Marblestone Mansion, Book 7 Read online

  “Hannish,” she gasped. “What are…where are you taking me?” the two of them were walking so fast, her feet barely had time to touch the ground.

  “I mean to see you never call or come near us again,” Hannish answered. When they came to a carriage with the door opened, Hannish lifted her up and set her inside. As soon as he backed away, Prescot closed the door.

  The duchess found herself in a black, closed in carriage that had all its curtains drawn except the one over the open door window. It was just enough light to see the strange man seated across from her. “Who are you?”

  “I am Doctor Morris, Mrs. Graham. I have come to take you home.”

  “Home?”

  Hannish smiled. “Goodbye, Olivia, or would you rather be called Alice? Perhaps Alexandra or what was that other one? Caroline? There are so many, I have lost count.” He ignored her seething glare and addressed the doctor. “Take care, as I said, she becomes violent when she is cornered.” He nodded to the driver, stood back, watched the carriage take her away, and did not stop watching until the carriage turned a corner and went out of sight.

  Prescot studied the sad expression on his employer’s face. “You regret having done it?”

  “I regret havin’ been forced to do it. It is the only way to keep her away from Blair, and for Blair I would do most anything.”

  Prescot fell into step beside Hannish as they walked up the street. “I best buy you a drink.”

  “She is quite bonnie still, is she not?”

  Prescot raised an eyebrow. “If you think so, I best buy you two drinks. What power she holds over men is beyond me. I’d never have given her a second look.”

  “‘Tis because you are more reasonable than most of us.”

  Prescot laughed. “Try telling Millie that.”

  “When we get back to the hotel, remind me to call Lord Bayington. He’ll be happy to hear he no longer has to fear findin’ her on his doorstep again.”

  “And her other husbands?”

  “Charles will hear about it, three of her husbands are dead, and the other two likely do not care.”

  Neither of them noticed a relieved Bernie in the carriage across the street.

  Nor did they see Mrs. Doyle standing just inside the hotel lobby. She saw them, however, and recognized the butler right away. It wasn’t hard to figure out who the tall one was either. “They have kidnapped her,” she softly said.

  She found a place to sit and decided to wait to see if Nora Dell would come back. She didn’t, and neither did Hannish MacGreagor and the butler. An hour later, a man who claimed to be from the lunatic asylum came, and asked the desk clerk to gather Nora’s things. The man at the desk looked appalled to learn they had rented a room to a lunatic, and immediately sent a maid off to do as the man requested.

  Shocked beyond words, Mrs. Doyle slowly turned to look outside. She could see neither the butler nor Hannish MacGreagor, but she was well aware she had tried to trick them, and could be taken away next. As soon as she was certain the coast was clear, she hurried into the elevator, went to her room and stayed there for the better part of three days.

  *

  In a large, unfamiliar room filled with women who were clearly out of their minds, the duchess tried to figure out how they had found her. It was Mrs. Doyle, it had to be. Someday, the duchess vowed, she would see to it that Mrs. Doyle was punished. Just now, however, she was caught in a place with no apparent way out. The woman beside her stared blankly at the floor, appeared to nod off from time to time, and then awake with a start. Was it possible they were allowed little sleep, the duchess wondered.

  Not far away, another woman tried desperately to put a child’s wooden picture puzzle together. It was a map of the world with each country cut out. Any simpleton could do it, but try as she might, the woman could not make any of the pieces fit. She was, the duchess realized, in a lunatic asylum, she had to be. Furthermore, she was wearing the same dowdy green frock over a plain white blouse as all the other women. Funny, she did not remember taking her clothing off and putting those on. She wrapped her arms around her waist and to amazement, her corset was missing. Never in her life had she been in public without a proper corset.

  The duchess looked down at her hands, and sure enough, Lady Husher’s diamond and sapphire ring was gone. Next, she touched her neck where Lady Husher’s exquisite string of pearls should have been. It too was gone and she knew just who to blame. Oh, if she could get her hands around Hannish MacGreagor’s neck, she would gladly strangle him.

  The duchess hated waiting, especially when she knew not for what she was waiting. The stupid doctor said he would send someone for her things, and that he was taking her home. She remembered that much at least. Was this supposed to be home?

  She got up and walked to a window. The view was of a pleasant garden, with a high stonewall – too high for her to climb over. Two more women were planting something near the wall, and she wondered if it would be possible to tunnel under it. It was something to consider, anyway.

  At last, she heard someone call, “Gormilia Graham.” It was her name, she supposed, but she hadn’t used it in ages and it sounded quite foreign. That was another thing. How did Hannish MacGreagor know her real name? “Laura,” she whispered.

  A woman dressed in white stood in a doorway, motioning for the duchess to come to her, and she considered if she should. She might as well; there was nothing else to do. She followed the woman down a hallway and then into an office, where she found Dr. Morris sitting behind a desk. He did not rise in her presence, which offended her greatly. How dare he? It was a clear indication that she wasn’t going to like him at all.

  “Why am I here?” she demanded to know.

  “Perhaps we could have a more pleasant conversation if you would sit down.”

  “Pleasant for you, but not for me. You will answer my question.”

