Marblestone Mansion, Book 7 Page 18

  After several more dances, it came time to let the musicians rest, and for everyone to fill up on food brought from home. Outside, the farmer had been thoughtful enough to set out bales of hay for the dancers to sit on while they cooled down. The sky was crystal clear, the stars were the brightest anyone could remember seeing, and a half moon was just beginning to rise over the eastern plains.

  Adam Lester kept hold of Elaine’s hand as he walked her to the farthest bale of hay he could find, and let her sit down.

  “Brookton has found a new partner for every dance,” Adam said.

  “I noticed that too?” Elaine agreed. “Who is that with Cook Jessie?”

  “Mr. Foreman. Can you keep a secret?”

  “What?”

  “He has been asking about her since he saw her in the general store.”

  “Cook Jessie? She is fifty if she is a day.”

  Adam smiled, “No one is too old for romance.”

  “I suppose not, but Cook Jessie? I mean…”

  “Miss Elaine, have you an answer for me yet?”

  “You want to know if I will marry you?”

  “I do. We have known each other for months now. How much longer do you mean to make me wait?”

  She brushed a piece of hay off her skirt and refused to look at him. “I am honored and flattered…”

  “But?” he asked, holding his breath.

  Elaine rolled her eyes. “Do you want to hear me say yes or not?”

  Adam stood up, gathered her in his arms and swung her around. “Finally!”

  Seated not very far away, Cook Halen laughed. “I can guess what that is all about.”

  “So can I,” said Harriett. “There is to be another wedding at Marblestone.”

  “And there is nothing Miss Leesil loves more than planning a wedding.”

  “Or two,” Harriett said, nodding toward Mr. Foreman and Cook Jessie.

  Cook Halen sighed. “I shall miss her terribly.”

  “I shall miss her cooking terribly.”

  Cook Halen’s eyes narrowed. “And what is wrong with my cooking?”

  “Uh, oh,” Harriet said, as her eyes grew large. She quickly thought of someone she needed to talk to and hurried away.

  *

  At Marblestone, the mood was equally as festive when the family gathered in the downstairs sitting room after dinner. From this room, they could see a sky filled with stars, and to see them even better, Leesil turned off all the lights.

  “In New York we do not see the stars as often as we would like,” Mother O’Connell said.

  “Why not?” Cathleen asked.

  “The air is filled with smoke from our many factories. I am convinced Colorado has the most beautiful stars in the world.”

  “They say at this altitude, we are considerably closer to them,” Hannish put in. “Perhaps that is why.”

  “Whatever the reason, I am grateful to have seen them.”

  “Mother,” Leesil asked. “Why do you not have more of a Scottish accent? I mean, you sound more American than Scottish.”

  “When we first came, the Scots and the Irish were not welcome in New York City. Mr. O’Connell and I worked hard at hiding our heritage for the sake of our sons. Bein’ around you brings me back to the old ways more easily than I thought. ‘Tis like being home again.”

  “Once a Scot, always a Scot,” Cameron mumbled.

  Mother O’Connell patted the top of Leesil’s hand. “Now, tell me all about this London ball you attended.”

  Leesil laughed, “You mean the one Cathleen…”

  “Sister,” a horrified Cathleen said, “You are not going to tell her that, are you? What will she think of me?”

  “She shall think the lad who jilted McKenna got what he deserved.”

  Mother O’Connell laughed. “I have got to hear this one.”

  Leesil proceeded to tell her all about it, with constant interruptions from Cathleen, laced with laughter from their husbands. The sisters managed not to mention anything about the duchess, and neither did their husbands. That was a story for another time.

  It was near the end of a whole day full of stories about New York, Colorado and Scotland, when Hannish went around turning the lights back on. “I find I am a bit uneasy,” he admitted as he sat beside his wife in a room that had been decorated in browns, and greens with a touch of gold. “Abigail and Claymore dinna come for dinner two nights in a row.”

