Marblestone Mansion, Book 7 Read online

  “You mean, I am too old.”

  “Very well, you are too old and I feared losing you. What would I do if…”

  “Oh, Claymore, you always say precisely what I need to hear. I love you too.” She released him and started for the door. “The doctor says it can still happen, therefore you must sleep in another room.”

  “What?”

  “We shall discuss this further when you get home.”

  He watched her leave his office, heard the outer door close, raised an eyebrow, and then muttered, “Indeed we shall.”

  *

  In the sewing room on Marblestone’s first floor, Sarah stood on a stool while Gretchen pinned the hem of the second new lady’s maid uniform she had made for her.

  Leesil stood at the window looking at Pike’s Peak in the distance. “I shall need a new ball gown soon,” she mentioned. “Mine have been seen repeatedly and I am hopin’ the Bayington’s shall come next year.”

  “I love making ball gowns,” Gretchen admitted.

  “Shall I have Shepard take you to town so you can order new cloth?”

  Gretchen finished the last pen, stood back to examine the evenness of her work, and then helped Sarah step down. “I would rather you did not.”

  Leesil quickly turned to see Gretchen’s face. “Why? I thought all was well with the two of you again.”

  “Miss Leesil, the thing is,” she answered, setting her box of pins on the table, “…I mean, he is a good man, strong, kind and caring, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I do not love him. I have tried to, but I cannot force myself.” She went back to Sarah, and started to unbutton the back of the new frock. “I want to be in love when I marry.”

  “Of course, you do,” said Leesil. “Have you told him?”

  “I cannot bring myself to hurt him.”

  “But you must tell him,” said Sarah.

  “She is right,” Leesil agreed. ‘Tis unkinder still to let him think there is hope.”

  As soon as Sarah stepped out of it, Gretchen picked the new frock up off the floor. “But what will he do when I tell him?”

  “He shall not harm himself, if that is what worries you,” Leesil answered.

  “It is not that, Miss Leesil. We work together, we eat together…we even sleep in rooms not far from each other. If he turns bitter, it will upset the whole household.”

  Leesil gave her a comforting smile. “Now that we know, we can see it doesn’t happen. Shepard shall be heartsick for a time, but in the end, he shall realize he dinna want a wife who cannae love him back.”

  Gretchen hung her head. “I would rather run and hide than hurt him.” She went back to helping Sarah get dressed.

  “I am surprised Shepard has not guessed by now,” said Sarah.

  “So am I,” Gretchen agreed. “I have done nothing to encourage him these past weeks, and I turn down all his offers, but he refuses to give up. It is my fault. In the beginning, I wanted to love him and thought I would someday. It just never happened.”

  “Has he asked you to marry him?” Sarah asked.

  “Often, and because I cannot bring myself to…”

  “Because you do not say no, he is encouraged,” Leesil guessed.

  Gretchen sighed. “I cannot bear to see the disappointment in his eyes.”

  “Perhaps,” Leesil said, thoughtfully returning to the window to look at the mountains again, “You should have some time away. Denver has beautiful satins and silks, and I do need a new ball gown. You could tell Shepard the truth just before you get on the train, and that would give him time to recover before you get back.”

  “And all of us will be here to help him,” Sarah added.

  “Go to Denver alone?” Gretchen asked.

  “Nay, that will not do,” Leesil agreed. “Sarah cannae go and we…I have it. I shall see if Mrs. Swinton would like to go with you. She is always talkin’ about shopping in Denver, but she never manages to go.”

  Gretchen’s eyes lit up. “Would you? I like her and it would be great fun.”

  “She is about your same age, and perhaps Pearl would like to go as well…if we can get her away from the soda shop long enough.”

  “And you are certain Shepard will recover by the time I return?”

  Leesil frowned, “Perhaps you should go for three or four days, at least.”

  “Thank you, I would very much like a holiday.”

  “Good, I shall make all the arrangements. Will tomorrow be too soon?”

  “What about Sarah’s new clothes? I have yet to finish…”

  “Go,” Sarah encouraged her. “I shall hardly be naked while you are gone.”

