Marblestone Mansion, Book 7 Page 14

  His remark was hardly gratifying to Abigail, and she quickly turned on him. “While you are ‘getting on with it,’ I shall be bearing all the pain, the eternal late night snivels, the spilled milk, and the teething. Furthermore, do not dare die Claymore, and leave me alone with another child to raise!”

  He knew better than to argue with her. “There, there, I have no intention of leaving you.”

  “And do not tell anyone. You are well aware we have no secrets in this town.”

  He reached for her hand to comfort her. “Your secret is safe with us, my love.”

  “I do hope so.” She yanked her hand out of his and folded her arms.

  Claymore stood up. “Come, I shall take you home. What you need now is plenty of rest.”

  “I suppose I do,” Abigail admitted.

  He helped her stand, and when Hannish reached out to shake his hand, Claymore took it.

  “Congratulations,” said Hannish.

  “For what?” Abigail asked. She turned to look at Leesil. “Do you see? They congratulate each other as though they have done something utterly remarkable.”

  Leesil tried desperately not to laugh as their best friends left the sitting room. “Take care and I shall call you in the mornin’,” she shouted after them.

  *

  Instead of Elaine having something to do with getting Gretchen and Shepard together, it appeared Gretchen had been doing a little matchingmaking of her own. The next morning, Mr. Lester walked in the door clean shaven. He handed the milk bottles to Brookton just as he always did, and when he took off his hat, his hair had been freshly trimmed as well. His wavy dark hair was parted in the middle and slicked down with Macassar oil to keep it in place. Mr. Lester still had sideburns, but now they were shaped like a forward “L” and ended right at his jawline.

  To Elaine, he did not look old at all now. In fact, he had a bit of a baby face. When his eyes finally met hers, she couldn’t help herself – she smiled.

  Yet, when he sat down to breakfast, he managed to irritate her once again. As if no one else was in the room, he looked at her across the table and said, “Miss Elaine, will you marry me?”

  Half embarrassed and half enraged, she glared back at him. “Are you not supposed to court me first?”

  “What do you suppose I have been doing?” Adam Lester asked.

  “Irritating me, mostly,” she shot back.

  “Then for that, I am eternally sorry.” He helped himself to a slice of oven-toasted bread and passed the platter. It did not appear she was going to answer, and everyone else continued to pass the platters and fill their plates in silence.

  “Mr. Lester, have you any news this morning?” Prescot asked at length.

  “I do, though I do not know what to make of it. Mrs. Whitfield is…well, she is not unwell, precisely, she is hot.”

  “Hot?” Millie asked.

  “I know no better way to say it. When I took the milk to her, her face was a strange shade of red, even in the cool of this morning. She furiously fanned herself, but it did not relieve her of the heat. Poor woman looked to be in such misery.”

  Millie thought she knew what that meant, but decided not to say anything with the men around. “I shall tell Miss Leesil when next I…”

  “Mr. Lester,” Elaine interrupted, “will there be a barn dance in town soon?”

  “I am certain there shall be several, as soon as the harvest is in.”

  Shepard’s eyes lit up. “A barn dance? I have not been to one of those in years.”

  “Nor have I,” said Brookton. “I would like to go.”

  “What might a barn dance be, precisely?” Cook Jessie wanted to know.

  Brookton answered, “It is just like a ball, but with livelier music and everyday clothing.”

  “And without the cows in the barn,” Elaine pointed out.

  “If I hear of one, would you care to go with me, Miss Elaine?” Mr. Lester got up the nerve to ask.

  Elaine would not be that easily persuaded. “Not in a milk wagon, Mr. Lester.”

  “I have a buggy, Miss Elaine, and a house, two dogs and a cat named Willow. Do you like cats?”

  She smiled finally, “I love all animals, except perhaps pigs.”

  “Then you are most fortunate, for I have no pigs.” His grin was wide as he completely forgot the rest of his breakfast, picked up his hat, and walked to the door. He put his hat on, tipped it to Elaine and then walked out.

