Marblestone Mansion, Book 4 Page 18

  “I do not,” Hannish answered, although he had a pretty good idea.

  There was something in MacGreagor’s eyes that made the sheriff pause, but he decided to ignore it for now. “I’ll be on my way home now too. I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow.”

  “Thank you,” Claymore said.

  Hannish found a rock to sit on, took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. He was so upset, he didn’t realize his jaw was clenched until Claymore sat down nearby and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Out with it, what enemies have we acquired?” Claymore asked.

  “Could be Suzie’s brothers,” Prescot volunteered.

  “Or it could be Swinton,” said Hannish.

  “Swinton? Last I heard, he was…” Claymore paused and raised an eyebrow. “What did he do?”

  “He tried to force Paulette to kiss him. Gretchen caught him and hit him with a baseball bat. He was about to attack Gretchen when I stopped him and threw him off my land.”

  “And then my Paulette rejected him,” Moan couldn’t help but boast.

  “Good for her.” Claymore suddenly wrinkled his brow. “Who is Gretchen?”

  Hannish finally smiled. “The best seamstress a lad ever had.”

  “I believe so. Mind if I borrow her from time to time. My Gloria is growing up, and this Gretchen would be handy to have around. I’ll even supply the baseball bat.”

  *

  As soon as the sun came up, the businesses opened and the town started to fill with people, Prescot went looking for Sweet Suzie’s brothers. He asked at the hotel, the drugstore, and every restaurant and café until he was certain her brothers had not been seen in two days. Then he went home to take a much needed nap. It was Swinton, it had to be, but how were they ever going to prove it?

  *

  Day after day, the duchess went to the Bayington estate in London, but the butler would not let her in. First, he said the Bayingtons had gone to Rome, then to Spain and from there, America. She didn’t believe a word of it. Butler Pifer always has a sneaky sort of smile on his face that implied he was lying through his teeth. He rather enjoyed taunting her, she realized. This time, she meant to get a straight answer or else!

  As she always did, she rang the bell and then pounded on the door. “Let me in!”

  “You are late,” Pifer said.

  “And you are not good at making jokes. Where are they? I demand to know this instant!”

  “Where were they last? I have forgotten?”

  The duchess drew in a very deep breath and her face began to turn beet red. “If I do not see them this instant, I mean to recover her and take her with me. We shall live in the depths of deficiency and it will be all Edward’s fault.”

  “Her?”

  “He will know what I mean. Tell Edward what I said and tell him this instant!”

  “Very well.” Pifer softly closed the door and bolted it. Then he went back to his duties. Several minutes later, he looked out of an upstairs window. The duchess was pacing back and forth and he could almost see hot steam rising from the top of her head. He wondered how long she would wait before she rang the bell again. It turned out to be only a few more minutes.

  “Yes?” Pifer asked and he opened the door.

  “Well, did you tell him?”

  “I cannot, he is indisposed.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I thought you said he was out of the country.”

  “He is indisposed, while he is out of the country.”

  The duchess clinched her fists, gritted her teeth, turned around and marched back to her waiting carriage. “He shall pay for this!”

  Pifer smiled, softly closed the door and bolted it again. A moment later, he heard her carriage drive away and went back to his duties.

  *

  Thanks to the warning she got from Lord Bayington, Mrs. Sinclair was expecting the woman she knew as Alexandra to show up on her doorstep at any moment. When the rented carriage at last pulled up in front, she opened her front door and was waiting.

  Face to face with her second husband’s second wife, the duchess wasted no time demanding what she wanted. “I have come for my ball gowns.”

  “Too late,” Mrs. Sinclair proudly announced.

  “What do you mean? Where are they?”

  “Cut up.”

  “What?”

  “My Beth needed new play clothes.”

  “Play clothes!” The duchess’ temper instantly flared. “Do you have any idea how much those cost?”

  Mrs. Sinclair folded her arms and sneered, “They cost me nothing at all.”

