Marblestone Mansion, Book 7 Page 8

  *

  In less than a week, Cameron had settled into the routine of his position as partner and bookkeeper at the construction company. Even though, they sold no houses and had no money coming in, the lack of stress was refreshing for a man used to running his own company alone. He especially enjoyed spending the day with Claymore. He had a lot to learn about America’s traditions and laws, and Claymore was more than happy to teach him. Rarely was there enough work to keep them busy, so they began each morning reading newspapers from as far away as they could get them, including those from London. Important news from across the ocean came by cablegram, but the everyday news still had to be printed, distributed, and brought across the ocean by ship.

  “Shall you miss being a Duke?” Clayton asked.

  “Hardly,” Cameron answered. “I only accepted the post to free Hannish of it.”

  “Who shall succeed you?”

  Cameron turned the page of his London newspaper before he answered. “I have yet to think that far ahead.” Curious, he turned to the society news and smiled when he read that Lord Okerman had indeed set his wife aside.

  “They found Ed Delahanty’s body,” Claymore announced from behind his Denver paper.

  “Who?”

  “Big Ed Delahanty, they call him. He plays…that is to say, he played baseball and he was good at it too. Unfortunately, he likes libation far more than the average man.”

  “A drunkard?”

  “So they say. The article says he was forced off a train due to his drunkenness and fell off…oh, my, he fell off Niagara Falls.”

  “Where is that?”

  “North of New York. Abigail and I have yet to see it, but they say it is the most spectacular waterfall in the world.” At the sound of the outer door opening, he lowered his paper to see who it was.

  Sally Dane brought the morning tea, and smiled but her smile was less than sincere.

  “My dear, what is it?” Claymore asked. “Has something happened to your husband?”

  “Not yet, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I miss him so. He came to see me last Saturday, but when he left Colorado City, he was accused of deserting the others. Mr. Dane says he best not come back until the strike is settled. I do not think I can bear it, Mr. Whitfield. Why must I? Did the people not vote to pass the eight-hour law?”

  Claymore got up and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Indeed we did, but the Governor has yet to sign it into law.”

  “Can you not call him?”

  Claymore had not thought of that. “I suppose I could, but I doubt he will listen. I no longer own a mine, my dear.”

  “I know. If you did, you could talk reason to the owners and the strike would be over.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps you might still talk to them?” she suggested.

  “I shall see, Mrs. Dane. I shall do all I can, but you must not get your hopes up.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Whitfield. I am most grateful.” She started to leave and then remembered the union paper she had tucked under her arm. “Have you seen this?” She handed him the paper and then watched as he opened it, read the headline, and then looked at the list of establishments.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Now they’ve done it,” Claymore nearly shouted. He crumpled up the small union newspaper and threw it across the room.

  “Done what?” Cameron asked. He got up and retrieved the paper off the floor.

  “I best be going,” said Mrs. Dane. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I thought you would want to know.”

  “Quite right,” Claymore muttered. He was so upset that he did not open the door for her as usual, but he did hold his tongue until she was gone.

  “What is it?” Cameron asked.

  “The union is boycotting us. First, it was the railroads, then the large dairy farms, the steel mills, and now us. They advise their members not to buy houses from the likes of us, because our men are not members of the union.”

  “Can they do that?”

  “They not only can, they have. Thousands of men out of work and they have an eye on our workmen as well. How dare they tell us whom we can and cannot hire.”

  “Will they picket us?” Cameron asked.

  Claymore quickly walked to the outer office window and looked down at the street. “They already are. I’ve a good mind to…”

  “Calm yourself, Claymore. It will not do for you to have a heart attack.”

  “You are right. Abigail would never forgive me.” He went back to his desk and picked the Denver paper back up. It took a while, but he finally settled down enough for him to know what he was reading. “Well now, this is interesting. Unions across the country are demanding six day work weeks for cooks and waitresses.”

  “I confess I agree with that demand.”

  “So do I.” Claymore folded the paper and wrinkled his brow. “I best talk to our servants about it, before they join a union and go on strike too.”

  “Will you give them a raise and more time off to prevent it?”

  Claymore frowned. “I already give them as many days off as they request, but there is a lot to be said for keeping them happy at a time like this.”

  “Perhaps I should suggest as much to Hannish.”

  “Your brother is more generous than I, and they all love your family. I cannot imagine any of Marblestone’s employees being unhappy.”

  “Just the same, we would be wise to ask.” Cameron went back to reading his London paper.

  *

  “We need more help,” Elaine complained as she finished setting the breakfast table for all the servants and Mr. Lester. Finished, she obediently stood behind her chair and waited for the milkman to arrive.

  The last to arrive, Butler Prescot glanced around to make certain everyone was there. “I agree.”

  “You do?” Elaine asked.

  “I have already spoken to Mr. Hannish about it.”

  “Well, if there is an opening for a housekeeper, I…”

  “Miss Elaine, perhaps we might speak of this later,” said Prescot. “I believe I hear Mr. Lester now.”

  He was right, but Cook Halen oddly wrinkled her brow. “Something is amiss. He is not singing.”

