass as well. “In case you fear ‘tis poison,” he said. His grin was wide and a bit sinister as he raised his glass to her.

  That he was going to kill her was never in doubt, but the duchess had not thought of poison. At length, she said, “Thank you.” As soon as her glass was full, she raised it to complete his salute, a
nd then found she couldn’t drink it fast enough; anything to settle her nerves. As soon as she finished that glassful, the footman poured her another, and then took the bottle out of the room. “So much for getting drunk,” she muttered.

  “What?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Nothing, nothing at all.” The footman returned carrying a silver tray with several dishes on top and set it down on the sideboard.

  “May I assume you enjoyed your time away?” Liam asked.

  She considered her answer carefully. Admitting the truth was completely out of the question, but what possible answer would keep from raising his temper? “Occasionally,” she finally managed to say.

  “Which occasions, precisely?”

  She was trapped and she knew it. “Liam, must we discuss the past?”

  “Indeed we must.”

  At a time like this, she sorely regretted no longer having the pistol she kept strapped to her leg. Unfortunately, the last time she saw it was in a courtroom during her trial for shooting a train conductor. She pushed a loose strand of hair off her forehead and puffed her cheeks. “Can you not just shoot me and get it over with?” Instantly, she was sorry she suggested it and the cunning look in his eye was no comfort at all.

  “I have considered it.” He admitted.

  “I am certain you have.” She was relieved when the footman set a bowl of soup in front of her and lifted the lid. He waited for her approval, but she was not about to give it. “Is he not supposed to taste it first?” she asked. “Poison, you know.”

  The footman looked at his employer and when Liam nodded, he replaced the lid, carried it to Liam, lifted the lid and waited until it was tasted. Then he returned and served the duchess a second time.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say, waving him away. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”

  “Come now, dearest, enjoy your last meal,” said Liam.

  She tried, but it had been so long, she wasn’t sure she remembered if Liam had a propensity for humor. She was hungry, and maybe it would prolong her impending death for an hour, so she dipped her spoon in the soup, brought it to her mouth and found the taste delightful.

  “What did you do with the goblet you took from me?” he asked, setting his bowl aside after finishing his soup.

  “I shall show you, if you like.”

  “It is still in Ireland?”

  “It is, and not very far away. It was…” She paused and thought better of telling him the truth.

  “You took too much to carry?”

  “If you know that, you must know where it is.”

  “Afraid I might throw you off that cliff?” he sneered.

  She shifted her eyes from side to side. Here was yet another way in which she might die and she did not find it amusing. “Liam, stop taunting me.”

  His voice began to rise. “Demands? You run off without a word, steal all you can carry and you dare make demands?”

  “You burned me, what did you expect?”

  “I dinna burn you intentionally, and you know it!” he shot back, rising halfway out of his chair.

  “I do not know it!” She pushed her sleeve up and showed him the scar on her arm.

  Slowly, he sat back down. “I have regretted that most of all, but I assure you, ‘twas an accident.”

  The duchess ignored him, and when the footman placed a plate of roast beef and peas in front of her, she let down her sleeve, cut off a bite of beef with her knife and shoved it in her mouth. She tried not to notice, but the beef practically melted in her mouth and she found it very tasty. For a last meal, she could not have asked for better. She had no excuse, did not care to explain further, and there was nothing left to do but ignore her husband. So that’s what the duchess did for the rest of the evening, no matter what he tried to talk about. She might have been willing to talk, but no other dinner guests arrived worth talking to, and after the meal, he took her back to her room and locked her in.

  Apparently, she was going to live long enough to see another day.

  *

  No one was more surprised than Egan when Ann Landon arrived the next day and asked to see him. He had no appropriate place to entertain her inside, so when he suggested a walk in the glen, she agreed.

  “What a beautiful place,” Ann said, admiring the calm and peaceful greenery. When an eagle soared through the air, she held on to her hat and leaned her head back to watch until it landed in a far off tree.

  “Why did you not just tell us who you were that night on the train?” he asked.

  “I shall give back the money, if that is what upsets you?”

  “‘Tis not the money, ‘tis your dishonesty.”

  “Would you have played poker with me if you knew who my father was?”

  “I would have watched you far more closely.”

  “I know, and truth be told, I am not sorry you didn’t know. I cannot remember a time when I have had that much fun. Leesil is such a pleasure.”

  He leaned down, picked up a twig and tossed it to the side of the grass. “‘Twas fun, I admit.”

