Marblestone Mansion, Book 3 Page 6

  Not long after that, an enormous man came for Cathleen. She clung to James and refused to go, but the stranger said Leesil had found a home for them in America and wanted her to come. It had to be true; how else would he know her sister’s name? At length, and with a little more prodding, Cathleen was persuaded to let him take her away. Wearing little more than rags, the stranger put her on a ship with Egan, a Scot he sent to look after her, and a terrified Cathleen watched Cameron MacGreagor stand on the dock and slowly disappear as they sailed away.

  Yet, that first day was the beginning of a life she never imagined she would have. It included clean, warm clothing one of the ship’s maids found for her to wear, a soft bed of her own and more than enough to eat. Cameron MacGreagor saved her life – she was certain of it, and if it took forever, she intended to pay him back somehow.

  In the deplorable conditions of the orphanage, Cathleen was no stranger to death and knew all too well the darkness that clouded one’s mind after losing a loved one. Therefore, when Cameron’s wife died, she felt compelled to say something to ease his pain. There was only one way to explain it, so she simply wrote:

  The flowers will bloom again.

  With little else to do, Cathleen filled her world with books and daydreams. Her favorite stories were about falling in love, something she hoped would soon happen to her. Occasionally, she fancied one man or another in town, but she was forever finding fault with them. Some seemed too stuffy, some were not so pleasant to look at and some were far too easily tricked. Easily tricked was a failing she simply could not abide.

  Yet, she couldn’t help but feel something wonderful was about to happen. Love was in the air and her prince would come – she was sure of it. Sometimes the feeling was so strong, it was as though she could almost reach out and touch him.

  *

  It normally took two days for the Denver newspapers to reach residents in Colorado Springs, and reading it had become a breakfast ritual for the three remaining MacGreagor family members; Hannish, Leesil and Cathleen. They helped themselves to eggs, bacon and toast in dishes on the sideboard, sat in their usual places at the table and divided the ten-page newspaper.

  “The train was robbed again,” Hannish said, reading the bold-type headline on the front page.

  “Where?” Cathleen asked.

  “Just west of Denver.” Hannish paused a moment to read the rest of the article before he continued. “The robbers piled rocks on the tracks, forcing the engineer to stop the train. Five masked men got onboard before the Pinkerton Guards were able to stop them. They tied up the guards, unhooked the mail car and then blew it up, safe and all.”

  “They got away?” Leesil asked.

  “Apparently so. I doubt they will find them now. As Claymore says, there are hundreds of places to hide in these mountains.”

  “How much did they get?” Cathleen asked.

  “The paper does not say, but it must have been plenty. A $1,000 reward for information is bein’ put up, but I doubt anythin’ will come of it.”

  “A thousand dollars,” Leesil gasped. “‘Tis a lot of money. Surely, someone will find it temptin’ and turn them in.”

  Hannish peeled off the front page and handed it to his wife. “Marvelous contraptions those Brownie cameras. Someone had the wherewithal to take a picture of the passengers gettin’ off the train. They look quite terrified.”

  Leesil looked at the picture and suddenly caught her breath.

  “What?” both Hannish and Cathleen asked at the same time.

  Leesil was nearly speechless. There was no mistake – the woman in the background was definitely the duchess. “Look.” She put her finger just below the woman’s picture and then turned the paper so her husband could see.

  The color began to drain from his face.

  “What is it?” Cathleen asked.

  “‘Tis the duchess,” Leesil answered, handing the paper to her sister.

  “In Denver?” Cathleen asked. She had never seen the duchess, but when her sister handed her the picture, she finally understood why everyone said she was very beautiful. Even in a grainy black and white photo, the duchess was stunning.

  “Hopefully, she was just changing trains,” Hannish said.

  “Believe it if you will, but I do not.” Leesil took the paper back, folded it and then put the picture face down on the table. “She comes for more money.”

  Hannish laid his fork in his plate, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “She’ll get no more from me. I should not have paid her last time. I should have thought of another way to rid us of her.”