  “Just what we need,” Elaine moaned, “bad news first thing in the morning.”

  Brookton usually waited until the milkman was at the door before opening it, but this time, he opened it before he heard the back door close, so he could see the expression on Mr. Lester’s face. As he suspected, the milkman looked a bit grim. “What is it? What has happened?” Brookton asked.

  Mr. Lester handed him the four bottles of milk, and removed his hat, but he didn’t enter the room. “I cannot join you this morning; I must get back to town.”

  “What is wrong?” Shepard asked.

  “More trouble in Colorado City, I regret to say. My brother works in the smelter, or did before the strike. They had a bit of a scuffle last night and my brother has been…well, sir, they beat him rather badly. I tried to get in to see him last night, but they would not allow it. Doc Parker said he would go with me this morning. I pray they let a doctor in. If they do, Doc Parker will insist they let him bring Darrel out. I just hope it is not too late.” Mr. Lester nodded to Prescot, ignored Elaine, and walked back down the hallway.

  “Will this strike never end?” Beverly moaned.

  Brookton put the milk away, returned to his chair and shook his head. “It has already lasted far longer than any of us thought possible.” At the butler’s nod, he took his seat at the table with the other servants.

  “Poor Mr. Lester,” said Elaine, as she took a helping of hot oatmeal with dates and passed the bowl.

  “You pity him?” Jessie asked. “Now I’ve heard everythin’.”

  “I’m not completely heartless, you know,” Elaine shot back.

  Prescot grinned and passed the platter of toast, “Careful, or Jessie will be convinced you like him.”

  “Nev
er!” Elaine swore. “He is too old for me.”

  “I do hope we dinna have to wait till mornin’ to hear if the doctor was able to bring Mr. Lester’s brother out,” said Millie.

  Prescot considered that. “I shall mention it to Miss Leesil. If anyone can find out, Miss Abigail can and you know she tells Miss Leesil everything.”

  “Even that which Miss Leesil would rather not know,” Brookton muttered. All of the servants giggled, and even Prescot smiled.

  Prescot finished his breakfast in silence, listened to the chatter of the others, took a sip of his coffee and then cleared his throat. “I am asked to speak to you this morning.”

  “About what?” Dugan asked.

  “Mr. Hannish and the duke wish to know if any of us are unhappy with our wages or with our allotted time off.”

  His request was met with a hushed calm until Dugan figured it out. “They fear we shall join a union?”

  “I suspect so,” Prescot admitted.

  “Absurd,” Cook Halen said. “We’ve no finer place in the world to work than here.”

  “I agree,” said Prescot, “but I shall be asking to speak to each of you privately throughout the day. Think it over in the meantime.” He paused for a moment. “There is something else.”

  “What?” Gretchen asked.

  “Mr. Hannish has heard the unions intend to march in the Labor Day parade. He fears there will be trouble. Therefore, the family is not going, but we are free to attend as we wish.”

  “A fight?” Shepard asked, excitedly rubbing his hands together. “I have not seen a good fist fight in ages.”

  Once a prizefighter, Prescot looked sideways at his wife, “I would not mind seeing one myself.”

  Millie took her time nodding. “As long as you do not participate, Mr. Prescot.”

  “What fun is that?” Prescot asked.

  Millie glared at her husband. “Perhaps, I should be the first to speak to you privately this mornin’.” She scooted her chair back, took her daughter out of the highchair and walked out of the room.

  Prescot playfully looked like a child in trouble, got up, put both their chairs back in place at the table and then said, “Yes, my darling,” as he left the room. He could hear the laughter behind him.

  “They are just going to kiss,” Elaine scoffed. “They are always kissing.”

  Shepard stood up and glanced at Gretchen before he started to leave, “I could use a kiss or two myself this morning.”

  Everyone waited to see what Gretchen would do, but she ignored him, excused herself and went out the opposite door. It was all Elaine could do not to comment, but she managed to keep her mouth shut this time. She had an idea that she might be able to help, so when it came time to hang the laundry on the line, she went to the rose garden. She picked the most beautiful red rose she could find, waited until Gretchen left her sewing room, and put the rose on Gretchen’s sewing table.

  It was not her custom to play matchmaker, but why not? She had nothing better to do. She was excited by the prospects that Butler Prescot might grant her request to become a housekeeper. Therefore, she could hardly wait for her interview, and when Millie came to the kitchen to notify her later that morning, Elaine was delighted.

  In the small room on the first floor allotted as the butler’s office, Elaine sat across the desk from Prescot and patiently waited for him to finish writing something down. She had only been in this room once before and that was the day she was hired.

  “Miss Elaine, do you wish to attend the Labor Day celebrations in town this year?” Prescot asked, without looking up.

  “Are any of the others going?”

  “A few.”

  “Then perhaps I would…if I am not needed.” Again, she waited while he made note of what she said.

  Prescot finally looked at her and smiled, “I imagine we can find someone to wash the dishes in your absence. Have you any complaints?” he caught himself and quickly moved on. “I mean about your wages.”