  “There, you see. I have truly done no harm.” Her smile was radiant and the sunlight put a sparkle in her eyes.

  “Was the story you told about leaving a lad at the altar a lie as well?”

  “Partially; I did steal a horse.”

  “Why am I not surprised to hear that? Did you leave a lad at the altar?”

  “More like a tavern table, but I was being chased.” The look of doubt on his face made her laugh. “Do you forgive me?”

  “Is that why you came – to ask my forgiveness?”

  “Aye and to tell you there is trouble afoot.”

  Egan abruptly stopped walking and turned to her. “What sort of trouble?”

  “There is a private detective asking questions about Mr. Hannish’s first wife. He did have a wife before Leesil, did he not?”

  Egan closed his eyes in dread. “Aye, who hired the detective?”

  “My father did not say, but this particular detective is very good at finding people, even ones who do not wish to be found. Olivia MacGreagor is the talk of the town, and you know how they love their gossip. I fear this shall not easily pass.”

  “But why? Why is she the talk of the town?”

  “You have not heard?”

  “Nay, heard what?”

  “She has vanished.”

  “I doubt that. I am quite certain she is precisely where she wants to be.”

  “You know her?”

  “Unfortunately. She lived here for a time.”

  “Well, she may be where she wants to be, but it does not satisfy the curiosity of the upper class. Someone very high up is determined to know how your Mr. Hannish managed to marry Leesil without divorcing his first wife.”

  Egan hung his head and tried to understand what it all meant. Without proof of a divorce… Suddenly, Ann’s lips were on his. He might have kissed her back, had it been his idea, but he was so shocked by her audacity, he quickly pulled her arms from around his neck, and moved back. “Do you kiss all the lads you deliver bad news to?”

  “Only the ones I favor. I have upset you, I see.”

  “I am not accustomed to…”

  “Then consider it a thank you for making my train ride so enjoyable. It means nothing more…unless you wish it to.” She turned and started to walk back to her carriage. “I am at the Inn in Glenartair if you wish to see me.”

  *

  In the upstairs window of the castle, Malveen let the curtain close and sat on the edge of her bed. The sight of Egan with the persistent Ann Landon stirred a hint of jealousy in Malveen and it worried her. She was delighted when he rejected Ann’s kiss and that worried her even more. “You cannae be fallin’ in love, not now,” she scolded herself. “‘Twould complicate everythin’.” She stood up and checked her appearance in the mirror. It was time to start the evening meal and hopefully, that would take her mind off of him.

  CHAPTER 8

  Ann Landon was not on
Egan’s mind as he watched her walk away – the duchess was. As soon as Ann’s carriage was out of sight, he went to find Hannish.

  “Might I have a word, Mr. Hannish,” he said, as soon as a footman opened the door to Cathleen’s sitting room on the second floor. The light and airy room was the most inviting in the castle and he had been in it rarely. The wives were seated on one sofa with the men on one opposite, watching Addie and Justin play with blocks on the floor between them.

  “Oh, course, what is it?” Hannish asked.

  “Perhaps not in front of the children,” Egan answered.

  “That sounds dire,” said Cameron. He got up, went to the door and sent the footman to fetch the nanny. “Tis a sunny day and they should be outside playin’ anyway.”

  “I agree,” said Leesil. “Sit, Egan, you need not stand with us.”

  Egan took a chair at the end of the sofas and crossed his legs. “A bit of news from Miss Ann Landon.”

  “She was here without a word to us?” Leesil asked. “Apparently, she is more interested in you than in us”

  “Perhaps a little too interested,” Egan grumbled.

  The conversation ended when the nanny came to take the children, and still no one spoke until after the door was closed behind them. “What has happened?” Cameron asked, returning to his place beside his brother.

  “‘Tis the duchess. Miss Landon reports she is missing and someone hired a detective to find her.”

  “A detective? Lady Okerman hired him,” a disgusted Leesil said.

  “Miss Landers does not know who hired him,” Egan continued, “but there is talk that Mr. Hannish has committed bigamy.”

  “Bigamy?” Leesil gasped. “Hannish is not the one who committed bigamy! They cannae arrest him, can they?”

  As he always did when he was troubled, Hannish began to rub the back of his neck. “How I wish to heaven I had never met that woman.”

  “Brother,” said Cameron, “if they arrest you, all we need do is provide the name of the judge who charged her with bigamy.”

  “Aye,” said Hannish, “but dinna forget he set her free after Mr. Sinclair refused to recognize her.”