  “It is odd,” Cameron agreed, “but Claymore is convinced Abigail needs more rest these days.”

  “Perhaps he is the one who tires of going out each evening,” Leesil put in.

  “I cannot wait to meet her,” said Mother O’Connell. “My daughters have told me all about Mrs. Whitfield.”

  Cameron chuckled, “I doubt anyone can tell you all about Abigail.” He looked at Leesil first, and then at the wife sitting beside him. “Does Abigail know about your mother yet? That would surely bring her to our door.”

  “You dinna tell Claymore?” Cathleen asked.

  “Of course I did,” Cameron answered. “I am surprised he has not told her.”

  “If he has not,” said Hannish, “‘tis because he savors having news she does not yet know.”

  Cameron chuckled, “He is likely sitting by the telephone hoping we will call, and he can boast of already knowin’.”

  Leesil said, “I have long suspected Abigail gets most of her gossip from her husband anyway.”

  “And not the milkman,” Cathleen gasped. “I am astonished.”

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door. When Alistair opened it, he directed his comment to Mrs. O’Connell. “I have put the call through to your son in New York City.”

  “Thank you, Alistair,” she said, getting up to answer the telephone in the sitting room. “Samuel? Yes, they are your sisters…I am thrilled beyond belief. I shall not be home for a few days yet, but you need not worry, I am well. How goes it there...I see, take care and I shall call again soon.” She breathed a sigh of relief when she returned to her seat. “I did not want them to worry when I did not come right back.”

  “I wish you could live with us,” Cathleen said. She glanced at Hannish and was grateful for his nod of approval.

  Mother O’Connell rolled her eyes, “And risk you getting tired of me?”

  “We shall never get tired of you,” said Leesil. “We have only just got you back.”

  “I shall come as often as I can,” her mother promised. “Now, had you not better tell Abigail about me?”

  Leesil quickly got up. “Aye, but I warn you – say not a thing you dinna want the whole town to know.”

  *

  It took less than fifteen minutes for Abigail and Claymore to arrive after Leesil hung up the phone. “Where is she?” Abigail loudly demanded. She pushed her way past Prescot, made it across the foyer and the parlor, down the hall and into the sitting room in record time – where she abruptly stopped and stared at the stranger.

  As soon as Claymore caught up, Hannish smiled, “Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield, allow me to introduce Mrs. O’Connell, Leesil and Cathleen’s mother.”

  That began it and it would be all of two hours before Abigail ran out of questions. As the Whitfields said goodnight and headed back down the hall, the MacGreagors heard Claymore say, “My love, it is too late in the night for you to start your telephone calls. I forbid it, Abigail, do you hear…”

  Mrs. O’Connell laughed. “I like her already.”

  *

  It was after midnight when the barn dancers came home from their night of fun. Shepard was so drunk; it took both Alistair and Prescot to get him up to the back stairs to bed. “Gretchen does not love me,” he whispered over and over.

  “You shall survive,” Prescot assured him. Shepard was sound asleep before they left the room.

  *

  Three days later, Mother O’Connell took the train back to New York City.

  Elaine was so happy to be engaged, she wasn’t certain her feet would e
ver touch the ground again. She could not wait until Mr. Lester came to breakfast each morning, and every morning after that. She took to walking him back to his milk wagon, and kissed him when she was certain no one was looking. Someone always was, but she didn’t know that. When Adam Lester took her to see his home, she could find nothing to complain about. That might not last, the other servants speculated, but for now she was the most content they had ever seen her.

  *

  Things were not going so well for the duchess.

  In New York, with not enough to do between auctions and with no further husband prospects to tempt, the duchess treated herself to an occasional silent film. She especially wanted to see all fifteen minutes of The Great Train Robbery. The first time, she scoffed. She knew exactly what a real train robbery was like, and that wasn’t it. The next week, she went to see it again. This time, she thought about how much she missed her very own train robber, Jedidiah Tanner, and the tears began to flow. She went twice the third week, each time crying for a love that was no more.

