Marblestone Mansion, Book 4 Page 4

  Leesil sighed. “I thought you’d never notice. Come, ladies, you can help too.” As soon as she got up, the men rose, Cathleen kissed Cameron and all the women started to leave the room.

  “I fear we must go home,” said Nicholas. “I’ve a serious court case on my hands and work I left undone.”

  “I understand,” said Hannish. He hugged McKenna, put his hand on her stomach and smiled. “‘Tis a girl.”

  McKenna snickered. “You thought Leesil was going to have a girl.”

  “Did I?” Hannish put his arm around her shoulders and walked her into the foyer while Prescot got their coats out of the closet. “Come back often if you can, we do not know when we shall see Cameron and Cathleen again.”

  “We shall,” Nicholas said, shaking his brother-in-laws hand.

  *

  In the dining room, Elizabeth said, “Lenox, David, and young Mr. Wade, off to bed with you. ‘Tis late.”

  “Oh mother, must I?” Wade whined.

  “You heard your mother,” Moan scolded. “Off with you.”

  Begrudgingly, Wade took his mother’s hand and followed his brothers out of the room.

  “They are a fine family,” Cameron said, moving to a chair closer to the head of the table.

  “Indeed they are,” Hannish agreed as he came back in the room. After the men retook their seats, Hannish looked at his brother. “Why did you not tell me about Cathleen?”

  “She wouldn’t’ let me. She said you would pester her with questions she dinna want to answer.”

  Hannish considered that while Shepard began to serve glasses of scotch. “I suppose she was right.”

  “I sent her enough letters, did you not notice?” Cameron asked.

  “Aye, but I thought you only talked about Blair and James.”

  “Might I ask a question?” said Moan.

  “Of course,” Hannish answered.

  “Did your father tell you about my father? Did you know Laird MacGreagor sent us an allowance each month?”

  Hannish answered, “I dinna know about the money. We were quite young when our parents died, but I do remember him telling me about a MacGreagor who was falsely executed. Would that be the one?”

  “I believe so, unless there was more than one.”

  “Not that I have heard. ‘Tis not a pretty story.”

  “I have a right to know, do I not?” Moan asked.

  “Indeed you do. Very well, your father did what any good MacGreagor would do. He killed the man who tried to force your mother.”

  Moan looked incredulous. “Someone tried to force my mother? She never said a word. Is that how her arm was broken?”

  “Aye.”

  Moan hung his head. “The poor woman. She suffered so with that arm, especially when she got on in years. I never knew ‘twas a constant reminder of what happened to father.”

  Hannish decided finishing the story quickly was the best way. “The lad he killed had a family who did not take kindly to it. They hung your father that very day. There was an inquest, but the constable decided an eye for an eye was fair enough.”

  “I never even guessed,” said Moan.

  “‘Twas my father who suggested she use another surname so the lad’s family could not find any of you. I am pleased you have taken back the MacGreagor name now.” Hoping to change the subject, Hannish asked, “You said some of the old stories are written down?”

  Moan finally smiled. “I brought them with me. Do you recall a Daniel MacGreagor? He had them, and when I went to inquire as to his knowledge of the generous gifts, he gave them to me. hoping I could find you. Shall I get them?”

  “Nay, we’ve plenty of time to read them later and the whole family should hear them. I must thank you for giving us Crisp’s manuscript. I canna say how grateful we are.”

  “I assure you, the pleasure was all mine,” Moan said.

  “Did Cameron tell you what happened when the duchess came to town?”

  Moan grinned and accepted the glass of scotch Shepard offered him. “He did. He said ‘twas Cathleen’s idea to plague her and make the duchess flee.”

  Cameron set his glass down and looked at his brother. “At the time, I was quite impressed, but now I am a bit worried. If Leesil and Cathleen ever turn against us, we shall be in a fine fix, brother.”

  “Perhaps we should take the teles out,” Hannish suggested.

  “And forbid them to write?” Cameron asked. “I’d not like to be the bearer of that bad news.”

  “Nor would I,” Hannish agreed.

