Marblestone Mansion, Book 7 Read online

  “The same as not knowin’ where your mother is, I imagine,” Cathleen returned.

  Leesil found Cathleen’s words much more hurtful than she expected. “Sister, I have never known you to be so unkind.”

  “Leesil, our home just burned to the ground, and she comes when we are the most vulnerable, claimin’ to be our long lost mother. ‘Tis too much to bear.”

  Cameron was worried his wife was about to cry, so he asked a question before she could, “You have seen the newspaper articles?”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Doyle admitted. “How else could I have found you?”

  “How else, indeed,” Cathleen muttered. “We shall likely see a hundred pretend mothers before we are finished. Send her away, Hannish, and be done with it.”

  “She stays,” Leesil demanded, “until I am certain she is not our mother.”

  “How, how will you possibly know?” Cathleen asked.

  “Perhaps I shall not, but I mean to try just the same.”

  Cameron was becoming even more concerned. He had never seen Cathleen so enraged, not that he blamed her. Therefore, he tried to change the subject to something more pleasant. “Will you not tell us about Iowa?”

  When the front door bell rang, both Alistair and Prescot jumped. “The Whitfields,” Alistair whispered.

  “Who else could it be?” said Prescot.

  “You stay and I shall see who it is,” Alistair volunteered. The sun had gone behind Pikes Peak, giving the clouds in the sky a pink and lavender glow. There was another rented carriage parked outside, and the woman at the door was not Abigail Whitfield. She introduced herself, and after she did, Alistair looked back at Prescot with a grin on his face. He bid the woman to wait, and after a soft knock, Alistair opened the dining room door.

  “Aye, Alistair, what is it?” Hannish asked.

  His grin had not faded by the time he answered, “A Mrs. O’Connell has arrived. She claims to be Miss Leesil and Miss Cathleen’s mother.”

  Cathleen rolled her eyes, “Did I not predict it?”

  “Aye, you did,” said Leesil. She stared at the untouched bowl of soup in front of her and considered what to do. “Perhaps we might have a little fun with this one.”

  “What sort of fun?” Cameron asked. He knew better than to ask, for he had seen the sisters in action before. It was not that he didn’t enjoy it, but he wondered if someday they might go too far – with Cathleen already hostile, this might be the day. His question, however, went unanswered.

  Leesil didn’t wait for her sister’s approval before she said, “Shepard, set another place. Alistair, ask Mrs. O’Connell if she will wait a moment, and then join us for dinner.”

  “Yes, Miss Leesil,” Alistair answered.

  Prescot heard every word and as soon as Alistair came out to wait with the new mother, he went up the stairs to tell Sarah and Millie what was happening. He turned right around, came back down and again took up his position in front of the dining room door. Yet, he could not help himself and glanced toward the foyer to get a look at her. In his opinion, she looked old, all wrung out and very nervous.

  Shepard dashed out of the dining room, not because they didn’t already have two place settings ready in case the Whitfields showed up, but because he wanted to alert the rest of the servants. In a flash, he appeared in the kitchen door, whispered, “Another mother has come,” grabbed a plate out of the cupboard, set it on a silver tray and raced back to the dining room.

  He left all the servants with their jaws dropped.

  In the dining room, Mrs. Doyle asked, “Would you like me to leave?” She was the only one finished with her soup.

  “Of course not,” Cathleen answered. “Let us all see who wins this competition.”

  “I hardly think it is a competition,” Mrs. Doyle muttered.

  Leesil was in a dither trying to decide where to put the new mother. “Brookton, put Mrs. O’Connell between Cathleen and I.”

  “Yes, Miss Leesil,” he answered.

  Cathleen didn’t see the beauty in that at all, but she moved one chair down, while Shepard moved her dinner, silverware and teacup. “Leesil, what do you mean to do?”

  “I mean to make her feel welcome,” Leesil answered.

  Hannish doubted that, but as soon as Brookton finished setting the place, he stood up and opened the door. “Show her in, Prescot.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hannish.” Prescot went to notify Alistair, hurried back and opened the door as Alistair took Mrs. O’Connell into the dining room.

  “Mrs. O’Connell,” Alistair announced.