  The duchess had just returned to her room after the movie when there was a knock on her door. With great anticipation, she hurried to answer it. “You are back, finally.”

  “I am,” said Mrs. Doyle. She came in, sat down on the duchess’ bed and began to remove her gloves.

  “Well, how much did he pay you?”

  “Not a dime,” Mrs. Doyle lied.

  The duchess plopped down in a chair. “I was hopeful, but I am not surprised. Hannish is the most tightfisted man I have ever known.”

  “He is quite handsome, if you ask me. So is his brother.”

  “Yes, well handsome is not the same as generous. They are both quite despicable, horrid men.”

  “You were married to all that money and you let it get away?” Mrs. Doyle asked.

  “Do not remind me,” the duchess sneered. “I hung on as best I could, but as I said before, he tricked me.” She endured her misery for a few moments before she asked. “Did they believe you?”

  “They did. They said I should call in a few weeks.”

  “A few weeks? I see. We must make a new plan, one that shall work this time.”

  “I, of course, told them I dinna need money, just as you told me to and they dinna offer to give me any. What possible plan could there be the next time?”

  “We shall think of something. Perhaps there has been a dreadful accident and you are in need of money to pay the hospital – perhaps for your beloved sons or your daughter?”

  Mrs. Doyle smiled. “That might work.” She stared at the floor for a moment. “I saw the child.”

  “And?”

  “And, she looks just like you.”

  Instantly furious, the duchess got up and began to pace across the room. “How on earth did Cameron MacGreagor get his hands on my daughter?” When Mrs. Doyle didn’t answer, she flung herself back in her chair. “They have taken even that from me! After all I have been through, all I have done for them…the times I smiled to please them, the clothing I wore so they would admire me, and be proud to be seen with me…corsets that were too tight, and…”

  If Mrs. Doyle had not known better, she would have sworn there was steam rising from the top of the duchess’ head. The woman she knew as Nora Dell was so enraged, her hands were tightly fisted, her eyes were closed as she continued to mutter her complaints, her nostrils flared, and her feet were turned inward. To Mrs. Doyle, it seemed like a very good time to spend some of her MacGreagor money on a nice dinner – away from the hotel. As quietly as she could, she got up and slipped out the door.

  *

  A month after Mrs. O’Connell went back to New York City, and by the time all the gossip about Leesil and Cathleen’s mother died down, life at Marblestone Mansion, and Colorado Springs as a whole, began to return to normal – as normal as was possible with the union still on strike.

  Elaine and Mr. Lester were inseparable, Shepard had recovered from his broken heart, Gretchen was markedly happier, and Hannish hired George and Stella, to help care for the family. He had yet to find another suitable kitchen helper, but there was time yet. It was decided that Blair would attend school with the other children in Colorado Springs, which afforded her several friends her own age. Justin decided having Traitor all to himself was a very good thing, and waited eagerly for the time when he could go to school.

  Mrs. Doyle had not yet called, nor had the MacGreagor villagers made up their minds to come to America. The barn dances occurred nearly every Saturday night in autumn and the family wanted to go too, but the babies were still too young. That didn’t stop the servants from going, including Prescot, Alistair, and their wives, when they could. Mr. Foreman and Cook Jessie enjoyed each other’s company at the dances, but that seemed as far as it went.

  And so it was that life at Marblestone was pleasant and peaceful – until the telephone rang one evening, just as the family had gone to the sitting room to read before bed.

  “Telephone for you, Your Grace,” Prescot announced.

  “Is it not time you call me Mr. Cameron?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Prescot grinned. “It is a Miss Nora Dell.”

  “I am not familiar with that name,” Cameron said as he picked up the telephone. Cathleen didn’t look at all pleased either, he noticed. “Hello.”

  “I know you have my daughter and I want her back.”

  Cameron recognized the voice, closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Very well, come and get her.”

  “What?” the duchess stammered.