  Gretchen hugged Sarah, and then hurried away to start packing her bag.

  “I best go see if someone will go with her,” Leesil whispered as they left the sewing room. “I may have to send one of us.”

  *

  As it turned out, a few days out of town was just what the Widow Loretta Swinton needed. A new rumor about her nefarious and very dead husband had surfaced, and she was sick of hearing about him. Abigail loved repeating the rumors, founded or unfounded, but Loretta wasn’t upset at her. That was just Abigail, and when Abigail was talking about Slippery Jack Walker, she was not talking about everyone else.

  Leesil asked Shepard to take Sarah and Gretchen to the train station, and while Sarah kept her back to them and talked to Loretta instead, Gretchen told Shepard the awful truth and then hurried to board the train.

  Sarah watched Mrs. Swinton board, waved goodbye, got back in the carriage and let Shepard drive her back to Marblestone. He never said a word, but Sarah didn’t expect him to. However, when he started to whistle a happy song, she sighed.

  Shepard was going to be just fine.

  CHAPTER 8

  It was mid-afternoon when an unexpected carriage arrived at Marblestone Mansion. Leaves of red and gold were fluttering in the breeze, and then drifting down from the oak trees, signaling the beginning of winter. Justin had finally talked Blair into playing catch with him, and they were in the front yard, trying not to throw the baseball into the flower garden. Both of them stopped to watch as the strange woman climbed out of the carriage. For a change, Traitor had chosen to take a nap in the kitchen, where he could beg for a bite of food from time to time. Hannish and Cameron had gone to the office, and the servants were busy getting their work done, so some of them could attend the much anticipated first barn dance of the season.

  Therefore, few paid any attention to the carriage as it drove up. In fact, Prescot was surprised when the bell at the front of the house rang. At his leisure, he opened the door, and found an unaccompanied woman standing there. She looked to be in her late forties, her clothes were nothing fancy, her hair was reddish-brown and her blue eyes seemed to have lost their luster.

  “May I be of assistance?” Prescot asked.

  “Aye, you may,” the woman answered. “I am Mrs. Doyle and I have come to see Leesil and Cathleen MacGreagor.”

  “Are they expecting you?”

  “They are not.”

  “Come in,” he said. Before he closed the door, he glanced at the carriage and noticed it was a rented one from town. “Wait here.” Prescot left her in the marble foyer while he went up the stairs to the sitting room. He lightly knocked and then opened the door. “A Mrs. Doyle wishes to see you.”

  “Doyle?” Leesil asked. “I know no one by that name.”

  “She has come to see both you and Miss Cathleen,” Prescot added.

  “I see. I do hope she is not here to sell us somethin’.”

  “She brought a traveling bag and she came in a rented carriage from town.”

  Leesil set her book aside and got up. “I see. Show her to the parlor while I find my sister, and Prescot, ask Shepard to bring tea.”

  “Yes, Miss Leesil.”

  A few minutes later, Leesil and Cathleen sat together on the parlor settee staring at the woman seated on the davenport across from them. Her bold a
nnouncement took both of them aback, and neither had yet spoken a word in reply. A shocked Prescot stood behind the sisters with his hands clasped behind his back, while Shepard set a tea tray on a table, and then offered the first cup to their guest. Mrs. Doyle declined sugar and cream, accepted the cup of tea, and then held it in her lap as she looked from sister to sister, waiting for her words to sink in.

  At length Cathleen asked, “Leesil, do you remember her?”

  “Not in the least,” Leesil answered, unable to take her eyes off the stranger’s face.

  “I am not surprised,” Mrs. Doyle said. “You were quite young when I…I left you.” She calmly lifted the teacup to her mouth and took a sip.

  “Why do you think you are our mother?” Cathleen asked.

  She set the cup back in the saucer. “I am certain of it, for you are from Scotland and few sisters are named Leesil and Cathleen.”

  “You read about us in a London paper?” Leesil asked.

  “I did, and how thrilled I was to see your names. I am quite certain you are the daughters I left behind…” she sorrowfully bowed her head, “on my day of deep regret.”