  The duchess tried to calm herself. “I wish to have Blair.”

  “She is gone.”

  “Gone where? When will she be back?”

  “Gone for good? I gave her to the first woman who would take her.”

  The duchess narrowed her eyes. “I do not believe you.”

  Mrs. Sinclair stood aside and motioned for her to come inside of the manor. “See for yourself.”

  “I shall.” The duchess remembered the layout of the home she once lived in well, and stomped through the foyer, the sitting room, Mr. Sinclair’s office, the kitchen, and even looked in the pantry. The upstairs held only three bedrooms and when she looked in the last one, Mrs. Sinclair’s daughter sat playing on the floor. Blair was not with her.

  “Where is Blair?” she asked the little girl.

  “Gone away?” the child confirmed.

  The duchess knelt down. “Do you know where she went?”

  “A man took her,” said Beth.

  “A man,” the duchess repeated, standing up. “I see.” She tromped back down the stairs, rushed through the sitting room and went out the door.

  “Satisfied?” Mrs. Sinclair asked, her arms still folded and a pleased grin on her face.

  “You had no right to give her away!”

  “Why not, you did? No matter where she is, she is better off without you. We are all better off without you!”

  “Dare you speak to me that way?”

  “I dare speak to you anyway I please. What Mr. Sinclair ever saw in a vagabond like you is more than I will ever understand.”

  The mention of her beloved Mr. Sinclair reminded her of the other question the duchess wanted to ask. “Where have you buried him?”

  Mrs. Sinclair finally narrowed her eyes. “In the ground where he belongs.”

  Her eyes turned just as mean as Mrs. Sinclair’s when the duchess shot back, “I knew you would not make him a fit wife.”

  “At least I was with him when he died. He hated you in the end.”

  The duchess blinked twice and took a step back. “You are lying, he loved me.”

  “Far from it, he cursed you and bid me never to let you set foot in his house again.”

  “Again you lie.”

  “Fool yourself if you like, it makes no never mind to me.” With that, Mrs. Sinclair went back inside and slammed the door.

  *

  It was not the best sort of employment, but for Charles Whitfield, an American in England, it was perfect. The pub was situated almost directly across the road from Mrs. Sinclair’s humble manor and since Charles worked nights, he had all day to keep watch. Sooner or later, Alexandra would come to get her ball gowns and he intended to be there when she did.

  He was proud of his employment, serving patrons in the snug, a private room where lovers could meet, a police officer could snatch a pint and where even the priest could abide without being noticed by his parishioners. More importantly, the locals were fascinated with his American accent and seemed to become quite fond of the average height man with reddish blond hair and a crooked smile.

  Therefore, when a carriage pulled up outside the Sinclair house at mid-morning, Charles spotted it. He held his breath and watched as the slender woman with dark hair stepped down, opened the gate and started up the stone walkway. He left his small room above the pub, casually walked across the road, but by the time he arrived, the duchess had
gone inside.

  Charles leaned his back against her carriage, crossed his feet at the ankles and folded his arms. He could wait - he had nothing better to do. It wasn’t long before the duchess hurried back out the door. He could not make out what they were saying, but there was no mistaking the look on Mrs. Sinclair’s face. She looked exceedingly pleased with herself. Then he saw the duchess cringe when the door slammed in her face.

  Furious and watching where she was going instead, the duchess didn’t notice him at first and when she did, she drew in a sharp breath.

  Charles’ smile was even more crooked than usual. “Hello, Sweetheart. Have you missed me?”

  “Charles?” At first, she stammered, but it wasn’t long until her fury returned. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.”

  She tried to go around him and get in the carriage, but he moved to block her. “Get out of my way.”

  “Sweetheart, you have grown cold since we last met. Why is that?”

  “Charles, you are the most bothersome man I have ever met. Now move!”

  “You mean I am the most bothersome man you ever married? I know it all, Alexandra…or whatever your name is. Can you guess who told me?”