  “Have you any idea where the duchess went when she left?” Moan asked.

  Hannish took a drink and then set his glass down. “None. So long as she never comes back, I care not where she is. And just now I am reminded. You need not mention the manuscript to Claymore Whitfield. He is Charles Whitfield’s father and he would be most upset to learn of it.”

  Moan nodded. “I’ll not say a word. I give you my pledge.”

  “Good, let that be an end to John Crisp, to his manuscript and to the duchess,” said Hannish, holding his glass up for a toast.

  CHAPTER 3

  Leesil led the way up the stairs to her bedroom and opened the door. When she glanced back, Elizabeth was yawning. “You need not stay if you wish to go to bed.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. MacGreagor, I believe I shall retire.”

  “Call me Leesil, everyone does.” She lightly hugged Elizabeth and watched her walk on down the hall, taking all her children with her except Paulette. Leesil smiled at Paulette and walked into her bedroom. It was perhaps this room she changed the most, for it once belonged to the despicable duchess. Granted, the duchess only spent one night in it, and the servants did their best to change everything before Leesil got back from her honeymoon, but it still reminded Leesil she was a second wife. Therefore, she added her own special touches and eventually it felt more like hers. Leesil walked to her closet, pulled out her wedding dress and held it out to her sister.

  “Wear your wedding dress?” Cathleen asked. “I cannae, ‘tis yours.”

  Leesil laid the wedding dress on the bed and began to unbutton her sister’s frock in the back. “Have we not shared everything our whole lives? ‘Twill be our weddin’ dress now and I shall save it for Blair when she marries.”

  “Are you certain?” Cathleen asked.

  “I can think of no better use for it.” She helped Cathleen step out of her frock, slipped the white gown over his sister’s head and began to button it. “I believe it fits very nicely. What say you, Paulette?”

  Paulette was distracted by a figurine on Leesil’s dressing table, but she quickly turned to look. “It is very beautiful. I wish I were getting married.”

  “You will someday,” said Cathleen. “Not so very long ago I believed romance was only in books. Now…”

  “Now you are about to become a duchess,” Leesil interrupted.

  Cathleen slowly grinned. “I suppose I am.”

  Leesil walked to the ballerina figurine and picked it up. “When we are quite bored, I shall tell you the story behind this figurine.”

  “There is a story,” Cathleen asked. “You have not told me.”

  “Very well, I shall tell it now. When I first came, there were hardly any furnishings and Mr. Hannish sent one of the footmen to town to fetch Montgomery Ward Catalogues. Yet, I could never get my hands on one, so late in the night, I slipped into Mr. Hannish’s study to take a look. Having lived in an orphanage, I had never seen so many glorious things and although he said we could have whatever we wanted, I could not decide. Then this figurine caught my eye. I circled it and hurried away before he caught me. He must have known it was me, for a few weeks later, I found it in the library where ‘twas my duty to clean.”

  “You were a servant?”

  “Indeed I was, and proud to serve him. Hannish MacGreagor was the kindest man I had ever known, not that I knew that many, mind you. He was just the way I imagined a good man to be.”

  “And th
en you fell in love,” said Cathleen, still admiring the wedding dress in the mirror, “and married the master of the house.”

  “‘Tis still like a dream come true,” Leesil said, setting the figurine back where she got it. “Now, let me see. You can wear my wedding slippers too, although you must have a new hat. We shall go shopping tomorrow. What else do we need?”

  “We must ask the minister if he will come,” Cathleen reminded her sister.

  “Which day?” Leesil asked.

  “I dinna know. I forgot to ask Cameron when we are leaving.”

  “I will ask him,” Paulette offered. In a flash, she was out the door and down the hall.

  Finally alone, Cathleen put her arms around Leesil. “Oh, sister, I am so happy. He came back for me. I dinna guess he would so soon, did you?”

  “I did not. I thought I would be forced to watch you mope another six months or more.”

  “Mope? I do not mope.”