  “Mother!” Leesil cried out as soon as Mrs. O’Connell entered the room. “You have found us!” She threw her arms around the visitor and held her for a long moment.

  As soon as Alistair came back out and closed the door, both butlers again drew close. This time, Alistair actually put his ear against the door.

  Hannish and Cameron examined the face of this woman as well. Interestingly, Mrs. O’Connell looked about the same age as Mrs. Doyle, but unlike her, Mrs. O’Connell had a touch more red in her hair and the same blue eyes as Leesil and Cathleen. Nevertheless, that was as far as any similarity went. Furthermore, Mrs. O’Connell obviously did not expect such a warm greeting, looked caught off guard, and only gently returned Leesil’s embrace.

  “This is your daughter, Cathleen,” Leesil said, finally releasing the newest stranger.

  “Mother, we have missed you so,” Cathleen convincingly said, as she briefly hugged Mrs. O’Connell. “You must be exhausted. Have you come a long way to find us?”

  “All the way from New York City, I do not mind sayin,’”

  Leesil recognized neither the face nor the voice of this woman either. She waited until Hannish made all the introductions, before she asked, “Will you not sit by me, Mother?”

  Mrs. O’Connell nodded and still seemed uneasy as Shepard seated her. She noticed Mrs. Doyle’s bowl was empty while all the others were nearly full, and suspected there was something wrong with the soup. Therefore, she declined when Brookton offered her a bowl. “What a grand house this is,” she timidly managed to say.

  “‘Tis a lot of very hard work,” Leesil admitted. “We…”

  “Never mind that,” Cathleen cut in. “Tell us why you left us at the orphanage.”

  “Sister, you are being too impatient. Let us get to know her before we ask for the details. Mrs. O’Connell, have you any other children?”

  Mrs. O’Connell dished a small helping of baked potatoes onto her plate from the large bowl Shepard held, and seemed to relax a little when she answered, “I have two sons, nearly all grown up now.”

  “Older or younger than we?” Cathleen asked.

  “Younger,” Mrs. O’Connell answered.

  Cathleen refused the potatoes, but accepted some asparagus on toast. “Why did you not bring them with you?”

  “I could not afford it.”

  “How sad,” said Leesil, as she dished beets, and then beet green salad onto her plate, “we have more money than we could possibly spend in a lifetime.”

  “I can see that,” Mrs. O’Connell said. She didn’t seem willing to look anyone in the eye with that remark, but she did accept salad and a small piece of steak when it was offered to her.

  Cathleen paid attention to her own dinner for a moment, before she snidely asked, “Did you put your sons in an orphanage too?”

  “No, I did not,” Mrs. O’Connell firmly answered, “nor did I put you in one.”

  “We have overwhelmed you, I see,” said Leesil before her sister could attack again.

  Hannish noticed the worried expression on Camron’s face and was becoming a little concerned himself. “Perhaps somethin’ stronger than tea?” Hannish asked.

  “I should be most grateful for it,” said Mrs. O’Connell.

  Hannish nodded to Brookton. While the footmen began to fill their glasses with the Bordeaux wine Hannish had chosen to go with the pudding, he was wishing dessert would be served sooner
rather than later. The moment she was served, Mrs. O’Connell took a long swallow of wine to steady her nerves, while Mrs. Doyle declined the offer. Neither of their wives cared for strong drink, and it was the first indication Mrs. Doyle might be telling the truth.

  At last, Cathleen took note of the frown on her husband’s face and decided to soften her approach a little. “While I am most eager to know what happened, we best let Mrs. O’Connell eat before her dinner gets cold.” She ignored both mothers and took another bite of her broiled steak with parsley butter.

  “I agree,” a relieved Hannish said. “Brookton, please tell the cooks how very excellent the steak is tonight.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hannish.” Any other time, Brookton would have gone directly to the kitchen to pass on the compliment, but he wasn’t about to miss a word spoken this night in the dining room.

  “Where do you suppose Claymore and Abigail are this evenin’?” Cameron asked, even though he already knew the answer.

  “Abigail has been in bed this day complete,” Leesil answered. She smiled at Mrs. Doyle. “They are our best friends in all the world, save Laura and Edward.” Leesil tried not to stare, but she couldn’t help watching the woman sitting across from her, hoping to see something familiar in the way she sat or ate. There was nothing and it disappointed her.