  “Very well, you are here because you are not well-meaning.”

  “According to whom, Hannish MacGreagor?”

  “For one.”

  “Who else? Oh, I suppose you have heard from all my other husbands. They have conspired against me, and not for the first time.”

  Dr. Morris calmly took his thick spectacles off and began to clean them with a cloth, “Other husbands?”

  “Do not pretend you do not already know. It does not do you justice.” He looked a little cross-eyed with his glasses off, although his face was pleasant enough. His face was framed by his light brown hair, long sideburns, and his slightly darker mustache and beard. For some reason she was fascinated by the way he cleaned his spectacles. Who was it that used to do that, she wondered. Ah yes, it was that contemptible Lord Edward Bayington…or was it? She could not quite recall.

  “Mrs. Graham?”

  “What?”

  “Perhaps you might like to tell me about your husbands?”

  “And perhaps I would not.”

  “I see. We can discuss that later, if you prefer.”

  “Or never,” she shot back.

  He was quiet for a time. Slowly and carefully, he finished cleaning his spectacles, put them back on, and watched her through the corner of his eyes as she folded her arms, shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Finally, she sat down in a chair as far away from him as she could get. “Who is Alice?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath, let it out and did not answer.

  “Very well, who is Caroline?”

  That was the name she used when she married Jedediah Tanner, and she certainly was not going to bear her soul about him to a cross-eyed doctor. The duchess huffed and turned her whole body to the side, so that she faced a bare wall instead of him.

  “Mrs. Graham, we are not getting anywhere. I have been told your many husbands are something you have conjured up in her mind.”

  “Conjured up? I would have to be senseless to do that.”

  “Precisely.”

  She turned to face him once more. “I assure you, I made nothing up.”
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  “Except your many names, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps, but that was necessary.”

  “How so?”

  Frustrated, she closed her eyes and bowed her head. “You could never understand.”

  “Let me guess, then. You changed your name to keep from getting caught. Am I right?”

  Instead of answering, she stared at his unblinking eyes. “Your glasses have slid down your nose again.”

  “So they have,” he agreed, as he pushed them back up with his finger. “Yet, you have not answered my question.”

  “You ask stupid questions.”

  “Very well, tell me what I should be asking.”

  “You should not be asking any questions at all. It is none of your affair.”

  “I cannot help you if you do not tell me.”

  “Help me do what?”

  “Get out of here. Do you not wish to be free again?” He asked.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then you must tell me the truth.”

  The duchess pondered that statement for quite a while before she spoke again. What was the truth, that she killed Laura’s first husband, fled in a small boat and nearly drowned. Is that what Laura told him? Of course she did, Laura was always suspicious of everything she did. Perhaps it was not Laura. It might have been George Graham. Marrying him was the worst mistake she ever made, but how could George know where she was? But then, how did Hannish know? She was convinced of it – they were all against her now, even George.

  “Mrs. Graham?”

  “How will you know when I am telling the truth,” she finally managed to ask.

  “I will know.”

  “How?”

  “Mrs. Graham, I believe our time is up for today. Your things have been brought from the hotel and put in storage. If you will kindly present yourself to the nurse, she will show you where you are to sleep.”

  “I require my own room, naturally.”

  “I am afraid that cannot be arranged.”

  “I say it can and must be arranged. I was once a member of the King’s court and you shall treat me with the highest regard.”

  “You believe that, do you?”

  “It is true; ask Hannish…did he mention he was once a duke?”

  “And you are therefore a duchess?”

  “I am.” She could tell he didn’t believe her and why would he. “Oh, never mind. He has surely lied about that, just as he lies about everything else.” She was not ready to leave, so she didn’t. “Where are my jewels?”

  “We are keeping them safe for you.”

  “Where?” He did not answer, no matter how fiercely she glared at him, so she changed the subject. “Am I to wear these clothing while I am here and nothing else?”

  “Everyone is required to look the same.”

  “So you may easily find us if we escape?”

  He chuckled. “No one has ever escaped from this facility. I assure you, this is the best and most escape-proof hospital in New York State.”

  “A hospital, is it?”

  “We prefer to call it that. You may have a brush, but you must first ask the nurse for it.”

  “Well, how happy that shall be.” She could stand the sight of him no longer, got up, opened the door, and went to find a nurse.

  The duchess truly expected a private room, but it was not to be. There were three other beds in a space more suitable for two, with closets so slender, all her things would not fit, even if she was allowed to have them. She opened the slender door, found nothing inside and closed it again. The bed covers were a dreary gray, the walls were a dreary white and there was not a touch of color anywhere. If a woman was not already a lunatic, she soon would be. When the duchess looked out the window, she saw nothing but that dreary gray stonewall. She was put away, truly put away where no one would ever find her, and the only way out was to come up with something the doctor would believe. But what would he believe?

  She stretched out on her bed and stared at the dreary white ceiling. The duchess needed a plan, one that would not fail this time. She was down, but not out. She was never out. All she had to do was recover her jewels and her clothes, and then find a way to escape. She was truly left to her own devices this time, for the truth be told, not a soul in the world would be looking for her. Bernie, Dena and Mrs. Doyle might wonder where she got off to, but only a husband would look for her.