  “As I recall, we tried to think of another way and could not,” Leesil reminded. Her appetite was suddenly gone, so she put her fork down as well.

  “At least she let us be for a few months,” Hannish said.

  If they were not eating, Cathleen decided she should wait too, although she was hungry. Even so, she just listened and waited. Talk of the duchess fascinated her.

  “Perhaps you should put an end to it yourself this time,” Leesil suggested.

  “You mean go to Denver? Nay, let her come to us…if she dares.”

  “To you, you mean,” Leesil mumbled.

  “Nay, to us. ‘Tis your money as well as mine, and we shall decide what is to become of it together.”

  “You dinna discuss your Christmas gift to McKenna with me. Why change now?” Leesil put her cloth napkin on the table, got up and left the dining room.

  Completely taken aback, Hannish started to stand up, but by then she was already gone. He sat back down and looked at Cathleen, but she too stood up. “What did…” he started.

  “Dinna ask me.” Cathleen grabbed her fork and plate, and hurried out of the room. If they were going to have an argument, she wanted no part of it.

  Alone in the dining room, Hannish closed his eyes. A moment later, he reached for the paper and looked at the picture again. “‘Tis a pity the train robbers dinna kidnap you,” he mumbled.

  Hannish took another bite of eggs that were now cold, grabbed Leesil’s plate and headed upstairs. He hated it when she was upset, knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else, and it was better to settle it with her sooner, rather than later. She was right of course, he had not shared things with her the way a husband should, only he didn’t know she was upset about it until just now.

  *

  In her bedroom, McKenna laid her copy of the Denver newspaper down and let her lady’s maid finish pinning the last curl, in hair that was the same shade of dark brown as her brothers, Hannish and Cameron. The picture couldn’t be of the duchess…it couldn’t be, she decided. It would be too cruel for her to come back now, especially with Cameron bringing little Blair to Colorado in just a few more days.

  The home Hannish bought for McKenna was quite large and had several more rooms than they needed, but in spring, members of London’s society were expected to visit and some might stay a night or two with them. It was something to look forward to, anyway.

  Other than that, McKenna’s life had become monotonous and routine. She attended her sewing circle meetings, went to an occasional dinner at Marblestone Mansion, and did some shopping. The rest of the time, she and Nicholas spent quiet evenings at home. How she dreaded quiet evenings at home.

  “Miss McKenna, may I speak freely?” Millie asked, setting the hairbrush back on McKenna’s dressing table.

  “Of course, what is it?”

  “I know you as well as any, and you are not happy. What is wrong?”

  A tear began to rim the bottom of McKenna’s eyes. “Oh, Millie, ‘tis truly awful. I dinna think…I mean…I fear I do not please my husband.”

  A striking redhead with good looks of her own, Millie had been with the family in Scotland for years before Hannish brought them to America. She took McKenna’s sleeping gown off the bed and started to hang it up. “Does he say you do not please him?”

  “Nay, but when he comes home, he kisses my forehead instead of my lips.
He only holds me in his arms at night and then…there is nothin’ more, usually.”

  Millie smiled and opened the closet door. “I have the same problem?”

  “You do?”

  “Prescot is a lovin’ and…physical lad, at least he was when we lived in the cottage behind Marblestone. Here, he is not. Miss McKenna, I think I know why.”

  McKenna turned on her dressing stool to face her old friend. “Why?”

  Millie finished hanging up the gown and sat on the bed. “Because, you have given us the largest bedroom on the third floor, but ‘tis right above yours. Our husbands…”

  “They do not wish to embarrass us? Why did Nicholas not say somethin’?”

  “He is a quiet sort, is he not? Prescot and I find it very difficult to understand him. He does not show joy or displeasure, but rather no emotion one way or the other. I sometimes would prefer it if he yelled at one of us. At least then we would have some way of knowin’ what he likes and dislikes.”

  “I agree. When I ask him what he prefers, he says it matters not to him. He is a passionate lad, I know he is, but lately I find myself desperate for his affection. Nicholas has become…standoffish somehow.”