  “I see,” said Mrs. Doyle. She had nothing further to say and went back to eating her meal.

  “Have you heard about the strike?” Hannish asked Mrs. Doyle.

  Mrs. Doyle quickly swallowed her bite of potato and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Not until the train was held up this mornin’. The railroad men checked the tracks ahead of us, to be certain none of the spikes were missin’. It took quite some time. While we waited, I heard a great deal about the strike. I was afraid some of the men in the passenger car, who were on opposin’ sides apparently, might go to blows over it, but they go hold of themselves.”

  “I am glad to hear that,” Hannish said. “Colorado Springs enjoys many tourists this time of year, and we’d not like the trains shut down or anyone hurt if they are intentionally derailed.”

  Cathleen kept an eye on Mrs. O’Connell, who seemed a lot more interested in her drink than her food. Finally, she could wait no longer. “Why did you leave us at the orphanage?”

  Mrs. O’Connell didn’t bother to look at her. “I had no choice.”

  Leesil leaned forward so she could see Cathleen. “Sister, is that not what I have said all along?”

  “Aye, you have,” Cathleen agreed, “but have we not always wanted to hear the details?”

  “The details,” Mrs. O’Connell repeated. She stared at her dinner and still hesitated to answer.

  “Aye, the details,” Cathleen prodded.

  “If you must know, I was quite young at the time, and leavin’ you at the orphanage was not my doin’.”

  “How old are you now?” Leesil asked.

  “Thirty-nine.”

  “Thirty-nine?” Leesil paused to figure it out. “You were fourteen when I was born?”

  Mrs. O’Connell refused to look at Leesil too. “Fifteen.”

  That was not the answer any of them expected and it made Leesil gasp. “Truly?”

  “Nearly sixteen, if it pleases you to know.” Mrs. O’Connell held her empty glass up and waited for Brookton to refill it. Then she took another long drink.

  At length Cathleen muttered, “I dinna imagine we want to know those details.”

  “I would prefer not to give them,” Mrs. O’Connell confessed.

  Hannish was still more interested in watching Mrs. Doyle than Mrs. O’Connell, and when Mrs. O’Connell said her age, Mrs. Doyle rolled her eyes. It was true, Mrs. O’Connell looked much older than thirty-nine, but why would she lie about her age? He was tempted, but he did not ask Mrs. Doyle how old she was.

  “Did you not first marry our father?” Leesil hesitated to ask.

  Mrs. O’Connell answered, “I did. You are not illegitimate, if that worries you.”

  “But then,” Cathleen threw in, “you could say anythin’ and we would never be the wiser.”

  Mrs. O’Connell ignored her and simply took another sip of her wine.

  “Has he passed?” Leesil asked, still doing her part to be the kinder and gentler of the two sisters.

  This time Mrs. O’Connell turned to address Leesil. “I would have been able to keep you, had he lived. After he passed, I was sent to a workhouse for women. They would not let me keep you. You were torn from my arms and taken away. Do you not remember?” She watched Leesil shake her head, lowered her gaze and bowed her head. “I am pleased you dinna remember.”

  “Why?” Cathleen asked.

  “Because, ‘twas a painful day for us both.” She raised her head and looked directly at Cathleen. “Are those the details you wished to know?”

  Cathleen condescendingly shrugged, “‘Tis not a bad yarn at all; I have heard worse.”

  Leesil leaned back in her chair and tried desperately to remember anything of the sort. Being snatched from a mother’s arms would be traumatic for a child, and if it was true, she should remember. Yet, it did not ring true, and when she glanced at her husband’s searching eyes, she shook her head. Mrs. O’Connell was not her mother. “Tell us about our father,” she said.

  “I hated the man,” Mrs. O’Connell answered, “and was glad to see him in the ground.”

  “What did he look like?” Hannish asked.

  This time, Mrs. O’Connell boldly addressed the head of the house directly. “He was tall and strong. ‘Twas the typhus that took him, or so I was told. He was away at the time, and left us with very little on which to survive.”