  At the moment, she did not have one of those.

  She blinked twice, and wondered if Doctor Morris was married.

  *

  Claymore Whitfield was overjoyed at the prospect of hanging a sold sign on two of the houses. He went first to the warehouse to pick the signs up, and brushed right past the two union picketers on the way in. On his way out, he held them in full view as he brushed past them a second time, got on his horse and headed for the row of Whitfield and MacGreagor houses. When he got there, he had no idea which houses, so he just chose the first two, nailed the signs on both front doors and stood back to admire his work.

  “That’ll show ‘em. Confounded union,” he muttered. He promptly got back on his horse and rode to town.

  *

  Abigail, Leesil and Cathleen had nearly run the footmen ragged sending them off to buy this piece of furniture and that, so at least the young couple would have a table and chairs, and a bed to sleep in. From the general store, they bought bedding, lamps, dishes, silverware and everything that was needed for a kitchen. By the end of the fourth day, everyone was exhausted.

  On the fifth day, Claymore and Abigail were at the train station waiting to take the new arrivals home. The sky was cloudy and looked like rain, but hopefully, they could get them to Marblestone before the first drop hit the ground. Henry was there with the MacGreagor carriage as well, but Cameron had decided to wait at home with an over excited Leesil and Cathleen.

  “Here they come!” shouted Shepard as soon as he saw the carriages through the trees. The servant’s rushed out the back door to line up, while the family walked out the front door. Butler Alistair, of course, held his gloved hands together and stayed in front of the door, ready to open it for their guests at a moment’s notice.

  Hannish had the honors, introduced all the servants, then introduced Samuel, Ben and Francis to Leesil and Cathleen. There was no denying the delight on mother O’Connell’s face at the sight of her whole family together. Yet, it was Ben Hannish kept an eye on.

  Ben walked up to Alistair, looked him up and down, touched his gloved hand with his forefinger and nodded. “So, this is what a butler looks like.”

  “A very proper butler,” Hannish answered.

  “May I see the improper one next?”

  Hannish laughed and Alistair smiled. “Good news, Mr. Hannish, five families have agreed to come to America, as long as I meet them in New York so they dinna get lost.”

  “Good news indeed,” said Hannish. “Claymore wants to go, perhaps you might go together.”

  “I would like that,” Alistair said. “Provost MacGreagor is comin’. He’s decided to leave the cannon next to the castle, in case the Americans attack.”

  “I am relieved to hear that. What about his cow?”

  “It took a bit of doin’, but he has agreed to give the cow to his nephew.” He opened the door and let Mother O’Connell enter first. She already had baby Anna in her arms, and Justin was trying desperately to get her attention.

  “Grandmother… grandmother… grandmother?”

  Mrs. O’Connell smiled at Leesil, “‘Tis takin’ a bit of gettin’ used to. What, Justin?”

  He smiled up at her, “I love you.”

  “Oh, you sweet child,” she said. She handed Anna back to Cathleen, knelt down and wrapped her arms around her grandson. “I love you too.”

  “Will you play with me?”

  “Grandmother is tired, but I will,” Ben offered. “Have you a baseball?”

  “I do,” Justin excitedly answered.

  “You best take me to it, then.”
r />   “This way, Uncle Ben.” Justin grabbed Ben’s hand and started to drag him across the parlor.

  Hannish took his baby daughter out of his wife’s arms, followed the boys through the parlor, and then stood in the window watching his brother-in-law and his son play baseball in the backyard. At last, the house was filling up with children, just as he dreamed it would when he chose the land and built the mansion.

  He kissed baby Kate’s soft cheek and whispered, “What lad could ever want for anything more?”

  CHAPTER 11

  Claymore’s prediction that the Union War would end soon proved to be more false than anyone imagined. It lasted more than a year. In December, while the Wright Bros were flying their heavier-than-air machine at Kitty Hawk, and an electric arc lamp set fire to a Chicago theater killing hundreds, the governor of Colorado declared martial law. The National Guard was directed to criminalize strolling, being idle, or not having a visible means of support. Fifteen men fell to their deaths when a cage hoist broke, and shopkeepers were arrested for displaying posters favoring the union. A depot blew up killing thirteen, and even then, the strike did not end – not until newspapers in support of the unions were destroyed. After that, union workers and bosses alike were loaded on trains and dumped across state lines.

  At long last, the war was over and the union lost.

  Mrs. Dane stayed in the home her husband built for her and continued to catch up on the mortgage payments as best she could. Without her knowing, Claymore told Banker Goodwin that he would guarantee her loan if it was necessary. It didn’t come to that. Nevertheless, houses all around her were foreclosed upon and new families moved in. Even so, life in the boisterous, fun loving Colorado City would never be the same again.

  That year at Marblestone, nothing seemed more important than preparing for the next hayride, barn dance, picnic, ball, or party. For Abigail, the end of the strike meant finding others to make her baskets for, but there was always a family in need somewhere. As far as she knew, Claymore never found out she had been making baskets all along. For the Whitfield and MacGreagor Construction Company, the end of the strike meant selling the houses that had not been spoken for, and planning to build more.