  Cathleen wasn’t buying a word of it and her temper was beginning to flare. She let Shepard serve her a cup of tea, and then immediately set it on the table beside her. Her voice was neither soft nor kind. “You regretted it, did you?”

  “Every day since…I assure you,” Mrs. Doyle answered.

  Cathleen narrowed her eyes. “You should! Leesil took many a…”

  Leesil put her hand on Cathleen’s arm. “Sister, ‘twill do no good to talk of it.” It took a moment, but when she was assured Cathleen had calmed down a little, she turned her attention back to the stranger. “Perhaps you might say what happened, precisely.”

  Mrs. Doyle took another sip of her tea before she began, “We had a farm outside of Oxfordshire, and we did well enough until the drought took our crops. William, your father, sold the land in favor of sailin’ to America. We heard there was good land to be had for near to nothin’, and…” She paused to collect her thoughts. “Only the land dinna pay enough to bring all the children. You and Cathleen were the youngest, so I left you with a friend.”

  “A friend?” Leesil asked.

  “A well trusted friend, or so I thought,” Mrs. Doyle admitted. “We worked hard for two years and saved all we could, but when I returned to Oxfordshire, I could not find the friend. She promised to care for you, and it never occurred to me she put you in an orphanage.”

  “And that is your story?” Cathleen scoffed. “How long did it take to think that up?”

  “Sister, please,” Leesil protested. She succeeded in calming her angry sister once more before she asked, “We have brothers and sisters?”

  “Aye, four older brothers and a younger sister.”

  “And our father? Why did he not come with you?” Leesil asked.

  “He passed last...”

  “Let me guess,” Cathleen interrupted, “you cannae pay the mortgage on the farm, and you are claimin’ us because you hope we shall…”

  Mrs. Doyle abruptly stood up and handed her teacup to Shepard. “I dinna blame you for being angry, but you are wrong. The farm is sold, my children are grown and I have all I need. I only wanted to lay eyes on you…to know where you were, finally. I see now, I should not have come.” She started for the foyer.

  “Wait!” Leesil cried out, quickly getting to her feet.

  The stranger stopped and slowly turned around.

  “I wish you to stay, if you will,” said Leesil.

  Mrs. Doyle considered the offer for a moment before she nodded. “‘Tis very kind of you, thank you.”

  “Prescot,” said Leesil, “have the lads bring’ her travelin’ bag in, and send the carriage back to town. Put her things in the green room.”

  With Cathleen that upset, the last thing Prescot wanted to do was leave. “Yes, Miss Leesil.” He exchanged worried glances with Shepard, went to find Brookton, and sent him to carry out Leesil’s instruction. He soon returned to stand behind the sisters.

  “You have gone daft,” Cathleen muttered to Leesil as she watched Mrs. Doyle sit down again. Cathleen was about to reach for her teacup when Leesil took her hand and pulled her up.

  “Wait here, please,” Leesil said to Mrs. Doyle. She drug Cathleen into the hall and then into the library. She closed the door, defiantly folded her arms, and firmly stood guard in front of it. “I believe her.”

  “You want to believe her. All those years you prayed she would come for us, and now you think she has.”

  “Do you not see? ‘Tis why I dinna know the woman who left us at the orphanage. She was just mother’s friend.”

  “Do you remember Mrs. Doyle?”

  “Not precisely.”

  “She is not familiar at all, is she?” Cathleen pressed.

  “Nay, but…”

  “I thought not. How dare she come here pretendin’ to be our mother?”

  “Cathleen, at least let us get to know her better. If she is not our mother, let us find out for sure. Otherwise, she shall be on her way and we shall always wonder.”

  Cathleen thought about that for a long moment before she finally nodded. “Very well, but do not expect me to be civil. Dinna forget, whatever the excuse, our mother left us at the mercy of old Mrs. Forthright.”

  Leesil breathed a sigh of relief. “Come, let us see to the babies and let Mrs. Doyle rest before dinner. Then you can have another go at her.”

  “You shall not stop me?”

  “I shall not. I want to know the truth as badly as you, and we shan’t know unless she is caught sayin’ somethin’ that cannae be the truth.”