  “Did I not say it was Elaine?” Prescot boasted.

  “Aye, you did,” said Jessie, “and now my heart is broken.” She pretended to pout and made everyone laugh.

  A funny thing happened after that morning. Elaine stopped complaining, smiled more often and did her work faster so she could go to her room and dream of Mr. Lester, a dozen barn dances, and someday a house of her own.

  *

  The train arrived right on schedule and Hannish and Cameron were there to greet the travelers. Alistair and Sarah looked completely exhausted. His tall slender build had not changed, nor his light brown hair and blue eyes, but he looked older somehow. Sarah still wore her hair in a loose bun that framed her pretty face, but now she wore oversized traveling clothes someone in Glenartair Village had given her. Henry, the new MacGreagor driver relieved Alistair of their one small bag, and went to tie it to the back of the carriage.

  “I am so grateful you got out of the fire in time,” Cameron said, shaking Alistair’s hand.

  “We nearly did not, Your Grace, and would not have, had the dogs not barked,” said Sarah, going into Hannish’s comforting arms.

  “Where are the dogs now?” Cameron asked.

  “Provost MacGreagor was happy to take them,” Alistair answered. “I have a great deal to tell you.” He waited while Cameron hugged Sarah. She had tears in her eyes, but Alistair expected that.

  “I am so happy to be home,” Sarah said when Cameron released her.

  “Gretchen has worked her fingers to the bone makin’ new clothin’ for you,” Hannish announced.

  “Truly?” she asked. She wiped the tears away and let him help her into the carriage. “I am in need of everything.”

  “Everythin’ you shall have,” Hannish assured her. He waited for her to be seated and then took the seat opposite her, while Alistair got in and sat beside her.

  As soon as Cameron boarded, she reached out and took his hand. “Alistair did his best, but…”

  “I know. He is not to blame…none of you are,” Cameron comforted her.

  “We brought pictures and newspapers,” said Alistair. “Have you seen them yet?”

  “Nay,” Cameron answered. “We have watched for the article, but that particular London paper seems to have been delayed for some reason.”

  “You’ll not like seein’ what little is left,” Alistair warned.

  Hannish nodded to the driver and waited until the carriage got underway. “You could not convince anyone else to come to America?”

  “You know how they are,” Alistair answered. “They might come and they might not.”

  “Well, they are more than welcome if they do.” Hannish held on as the carriage turned up the road leading to the mansion. “We have made up one of the cottages in the back for you. We wish you to dine with us, and then you both must rest for as long as you need.”

  The leaves were just beginning to turn to fall colors, but it was not until Sarah saw Pike’s Peak through the trees, that she truly felt as if she was home. She took a long, cleansing breath and then wrapped her arm around Alistair’s. “I feel better already.”

  *

  As if they were honored guests instead of servants, everyone was outside to greet the survivors of the castle fire. Sarah had only just stepped out of the carriage when Blair ran to greet her. “Sarah!” Blair shouted.

  Sarah knelt down and wrapped her arms around the child. “Miss Blair, how happy I am to see you again. May we have tea together one day soon?”

  Blair put on her most gracious smile
, “If you like.”

  “No, if you like,” Sarah teased. She hugged her favorite seven-year-old again, and then sent her off to greet Alistair.

  They enjoyed hugs and handshakes all around and then Alistair abruptly stopped. “Do I smell rain?”

  “I hope so,” said Cook Jessie. “We’ve not had a drop in weeks.”

  “We’ve had plenty, but not a drop the night of the fire,” Alistair admitted. That brought up the subject and everyone had a thousand questions.

  Cathleen rescued a very weary Sarah and took her upstairs, where Harriet and Millie were waiting to give her a warm, relaxing bath, and then dress her in clean clothes.

  On the way up the marble staircase, Cathleen giggled. “You shall never guess – Abigail is pregnant.”

  “Noooo,” a wide-eyed Sarah said. “Now, I know I am home!”