  Her eyes flashed with rage. “I do not care to hear it and I do not care to speak to you. Get out of my way!”

  “I want a divorce.”

  “By all means, now will you move?”

  “You really cared nothing for any of us, did you? All you wanted was money. Tell me, have you managed to secure the affections of some other poor dupe? Is he husband number nine or ten?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  Charles drew in a deep breath. For weeks, he practiced what to say, but now none of that seemed important. The look of disdain on her face told him all he needed to know and to his surprise, he felt nothing for her now. He moved away, opened the door and like a gentleman, helped her inside. “By the way, my mother hates your perfume and so do I.” He closed the door, tipped his hat and nodded for the driver to take her away.

  *

  Inside the carriage, the duchess bit her lip and promptly forgot all about Charles. Cut up? Her glorious ball gowns, sent on ahead from San Francisco, were all cut up and made into play clothes? It was enough to bring a tear to her eye. Lately, it seemed keeping clothing in her possession had been impossible. She left everything on the train when she escaped Charles, lost another set when she was arrested in Colorado and now the very ball gowns she counted on to make a new start were gone too. It was so unfair.

  Charles being in London was not something she counted on. She should have. A woman in Colorado Springs said Charles had gone to England, but frankly, she hadn’t given any thought to Charles at all. He was just an annoyance she would rather forget, so long as he didn’t interfere with her future plans.

  Her future plans included getting her daughter and then demanding a living from Lord Bayington, but the thoughtless woman Mr. Sinclair married foiled that plan. Without Blair, she would never be able to make Edward pay what he quite obviously owed her. After all, she was the one who suffered all the labor pains after he got her pregnant. Edward should have been more careful.

  The duchess closed her eyes and hung her head. Why did everything always go wrong? She abruptly lifted her head and glared at nothing at all. This was Jedediah’s fault too, If he hadn’t caused her to marry him, she might have gotten back to England in time to save her ball gowns.

  For just a fading moment, she remembered Mr. Nelson, her sixth husband. He was the shipping magnate she left in San Francisco and the one who paid for all those beautiful silk ball gowns. How sad he would be to hear they had been cut up. Was he still looking for her, she wondered.

  *

  A few days later, Laura and Cathleen talked their husbands into letting them take a train to the orphanage Cathleen grew up in. They set out to find the perfect little girl for the Bayingtons to adopt, and if not there, they intended to visit another orphanage. Cameron would only allow it if Alistair went with them and in that case, Sarah was invited too.

  As their carriage pulled up in front and all four got out, Cathleen couldn’t help but pause. It was different, far different. The gate stood wide open, something that never happened without old Mrs. Forthright standing guard. One thing had not changed, however. Inside the high stonewall, a bridge over a small pond was still there. That was where the children once pushed Old Mrs. Forthright into the water. It made Cathleen smile for a moment, but her glee didn’t last long. The place brought back a flood of unhappy memories too.

  As Alistair opened the front door to the two-story building, Laura saw the dread on her friend’s face and whispered, “Remember why we are here.”

  Cathleen nodded, held her breath and went in. Instead of dirty walls and squalor, the receiving room was neat and clean, with colorful children’s drawings hanging on the walls. Still, her heart was not yet quieted. What lay beyond the receiving room could be very much as she left it.

  “I am Mrs. Ford,” the woman said as she greeted them. She had a pleasant voice, a kind face and was dressed in colorful clothing much brighter and cleaner than the black Old Mrs. Forthright always wore.”

  “We are hoping to adopt a child,” Laura said. “I am Lady Bayington and this is my friend…”

  “Cathleen,” the duchess of Glenartair said. “Just Cathleen.”

  Laura paused for a moment and took her friend’s hand. “Perhaps we should not have come.”

  “Nay, ‘tis fine. Have you any little girls about the age of six?” Cathleen asked.

  Mrs. Ford smiled. “Three and each as lovely a child as could be wished for.”

  “May we see them?” Laura asked.