  “Sister, sometimes you are wise beyond your years.”

  Leesil giggled and opened the door. “One of us must be.”

  *

  Hannish and Cameron were intrigued, skeptical, but nevertheless intrigued as the MacGreagors and their guest went into dinner. Abigail was not feeling well and neither of the Whitfields arrived, which was a relief. None of the MacGreagors wanted the whole town to hear about Mrs. Doyle, before they had time to learn the truth.

  Word of a sudden mother to the sisters, and a grandmother to their four children spread quickly among the servants, and each of them hungered to know what was happening. Lady’s maid, Harriet, who served more tea to their guest that afternoon, reported that Mrs. Doyle liked being waited on. Harriett did not see any resemblance to either sister. After Brookton had an occasion to get a good look at Mrs. Doyle, he thought maybe there was a likeness. Shepard could not be certain and Prescot had yet to comment. As soon as the MacGreagors went in to dinner, the servants gathered in their dining room to impatiently await the news. Footmen Brookton and Shepard, who almost always served dinner to the family anyway, were appointed the servant’s eyes and ears. What the footmen heard was supposed to be kept confidential, but not this time – this time it was just too good.

  Outside the closed dining room door, Butler Alistair and Butler Prescot stood in full uniform with their gloved hands folded in front of them. Alistair made the first move, and before long, both butlers were close enough to the door to hear what was being said inside. Seated on the top step of the marble stairs, Lady’s maids, Sarah and Millie, watched and waited for their husbands to give them some indication of what was happening.

  *

  “I thank you for lettin’ me see my grandchildren,” Mrs. Doyle said as soon as she was seated at the dinner table. She had changed out of traveling clothing into a more comfortable dress that was nothing fancy, but did not give the impression of poverty.

  “If they truly are your grandchildren,” Cathleen mumbled. She usually sat next to Cameron, across the table from Leesil, but this time she wanted to be face-to-face with the stranger. Hannish sat in his usual place at the head of the table, with Leesil beside him, while Cameron chose the seat next to Mrs. Doyle.

  “Doyle is a Scottish name,” Cameron mentioned as Brookton set a bowl o
f potato soup in front of their guest.

  “Aye, we are from Scotland. I was born a Campbell.”

  “I see,” said Cameron.

  Hannish tried not to be too obvious, but he kept looking for some hint of his wife’s resemblance and wasn’t certain he could see one. Furthermore, her accent sounded more Irish than Scottish. Yet, years of living in America could have caused that.

  “Tell us about your other children,” Leesil said. As much as she wanted to, she could not remember Mrs. Doyle’s face and it bothered her greatly.

  “Well, there is William, named after his father, then Mark, Jasper, and Barry. Your sister’s name is Edna. Jasper went off to see the world and we have yet to hear from him.” She seemed comfortable with the family and intended to eat her soup, even if they were not eating.

  “They are married?” Hannish asked.

  “Aye, all but Jasper, as far as we know.”

  “Where do you live?” Cameron wanted to know.

  She ate a spoonful of soup before she answered. “We have lived in Iowa these past years, in a small village called Ames. ‘Tis quite pleasant there.”

  Cathleen rolled her eyes, “‘Tis a pity you dinna see where we were livin’.”

  Leesil took a deep breath. “My sister is determined to have you know we were not well treated in the orphanage.”

  “I suspected as much; orphans never are,” Mrs. Doyle returned. She looked Leesil in the eye as she continued, “If I could take back that awful day, I truly would. As I said, I thought I could trust the lass I left you with.”

  “You were wrong,” Cathleen snapped.

  Mrs. Doyle narrowed her eyes and turned her attention to Cathleen. “Would it please you to see me cry? You remind me a great deal of your father. He…”

  Cathleen raised her hand. “Stop, just stop pretendin’ to know anythin’ about us. I dinna believe you and I never shall.”

  Mrs. Doyle shrugged. “I care not if you believe me, I dinna come here to convince you. I only wanted to…to know where you were. Have you any idea what ‘tis like, not knowin’ where your babies are for years and years?”