  “You heard me, come and get her.” With that, he hung up the telephone.

  Cameron waited for a moment, picked the telephone back up and rang the operator. “Mable, can you tell me where that last call came from?”

  “New York City,” she answered.

  “Thank you.”

  “What is it?” Hannish asked.

  Cameron puffed his cheeks. “The duchess wants her daughter, and I said to come get her.”

  “Oh, no,” Cathleen moaned. “What do we do now?”

  “She shall not come here again,” Leesil said. “She would not dare.”

  “She would dare,” Hannish disagreed. “That is precisely what she would dare to do.”

  “Well, I tire of frettin’ over her sudden appearance constantly,” Cameron confessed.

  “Perhaps we should keep Blair at home,” Cathleen suggested.

  “We cannae lock her up for somethin’ that is not her doin’,” Cameron said. He was starting to get irritated.

  “I dinna mean, lock her up,” Cathleen said.

  Cameron realized he was taking it out on his wife, quickly sat beside her and took her hand. “Of course, you dinna. Forgive me.”

  “The fault is mine,” Hannish conceded, “and ‘tis up to me to settle it.”

  “How?” Leesil asked.

  “I shall go to New York, and do what I should have done years ago. What is the name of the lad Lady Bayington’s friend saw her with?”

  “Bernard somethin’…” Cathleen paused to remember, “Hathaway, I believe it was.”

  “Good. Call Laura and make certain.” Hannish stood up and headed for the door. “I am off on the next train.”

  “Wait,” Leesil cried out.

  He stopped and turned around to face her. “You dinna think to stop me, do you?”

  “Nay, but can you not take Prescot with you? I would feel more at ease if you did.”

  Hannish considered it. “Now that Alistair is here, Prescot might like a little time away. I shall ask him.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Bernard Allen Hathaway did not often receive visitors at home, and he was surprised when the butler of his 5th Avenue mansion announced the arrival of two strangers. “Show them in,” he said. Afraid his nefarious dealing had been found out, he cautiously stood up and carefully considered the way they were dressed. They wore casual clothing and he was relieved when neither appeared to be from the authorities.

  “I thank yo
u for seein’ us,” said Hannish. He shook Bernie’s hand and then introduced Prescot as his friend. He was taken aback by the man’s strong cologne, but he had smelled worse, and ignored it as best he could. Bookshelves lined all the walls except the one with three windows that faced Central Park.

  “Will you not sit down?” Bernie waited for them to sit and then returned to his chair behind a large Birchwood desk. “What brings you to see me?”

  “We are lookin’ for a lass who was lately seen in your company,” Hannish answered.

  “I see, what is her name?”

  “She uses many different names,” Hannish answered, “but recently I believe she goes by Nora Dell.”

  Bernie hid his panic well. “She uses many different names?”

  “Aye, she suffers misconceptions, you see.”

  “What sort of misconceptions?”

  “She believes herself married to lads who have never laid eyes on her.”

  Prescot added, “An English Lord for one, an Irishman of wealth and even a duke. She has no shame in doing it either.”

  “You mean she claims to be a real Lady and a duchess?” Bernie asked. When Hannish nodded, Bernie absentmindedly scratched the side of his face.

  “How interestin’,” Hannish said, “my brother has a ring very much like that one. I dinna think there was another in the world.”

  Bernie looked at his ring and smiled, “I bought it years ago from an Englishman. I do hope it is not a copy.”

  “I suppose there is nothin’ wrong with a jeweler makin’ a copy,” said Hannish.

  “No, I suppose not,” Bernie conceded. “About this…Nora Dell. When I first met her, she said she collects husbands. I thought her joking, but is she truly a bigamist?”

  “Nay, she does not truly marry them. She claims a false marriage and then makes the husband of her deception miserable. In the end, all she wants is money – vast amounts of it.”

  “She is a liar, then. Yes, I can believe that about her. She preys on the wealthy, you say?”