  “Would you believe she was listenin’ on the party line, when the call came to tell us the castle was ablaze?”

  “I am not at all surprised to hear that. She has not changed a bit.”

  “We think ‘tis the milkman who…” Cathleen continued as they went out of sight.

  *

  Downstairs, Alistair stood talking to all the servants, a few of which he did not recognize. “The MacGreagor clan has made quite a business of it and the visitors keep comin’. ‘Tis the most amazin’ thing I have yet to see, for ‘tis just scorched walls, some of which have collapsed.” He motioned for Shepard to bring him their traveling bag, opened it and took the black and white, grainy pictures out. “As you can see, there is little left.”

  Cook Jessie took the first picture and then sat down on the settee. “The Great Hall dinna stand up to the fire after all? We always thought it would.”

  Cameron sat down beside her. “Aye, we did.” He shook his head and took the next picture from Alistair. “This is the one in the newspapers?”

  “Not that one, but one like it,” Alistair answered. He passed the rest of the pictures out and then took the glass of rum Prescot handed to him. “There were reporters everywhere the followin’ day, and photographers who took dozens of pictures.” He took a sip of much needed rum and watched as Cameron read the newspaper article. Alistair was not surprised when Cameron caught his breath, got up and hurried up the stairs.

  “What…” Hannish asked.

  “You best go with him,” Alistair suggested.

  Hannish hurried upstairs as well, and found his brother and their wives in the sitting room.

  “Oh no,” Cathleen moaned as she read the article.

  “What is it?” Hannish asked.

  “The article says we are in Colorado and Blair is with us.”

  “I see,” Hannish said. “The duchess is in New York, and you fear she will come.”

  “After what we did last time, surely she will not come back,” Leesil said. “She must know the sensible thing is to stay far, far away from us.”

  “When has she ever done the sensible thing?” Cameron asked. He walked to the window, raised his arm and rested it against the wall above the window.

  “She does not want Blair, I remind you,” Cathleen said, going to her husband.

  “I know, all she wants is money. If I thought it would keep her away, I would give it to her. I dread the day Blair comes face to face with her mother.”

  “As do I, but my love, we cannae constantly live in fear of her.”

  “Perhaps the duchess has not seen the article,” Leesil suggested.

  Cathleen tried to lighten the mood. “Abigail promised to shoot her for trespassing if she comes.” Cameron apparently did not see the humor in her remark.

  “There is but one way to put an end to it,” said Hannish.

  “How?” Cameron asked, turning to face his brother.

  “We shall have the judge draw up papers denouncin’ any claim the Duchess has to her daughter. We offer to pay her demands only after she signs the papers, and that shall be an end to it.”

  “Why does that sound too simple?” Leesil asked.

  Cameron finally came away from the window and started for the door. “Because, a thousand papers cannae truly keep her away from Blair.” With that, he left the room.

  At length, Cathleen retook her seat. “When Anna was born, I feared he would favor his own daughter over Blair, but I no longer fear it. Blair came to him when he needed someone to love most. She is the light in his eyes, just as she should be. With us, Blair shall never know what it is to be unwanted.”

  *

  The rumors proved to true, for in late September while the Colorado peaches, pears and apples were ripening on the trees, the governor sent the National Guard to protect the strikebreakers from the angry union workers. By the end of October, over a thousand troops were stationed at the various Colorado mines.

  Still, the picketers marched up and down the street, both in front of the office and at the Whitfield and MacGreagor warehouse. So far, the picketers had not tried to prevent the men from going to work in the warehouse, but just to keep the peace, Hannish spent most of his time there. At the downtown office, potential customers came no more.

  “Yet, the National Guard does nothing to stem the violence,” Claymore complained that morning at the office. “I’ve a good mind to send Abigail to the owners.”

  “She is a bit irritable these days?” Cameron asked.

  “Not as badly as when she was younger, but…I can say nothing right these days. She ordered me out of the house this morning and it is my house, I remind you.” He ignored the grin on his partner’s face, and began to read the latest Denver newspaper. “I see the same train has wrecked for the second time. It was only set to the tracks early this year.”