  “No, I am paid fairly, Mr. Prescot. Will I be moved up to housekeeper in the future?”

  He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Sometime back, a woman by the name of Charlotte did a disservice to the family. She repeated something she overheard and it caused quite a stir. Never have I seen a man so enraged as Mr. Hannish was that day, and I care not to see it again. Mr. Hannish dismissed her directly.” Prescot paused to let his words sink in. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

  She slightly squirmed in her chair. “You are saying, I am…I am too curious, but I can change.”

  “It will be required if you intend to be in a position of trust. You must keep secrets and perhaps keep them for the rest of your life.”

  “I already know a secret I have kept.”

  “What secret is that?”

  “I know what happened to Gretchen’s sister.” It took a moment for her to realize what she had just done. Ashamed of herself, she stared at the floor and dared not look at the disapproval she was certain to find in his expression. When he said nothing, she had no choice but to look at him.

  “You asked about Gretchen’s sister, even though you were told not to?”

  “I only asked Mr. Lester and…”

  “And who else?”

  “Mr. Goodwin at the bank. He did not say the particulars, only that Gretchen’s sister had been murdered.”

  “Have you mentioned this to anyone else in the mansion?” Prescot asked.

  “Only you.”

  “Well then, perhaps you have learned your lesson. I best not hear about it from anyone else, or it shall be sound reason to send you away.”

  She stood up and started for the door. “I’ll not breathe a word, I promise.”

  *

  Baby Kate finally slept through the night. As most mothers do, Leesil shot out of bed and went to make certain Kate had not died in the night. To her relief, the baby was in her cradle smiling and playing with her toes. “Bless you,” Leesil sighed. “‘Tis the first good night’s sleep I have had in months.”

  Now that Leesil was getting enough rest, the sisters filled their days approving menus the cooks made up, caring for the babies, and deciding where to put all of Cameron and Cathleen’s things. In the trunks sent on ahead were several keepsakes, including two large silver candelabras that had been in the family for generations. It took an entire afternoon for the sisters to decide where to put them. Now that they had electric lights, they did not need the candles. Even so, they looked spectacular on the dining room table. In the end, they decided to store them away and have them brought out for special occasions. Then there was a golden goblet, a cross made of pearls and the globe Cameron’s uncle had in his library. At least putting the globe in Marblestone’s library was an easy decision.

  Except for the sitting room, the second floor held all bedrooms, so they decided to put Cameron and Cathleen on the south side of the house, and make a second bedroom into a family room, for the times they needed a little privacy. That required new furniture and the fun of shopping for it. Naturally, Blair’s room was on that side too and soon, baby Anna would be old enough for her own room.

  Blair didn’t care where her room was, so long as Justin was not in it. The difference in their ages took on new meaning nearly every day and he was becoming a bother. At only three, he didn’t see it that way at all. Until Julian was old enough to play, Blair was his only hope. Sadly, she just wasn’t that enthusiastic about playing ball.

  *

  In the new second floor sitting room, Leesil stood to one side while the footmen brought a davenport in and placed it against the wall. “Abigail sent it,” she explained to her sister.

  “It looks brand new,” said Cathleen as she examined the blue cushion.

  “It likely is, but Abigail wants the latest in styles and we are her excuse to buy it.” While Shepard and Ronan went to fetch end tables and a chair to match the davenport, Leesil turned to watch Brookton pound a nail into the wall. “What do you s
uppose Old Mrs. Forthright would say if she could see us now?”

  “More importantly, what would the mother who dinna want us have to say?” Cathleen asked.

  Leesil brushed a speck of lint off the davenport and then sat down. “We dinna know for certain she gave us away willingly. She might have died.”

  “You would remember if she died.” Cathleen handed Brookton the cross made of pearls and stood back. It was the last item brought from Scotland they needed to find a home for.

  “I was too little at the time, dinna forget. I remember a lass leavin’ us at the gate, but I know not who she was.”

  As soon as the footman got the cross hung straight and looked back at her, Cathleen nodded her approval. “You have always said she was not our mother.”

  “Will that be all?” Brookton asked.

  “Aye, thank you, Brookton,” said Cathleen. She curled up in the seat beside her sister.

  “True,” Leesil conceded, “and I believe it still, but she might have been our mother. ‘Tis possible, I suppose.”

  “Do you still have nightmares about the orphanage?”

  “I have not dreamed of it in a very long time. That life is no more, and I am happy now.”

  “Well, I still dream of it.”

  “Truly? Of what do you dream?” Leesil asked.

  “I see your beatin’s and I want to scream, but the sound will not come out. Cameron gets upset when it happens, but I have not found a way to prevent it.”

  Leesil lovingly scooted a loose strand of hair away from Cathleen’s face. “The beatin’s were not so bad. I hardly remember them now.”

  “Not so bad? Leesil have you ever looked at the scars on your back in a mirror? I remember one beatin’ that was so severe, it hurt you to breathe.”

  Leesil got that old familiar mischievous glint in her eye, “I say we find her, and do Old Mrs. Forthright in, wherever she may be.”