  Millie stared at the floor for a moment. “‘Tis because we are here. He is too shy to show his affection around us. I know he loves you, I have seen it in his eyes. He watches you sometimes, mostly when you are reading. When you smile, he smiles.”

  “Does he, I was not aware of that.”

  “I should not have told you. Now I have spoiled the one thing I am certain he finds pleasure in.”

  “I am sick of reading anyway, and sick of quiet evenings. Yet, he always looks so tired when he comes home. Oh, Millie, except for those few entertainments I have in the afternoon, I fear I am to live in solitude the rest of my life.”

  “Have you talked to him about it?”

  “I would not know what to say.”

  “You could tell him you wish to go out more. If he is too tired, you must trust him to say so.”

  “Go someplace other than to my brother’s house for dinner? I love my family, but I long to be alone with my husband.” McKenna chose a necklace, pulled it out of her jewelry box, handed it to her maid and waited for Millie to close the clasp.

  “It cannae be easy to suddenly become a MacGreagor,” Millie said. “We MacGreagors have our ways.”

  “Aye, but the American servants became MacGreagors without a fuss. Prescot was thrilled to be counted as part of the clan.”

  “You forget Charlotte and Lillian. Neither of them learned to like our ways and they lived with us daily. Your husband has been with the family only occasionally.”

  McKenna looked at the reflection of her friend in the mirror. “You are sayin’ we should spend more time at Marblestone, not less?”

  “I am saying, he may feel like an outcast around us. Last night, he looked a bit perturbed when we spoke Gaelic.”

  “Did he? I wonder if he thinks we talk about him.”

  “I would, if someone spoke a foreign language around me.”

  “So would I. Oh, Millie, I doubt we even know we are doing it. Will you help me keep watch?”

  Millie giggled. “If you will help me.” When McKenna stood up, Millie went to open the door for her. “Why do you not just ask the Judge what is wrong? All our guessin’ will drive us both daft.”

  “Heaven forbid.” McKenna put her arm around her maid’s shoulders. “Shall we ask Prescot which bedroom he prefers?”

  Again, Millie giggled, “The one farthest from this one, I wager.”

  “So do I.”

  *

  On her second morning in a Denver hotel, the duchess hurried downstairs to gather all the newspapers she could find. At the newsstand near the hotel entrance, she found a day-old New York paper, and then was thrilled to find one from London that was only a week old. More importantly, she wanted to see if there was anything in the Denver papers about the train robbery.

  There was.

  An article on the front page of a Denver paper was all about the daring robbery, complete with a picture. She quickly paid the price, stopped at the desk to request more coffee, a habit she had picked up in San Francisco, and carried the papers up to her room where she could read at her leisure.

  The Deadwood Hotel in downtown Denver was a scant four blocks from the train station and one of the better places to stay for travelers and visitors. It was a three-story structure with a nicely decorated lobby filled with plants and spring flowers. The rooms on the second and third floors were not as large or as grand as some the duchess had seen, and it did not suit her, but then, hotel rooms rarely did.

  She set the other papers on her bed, curled up in a chair and started with the Denver newspaper first. The title read:

  “$1000 Reward”

  “A thousand dollars,” she whispered. She glanced at the picture, but she was far more interested in how to get her hands on the reward. After all, she was probably the only one who could identify any of them, but then she remembered his magnificent, dangerous eyes. She remembered them very well and had thought about them several times since. If she had to choose, she would of course choose the money, but she reasoned the choice didn’t have to be made right away. There was time, plenty of time.

  At last, she looked at the picture.

  Her jaw dropped. Her heart began to race and her breathing took on a sense of urgency. As if she could make the picture disappear, she quickly folded the paper. A few seconds later, she opened it again. It was not her imagination – her picture was on the front page for all the world to see. Her first thought was of her sixth husband, Mr. Nelson, who read papers from all over the country religiously. Her second thought was of Hannish, but her third thought disturbed her most of all. If Charles saw it, he would be on the next train to Denver.

  Of all the wretched luck.