  “Where?” Cameron asked.

  “Says here, it is…was, a mail train running an hour late when it left Washington DC on its way to Virginia. It plunged into a ravine, killing eleven.”

  “What happened the first time?”

  “The first time, it was off to New Orleans, hit a boulder on the tracks and derailed. Two died that time. I’d not ride that train if they gave me the whole railroad.”

  Claymore was quietly reading when the telephone rang. “Whitfield here. What? Oh for heaven’s sake. Thank you for calling.” He hung up the phone and disgustedly shook his head. “Another shaft house has been blown to bits, and the strikebreakers were working at the time.”

  “Where this time?” Cameron asked.

  “West of Denver, at the Idaho Springs mine.”

  “Why does the President not do somethin’ about it?” Cameron asked.

  “Why indeed,” Claymore answered. “Surely, he is kept informed.”

  None of them were surprised when Mrs. Dane came with her usual pot of tea. “My husband has been put in the stockades,” she announced.

  “What for?” Cameron asked. Both he and Claymore stood up, but Mrs. Dane had finally given up curtsying to the duke.

  “For talking out of turn, I am told.” She poured the usual two cups and handed them out. “In a way, I am relieved. As long as he is locked up, they have no reason to shoot him.”

  “I see your meanin’,” said Cameron.

  “Have you heard?” she continued. “They found spikes missing from the railroad tracks this morning.”

  “No,” Claymore moaned. “Where?”

  “Between Colorado City and Cripple creek. My sister thinks the union meant to derail the train carrying the strikebreakers to work this morning.”

  “I hope they only meant to stop the trains from running,” Claymore said.

  “Yes, but the men were already aboard the train when the discovery was made.”

  Cameron wearily shook his head. “It seems their intentions are clear, then.”

  “It is clear to me,” said she. “At least, Mr. Dane cannot be accused of threatening the families of the strikebreakers, if he is locked away.”

  “Then you are right, he is safer there. We wish him our very best, to be sure,” said Claymore.

 
; *

  Two days later, Sally Dane came to the office, but this time she didn’t bring a pot of tea. Tears were streaming down her cheeks when she opened the door. “They killed him, Mr. Whitfield.”

  Claymore instantly stood up and wrapped his arms around the sobbing widow. “Oh, my dear. How very sorry I am to hear that.” He waited until she calmed herself before he released her.

  “Mr. Carter from the union came to tell me. Three were shot, as soon as they were let go from the stockade and joined the protesters. They had no reason, the guards just shot. I’ll not be bringing tea for a day or two.”

  “Do not trouble yourself, we are capable of fetchin’ our own tea,” Cameron assured her.

  The widow Sally Dane nodded, walked out and softly closed the door behind her.

  Shocked and dismayed, it took a moment before either man sat down. Cameron’s thoughts went to all those late mortgage payments she was trying to make. At length, he suggested, “We could buy her house.”

  Claymore rolled his eyes. “You are as bad as Abigail. We cannot save the world.”

  “Nay, but we can buy Mrs. Dane’s house.”

  “Very well,” said Claymore. “When the strike is over, if it ever is…and if she wishes to sell – and if they have not burned it to the ground, we shall take it up with your brother.”

  An hour later, Abigail burst through the door, marched across the outer office and glared at Cameron. “Leave us,” she demanded.

  Her tone let him know not to argue, so Cameron quickly put his newspaper down, got up, left the room, and closed the door behind him.

  “My dear,” Claymore tried, standing up, “I…”

  “I have just come from the doctor’s office. I am not pregnant and I do not care if you are disappointed,” she announced loud enough for half the town to hear.

  “Abigail, I want what you want. Have I not always?”

  “It is just a pause of some sort, whatever that means.” Tears began to fill her eyes.

  Claymore walked around his desk and gathered her in his arms. “My darling Abigail, I have been beside myself with worry. We are too old to…”