  “Only when you think I am not watching.” Leesil knelt down, examined the length and glanced up at her sister. “We must ask Gretchen to raise the hem an inch or so, and then it will be perfect.”

  A moment later, Paulette came back. “Mr. Cameron says the ship sails in a fortnight and ‘twill take a week to get to New York.”

  “I see,” said Leesil. “We have less time than I thought.” She sat down on the bed. “You can hardly spend your weddin’ night on a train; you must stay in Denver that night. Therefore, we have less than a week to marry you off.”

  Cathleen smiled. “Marry me off, is it? Do you promise not to miss me terribly?”

  “Not terribly, a little perhaps.” Leesil abruptly stood up before both of them got tears in their eyes. “No time for that now. Take off the gown and I shall take it to Gretchen in the morning.” She walked around behind her sister and began the unbuttoning again. “Paulette, if you wish to go shopping with Cathleen tomorrow, you best be off to bed.”

  Paulette grinned. “I wish it very much.” She hurried out of the room and closed the door.

  “I am happy to know you shall have plenty to keep you busy after I am gone,” said Cathleen.

  “And so shall you. You must write and tell me every detail.”

  “What will you do if I do not?” Cathleen asked.

  “I shall call you every night and wake you out of a sound sleep.”

  “I hate it when you do that.”

  Leesil grinned. “I know.”

  *

  “I do not belong here,” Ethel McGraw moaned yet again. She slowly and begrudgingly poked her needle through the torn edges of the black and white striped prison uniform, and took her time drawing the thread through the material. The women’s prison was little more than a converted house, and not so very different from the one she endured in London after being arrested for bigamy. This time the charges were much worse - this time she was convicted of attempted murder. It was absolute nonsense.

  “You are right,” Bertha jeered. If the other inmates had heard Ethel’s complaint once, they had heard it a million times. They hated her - outright hated her, especially Bertha, who openly admitted killing her husband. “You do not belong here, you belong in a sanitarium, and not just any sanitarium - one as far away from us as you can get!”

  Sweet Suzie rolled her eyes. “You can’t send a goddess with an imitation English accent to a sanitarium; it just wouldn’t be right.” Suzie whimsically stared off into space. “I wonder if the King knows where she is. I’ve a good mind to write him a letter.”

  The duchess shivered at the thought. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to know about her incarceration, especially the King, whom she had actually met some years earlier. Of course, he knew her by another name. Even so, some English newspapers were resourceful enough to discover her, and positively merciless when it came to a scandal. Threatening to cause a scandal was one thing; being the subject of one was something else again.

  Ethel, the name the duchess took when she was arrested, sighed and went back to her tedious sewing. At least the women didn’t have to wear striped uniforms made of cheap cotton like the men. Instead, they wore plain white blouses and black skirts void of pleats or a fashionably short train in the back. Wearing proper clothing was the one and only thing the duchess found somewhat pleasing in the whole place. The food was boring, the mattresses were hard and the rooms held no decorations. With little to encourage them, the women were hard-pressed to remember they were women.

  Outside the barred windows was a supposed lawn with far more dirt than grass. Yet, when they were allowed, the women were happy to go outside, smell the fresh air and let the sun shine on their washed-out faces. Escape, however, was impossible. The prison was surrounded by a high stonewall with only one wrought iron gate in the front.

  Shortly after her arrival, the duchess sent a desperate letter to London’s John Crisp begging him to get her out. It was a long shot, but he was the solicitor who got her out of jail once before, and he might know someone in America who could do it again. She waited and waited, but John Crisp never answered her letter.

  Alas, she was on her own.

  It took nearly two sweltering summer months for the duchess to come up with a way to get out of prison. She should have thought of it long before, but her wit was simply not as sharp as it once was. It was no wonder; hers was a harder life than most…at least she thought it was.

  With her plan firmly set in her mind, she sent a second letter, which she marked with the inmate number 279, just as she was told to do on all her correspondence. What she had in mind was not one plan, but two - each possibly gaining her sufficient money to get back to England, and each designed to end her incarceration. Both plans had the potential of working very well, but one offered far more money than the other. After all, what was life without a great deal of money?