  “You had no other family?” Cameron asked.

  “No.”

  “What clan was he?” Hannish asked.

  “I never cared to ask.” Mrs. O’Connell looked away for a moment. “I know what you are thinkin’, Mr. MacGreagor. You are thinkin’ I bear no resemblance to your wife, and I would have to agree. Yet, you do not know how much they look like their father, as best I can remember him. It was a bit unsettlin’ when I first caught sight of Leesil, and still is.” She hesitated for a moment. “If…”

  “If what?” Hannish asked.

  “Mr. MacGreagor, if their names and their likeness to him was not true, I would wonder of the relationship myself.”

  Cathleen sighed, “Such lovely words.”

  Before Mrs. O’Connell had a chance to retaliate, Cameron asked, “Mrs. O’Connell, have you been in America long?”

  “I have.”

  “There you have it,” Cathleen sighed, “she left us to rot and sailed away to America.”

  Mrs. O’Connell looked as though she had heard just about enough from Cathleen, but she held her tongue and again spoke to Hannish. “In the workhouse, I was offered a position as baker’s helper, which I was happy to have. I worked long hours, but when I could, I looked for my daughters. They that took them, would not tell me where they were. I married again, my sons were born, the years passed, and we sailed to New York. We have lived there since.”

  “If it were my daughters,” said Cathleen, “I would have found them somehow.”

  “How?” Mrs. O’Connell asked, turning her attention once more to Cathleen. “Would you have posted a plea for help in the newspaper as often as you could afford, searched the face of every child you saw, and gone to all the orphanages in Scotland? I did. What more could you have done?”

  “We were in England,” Cathleen shot back.

  Mrs. O’Connell nodded. “So the newspaper said.”

  “Which is just down the road a piece from Scotland, I remind you,” said Cathleen.

  “The English had enough orphans of their own to care for, why would they have taken two Scottish children to England?” When Cathleen did not have an answer, Mrs. O’Connell let it go and took another long drink.

  Mrs. O’Connell’s dinner was left virtually untouched, Hannish noticed, but Mrs. Doyle h
ad not lost her appetite. He still had no idea which woman was truly their mother, but now he liked Mrs. O’Connell better than Mrs. Doyle. He wasn’t sure why, but he did. “Will you not stay the night with us, Mrs. O’Connell? ‘Twould be dreadful to see you go afore we have sufficient time to become more acquainted.”

  “I’d be rightly obliged,” said Mrs. O’Connell. “I’ve no place to sleep and just enough money to get home.”

  “Which does not surprise me,” Cathleen mumbled.

  Hannish got up, went to the door and when he opened it, Alistair nearly fell in. It was all Hannish could do to keep from roaring with laughter. “Alistair, pay the carriage driver, send him away, and have Mrs. O’Connell’s baggage taken upstairs. She shall be stayin’ the night.”

  Alistair straightened his jacked. “Aye, Mr. Hannish.”

  Before he went back in, Hannish caught a glimpse of Sarah and Millie at the top of the stairs trying to slip away without his notice. He looked at Prescot, rolled his eyes and closed the door.

  As soon as Alistair came back, Prescot hurried up the stairs to alert Millie that they needed two more lady’s maids for the night, instead of just one. Then he rushed to the kitchen to let the rest of the staff know. Harriet started up the back stairs to unpack Mrs. O’Connell’s belongs, while Ronan gathered clean towels and a pitcher of fresh water for her washbasin.

  In the dining room, Mrs. O’Connell asked, “Which of you is a duchess.”

  “I am,” Cathleen answered.

  “I see,” was all Mrs. O’Connell said.

  “Does it matter?” Cathleen asked.

  “Aye, it matters,” Mrs. O’Connell answered. “If I had been able to keep you, you would yet be a farmer’s daughter condemned to poverty like so many other Scots.”

  “You did us a favor, then?” Cathleen asked.

  Mrs. O’Connell took a deep breath, and handed her plate to Brookton. “As I said, it was not of my choosin’.”

  The room grew quiet again as Shepard and Brookton finished taking the dinner plates away and served the pudding. Just then, Butler Prescot knocked on the door, opened it and let Nanny Beverly take Justin and Blair into the dining room.