  “Of course.” Mrs. Ford walked to an inside door, but paused before she opened it and turned back. “We wouldn’t like you getting them hopeful. Say you are visitors come to see the place.” She waited until the four adults nodded and then led the way down the long hallway.

  To Cathleen’s surprise, it too was clean, with plenty of light and more drawings on the walls. She could hear children and imagined they were crying, but as soon as Mrs. Ford opened the door to a larger room, she was relieved to find it was laughter instead. A teacher sat on a chair surrounded by the little ones and was reading a book to them. Naturally, all their heads turned to see who had come in. They looked clean, happy, and there was not a skinny one in the bunch. Cathleen couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief.

  “The older children are in school,” said Mrs. Ford.

  “School?” Cathleen asked.

  “Yes, we try to teach them to read and decipher numbers before they are old enough to go off to the factories to work.”

  “I am quite impressed with the place, Mrs. Ford,” said Laura.

  “Thank you, Lady Bayington. We do our best, but we couldn’t do it without the help of a wealthy benefactor from America.”

  Cathleen finally smiled. “Is his name perhaps Hannish MacGreagor?”

  Mrs. Ford’s eyes lit up. “You know him?”

  “He is my brother-in-law. I should have guessed this of him, my sister and I grew up here.”

  “When it was a much more dreadful place,” Laura put in. She had her eye on a pretty little girl with brown eyes and blonde hair. Her hair appeared a little hard to tame, which made her even more adorable. Three times, the little girl looked directly at her, and it tore at Laura’s heart.

  Cathleen leaned closer to Laura. “I promised Edward I would not let you ask for them all.”

  “Did he say precisely how many?” Laura whispered back.

  Cathleen giggled. “Nay, he dinna say that.”

  “Lady Bayington, do you imagine your husband would allow for twins, a boy and a girl? We’ll not let them be separated and a good many want the boy and not the girl.”

  “Twins? Which ones?” Laura asked.

  “They sit together in the front,” Mrs. Ford answered without pointing.

 
To Laura’s delight, the little boy turned to look at her and sure enough, he looked just like the little girl she had already fallen in love with. “Mrs. Ford, might I use your tele?”

  CHAPTER 11

  As soon as they got home, Cathleen placed a call to America, hoping her sister would be up by the time the call went through. Two hours later, she hurried to the telephone in the sitting room, full of exciting news about the orphanage. When she came back, she looked ghastly.

  “What is it, Sweetheart?” Cameron asked.

  “The warehouse burned. They think Mr. Swinton did it.”

  “Oh no,” Cameron moaned. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Nay, ‘twas in the middle of the night.”

  “Come sit down and tell us what happened.”

  She repeated what Leesil told her about Swinton’s impertinence and then said, “I knew somethin’ was amiss with Swinton, but I dinna think him dangerous.”

  “Can they build another warehouse?” Edward asked.

  “They intend to. They must have someplace to store their building materials.” Cathleen said. “There is some good news.”

  “What?” Cameron asked.

  “Abigail found the diamond brooch she thought her maid stole.”

  Cameron looked at Edward. “You truly must go to America with us when next we sail. You have not fully lived until you have met Abigail.”

  “Why not? I have yet to see America,” said Edward.

  “Why not indeed?” Laura asked.

  They talked for a while more and at length, Edward hung his head. “My friends, I fear Laura and I must leave you in the morning.”

  “What about the duchess?” Cathleen asked.

  “She has not been to the estate this day complete.”

  Cathleen rolled her eyes. “She must be ill.”

  “We can only hope,” said Laura. “Not dangerously ill, you understand, just enough to keep her in bed for a year or two.”

  “If she returns, I shall threaten to call the constable. That should stop her.”

  “Oh, I forgot,” Cathleen said. “Mrs. Sinclair called to say the duchess went to see her.”

  “Then she knows Blair is not there.”

  Cathleen giggled. “Mrs. Sinclair said she told the duchess she gave Blair to a lass.”