  Therefore, the next day and quite without reason, Ethel’s complaining stopped. She didn’t say anything at all, tended her mending quickly and even smiled at one of Bertha’s remarks. Sweet Suzie was so alarmed by this change in behavior; she actually went to see if Ethel had a fever. She didn’t.

  The day after that, Ethel again remained quiet, quickly mended two uniforms and waited until the matronly guard, with the condescending, sickening sweet voice, left the mending room. “I could teach you.”

  “Teach us what?” Sweet Suzie asked. Suzie’s blonde hair was naturally curly, her brown eyes appeared larger than most and her smile often looked plastered on.

  “How to fool a man into thinking you are a lady,” Ethel answered.

  Instantly angry, the buxom Bertha set her sewing aside, stood up and clinched her fists. “What’s wrong with the way we are now?”

  The duchess reeled back a little. “Nothing, nothing at all…unless you hope to attract a rich husband once you get out.”

  “You mean put on airs like you?” Bertha shot back.

  “I…” The duchess was about to become defensive and that would not do at all. “Bertha, you married the wrong man and you had every right to kill him, but look what it got you. The right man has a good income, knows how to treat a lady and would never harm her for fear of hurting his good reputation.”

  Bertha slowly sat back down. “My Sherman deserved to die.”

  “Indeed he did, but you don’t. Someday, you shall be free and then what? I can teach you everything you need to know, so that when you go to all the right places, everyone will think you are a sophisticated lady worthy of the best sort of man.” The duchess slowly looked around the room. She had the attention of all fifteen, especially Sweet Suzie, which pleased her very much. So far, everything was going just as planned.

  Thus, a Colorado Prison charm school quietly began, and who better to teach them than someone who actually had been a duchess, and danced the night away with prominent men who were close to England’s Queen Victoria? It was perfect.

  *

  It was hardly a surprise when Abigail Whitfield showed up bright and early the next morning
at Marblestone, and just as they were sitting down to breakfast. Nor was it a surprise that butler Prescot let her in without announcing her. Prescot left the dining room door open and then hurried to the end of the table to hold a chair for her. Even the footmen smiled when she appeared. It had become their custom to have two place settings available, just in case Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield arrived for a meal. This morning, they would need only one, and Shepard quickly added it to her end of the table.

  The ever-enthusiastic Abigail was not yet ready to sit. “So, these are the newly arrived MacGreagors,” Abigail said, hardly taking a breath between sentences as she removed her gloves. “I heard you were here. We have few secrets in Colorado Springs, you know. I heard it from Maude Goodwin, who heard it from Mr. Mirth at the train station.” She handed her gloves to Shepard and kept right on talking as she started for her place at the table. “And Cameron, you came back as well.” She quickly hugged him and moved on. “Leesil, you warned them about altitude sickness, did you not?”

  “I…” Leesil tried.

  “Oh, never mind, I am sure you will when they begin to feel a little queasy.”

  “Abigail, will you not share breakfast with us,” Hannish asked, still standing.

  “Well, perhaps a little juice.” She took the chair Prescot held for her, removed the cloth napkin and spread it on her lap.

  Shepard poured apple juice for Abigail and went back to get the platter of bacon. She always asked for juice and ended up eating a full meal.

  Hannish liked teasing his best friend’s wife just a little, and even after the other men sat down, he remained standing. “A spot of bad news we have this day, my dearest Abigail.” He watched her smile fade.

  “What is it, has someone died?”

  “Nay, but our Cathleen is leaving us.”

  “Leaving? Where is she going?”

  “My brother means to marry her and carry her off?” At last, he cracked a smile and watched that old familiar chagrin appear on her face.

  “Must you always tease me?” She yanked her napkin off her lap, set it on the table and stood up, causing the men to rise again. Abigail rushed around the table to hug both Cathleen and Cameron. “We shall have the biggest wedding this town has ever seen. My Cathleen is marrying the Duke of Glenartair. I am so happy I could dance!”