  *

  “Ladies, I have an announcement to make.” Abigail Whitfield waited until the weekly sewing circle quieted. As usual, Abigail’s dining room table was covered with cloth circles, squares, wedges and sewing supplies.

  “What are we to do with all these blankets now that we have chosen not to have our own orphanage?” Wilma Miller asked.

  “Well,” said McKenna, “We can make them for the orphanage in Denver. I am certain they could use them, and if not, they could sell or exchange them for what they do need.”

  “Excellent idea,” Maude Goodwin agreed. “What is to become of the donations we collected? We…”

  “Ladies,” Abigail interrupted, “do you not want to hear my announcement?”

  “Of course we do, Abigail,” said Vivian Mabs.

  “Very well then, we have sold the house in Palmer Lake. It was sold yesterday to a man…”

  “Is he married?” Pearl asked.

  “I do not know, but…” Abigail tired.

  “I hope not,” said Loretta. “We seem to have a shortage of unmarried men lately…at least wealthy ones.”

  Abigail raised her voice a little. “Ladies, do you not want to know his name?”

  “I do,” Loretta answered.

  “Well then, his name is Mr. Douglas Swinton.”

  “But is he married?” Loretta asked.

  “Good heavens, child, how should I know?” Abigail asked.

  “You know everything else,” Loretta dared mumble.

  “I very much hope he is not married,” said Pearl.

  “So do I,” Loretta agreed. “He must have some wealth if he can afford the house at Palmer Lake.”

  McKenna giggled. “The MacGreagors and the Swintons of old were not the best of friends in Scotland.”

  Vivien set her sewing down so she could take a sip of tea. “Oh, do tell us, McKenna, your stories are so wonderful.”

  “Very well then…unless you have something more to add, Abigail.”

  Abigail was pleased to have their full attention finally. “We should decide what is to become of the funds we raised. Are we agree
d we should send it to the Denver orphanage? All in favor say aye.” There were no dissenters, so Abigail marked that down on her paper.

  “Is it true, Abigail? Has Charles gone back to England?” Pearl asked.

  Abigail grinned. “My, but word does travel fast. It is indeed true.”

  The last thing McKenna wanted to talk about was the duchess, so she changed the subject. “‘Tis a pity we shall not have bake sales this summer. I rather enjoyed them.”

  “So did I,” said Maude. “We could still do it and send the money to the Denver orphanage, I suppose.”

  Loretta added, “I have often thought it would be nice to have a fountain in the park, with a rose garden and a birdbath or two.”

  Pearl was getting impatient. “Go on, McKenna, we can decide that later. Tell us the Swinton story.”

  McKenna paused a moment to make certain she remembered it correctly. “Well, there once was a secret word shared between the MacGreagor Lairds and the King of England. I have forgotten the word, unfortunately. I must ask Hannish if he remembers. Anyway, when Laird Justin MacGreagor, the laird our little Justin is named after, received the word in a message, he set out straight away for the prearranged meeting place. More than one war between the English and the Scots had been avoided in that manner.

  To get to the meeting place, he and his lads had to cross Swinton land. While the MacGreagors and the Swintons were not the best of friends, they rarely went to battle. However, the same could not be said of the conflict between the Swintons and the Kennedys. As the Swinton herds dwindled, the Kennedy herds grew and it was not hard to guess why. Laird Justin…”

  *

  It seemed rather silly, but necessary when Claymore and Hannish rode their horses to town in the dark of night. As soon as the bank robberies began to increase, Hannish thought it prudent to send several thousand back to his bank in Scotland. Yet, his holdings in Mr. Goodwin’s bank in Colorado Springs were vast, it couldn’t hurt to have some hidden away and he had the perfect place to hide it.

  Mr. Goodwin said he understood, although he’d spent an hour that afternoon trying to convince the two richest men in the town their money was safe. In the end, they all agreed on an amount each man would take out of the bank’s safe. What Claymore and Hannish didn’t know was that Mr. Goodwin had not one safe in his bank, but four. One he kept in the front and opened so his depositors could see their money was secured, and three in the back where he kept the currency and thousands of gold coins.