Marblestone Mansion, Book 2

by Marti Talbott

  “Who is to do the wash now?” Lillian asked.

  Sarah liked her well enough when she hired Lillian, but Halen was not the only one who saw the look of disapproval Lillian directed at the child. “You will, for now.”

  Lillian’s mouth dropped. “I am to wash for this many people… alone?”

  “You will have help when you need it,” Sarah assured her.

  There was no use arguing, at least not now, so Lillian changed the subject. “Who lives in the cottages in the back?”

  “Seth, Waylan and their wives,” Halen answered. “They care for the grounds and the horses. Three more men come from town each morning to help, but they don’t live on the property. There now, I think that is all of us and I wish to eat in peace.” She picked up her ear of corn and took a bite.

  “Why are we not supposed to mention the duchess?” Lillian asked.

  Halen was not the only one who stopped eating to stare at the newcomer – they all did, especially Alistair who expressly told her not to mention the duchess.

  Margaret Ann glared. She had answered the question just a few hours ago and there was no need to ask it again. Either Lillian was the nosy type or she just didn’t believe her. Either way, Margaret Ann found the woman insulting.

  Alistair exchanged glances with Prescot and decided he should be the one to answer. “Lillian, we dinna speak of the duchess -- not ever. Mr. Hannish often comes to the kitchen and he will not be pleased to hear her brought up.”

  “I am just curious. Did she die, or…”

  “Lillian,” Alistair interrupted. “‘Tis not yours to know. Let me hear no more of this, not from anyone. Am I understood?” He looked at the new people one at a time until each nodded.

  “Aunt Blanka,” said Dugan. “Tell Ronan we are MacDonalds.”

  Blanka was just as relieved as the rest of them when Dugan changed the subject. “Well, when a lad is born, he takes the name of his father’s clan. ‘Tis a good thing for some lads are easily confused.” She winked at her nephew. ‘Tis the lassies who are born to one name and then must add each clan to it. Perhaps I should write this down afore I die, but lads, your father was of Clan Forbes?”

  Dugan deeply wrinkled his brow. “Forbes? ‘Tis the first I heard of this.”

  “And me,” said Ronan. “I thought we were MacGreagors.”

  “When you were wee laddies, you wanted to be, so we let you. Donnel and I saw no harm in it.”

  Lillian listened, but she found their discussion uninteresting at best. She was far more interested in what happened to the duchess, but she was not likely to find out from any of them now. She finished her dinner, excused herself and left just before the subject of the wars between the English and the Scots came up…again.

  *

  Later that night, after little William was sound asleep, Margaret Ann softly knocked on the door of the third-floor bedroom Lillian shared with Doreen.

  “Come in,” said Doreen.

  The look on Margaret Ann’s face was one of disdain. “Lillian, I already answered your question about the duchess, and I would like to know why you asked it again. Did you not believe me?”

  As if it were a joke, Lillian grinned. “I believed you. I am just curious.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

  “I am not a cat,” Lillian shot back.

  “No, a cat is smarter.” With that, Margaret Ann left and closed the door.

  “How dare she say that,” Lillian muttered.

  Doreen thought Lillian had it coming, but decided not to say anything, turned off her light and went to sleep.

  *

  Carl’s position as part time carriage driver, and part time footman carrying wet laundry to the clothesline for Lillian kept him outside, which was where he preferred to be in summer. He was a man of average height, a bit on the pudgy side and did not have the kind of looks women preferred, but his light blond hair and brown eyes suited him well.

  “Have you ever heard of such a thing? The master of the house marrying a servant, I mean,” Lillian asked.

  Carl set the basket down near the clothesline. Lillian seemed to complain about one thing or another every time they were together, and it was starting to get on his nerves. “I never thought about it one way or the other.”

  “Welln I find it disgusting. It would never happen in Denver society, and that sister of hers is anything but a lady.” Lillian reached in the basket, pulled out one of the many shirts she was required to pin on the clothesline and shook it out. “She orders me around as if she is my better, and she was a servant herself just before I came.”

  “Lillian, you best not resent her too much. From what I hear, she is much loved by Mr. MacGreagor’s wife and Miss McKenna.”

  “Miss McKenna is the only true lady among them, but that haughty Miss Cathleen has a long way to go before she is Miss McKenna’s equal. And another thing, who cares if the English conquered Scotland? It has nothing to with us.”

  “Well, I like hearing about William Wallace and all the Scottish lairds. I know nothing of my own family history.”

  “Your mother didn’t tell you?”

  “My mother died when I was born.”

  “Oh.”

  “What would you rather talk about?”

  “Anything but Scotland.”

  Carl shook his head and walked to the shed where the carriage was parked. Hopefully, once Mr. and Mrs. MacGreagor got back, his driving services would be needed often enough to keep him from having to deal with Lillian.

  He got a rag and began polishing the side of the red carriage. There was nothing he liked more than sitting up top, and driving the two horse team pulling a carriage that was far better than most. It had room for only two inside, in a seat that faced forward, but it had a leather covered iron step that made it easy for the passengers to safely board, even in the rain. There was a coachman seat on the back, used mostly for carrying luggage, and C-springs made the ride smooth, providing the road was in good condition. It also had Ackerman Steering, which kept the carriage from easily overturning. Indeed, keeping the MacGreagor carriage clean and polished was fast becoming Carl’s favorite thing.

  *

  There was much to do while they waited for Mr. MacGreagor and his bride to come back from their honeymoon in Denver. The new servants needed training, items Hannish ordered from as far away as England still came on the train nearly every day, and fruits and vegetables needed canning for winter. With more housekeepers, the load was lessened for them all, and Blanka was especially glad. She still liked to feel useful and helped occasionally, but at her age, a nap in the morning and another in the afternoon was not out of the question.

  Millie, a long time servant and friend of the MacGreagor family in Scotland, came to America as lady’s maid to the duchess, whom she grew to hate. She was thrilled when Hannish married Leesil and asked her to become his new wife’s lady’s maid. With Leesil away and McKenna’s lady’s maid not feeling well, Millie came to fill in.

  “Miss McKenna, may I speak freely?” Millie asked, brushing a section of McKenna’s hair.

  “Of course.”

  Millie had bright red hair, green eyes and a figure much admired by many a man. “It is about the duchess.”

  “What about her?”

  “Is Miss Leesil to sleep in the duchess’ bedroom? Will she even want to?”

  “I have been thinking about that too. Those two rooms are the only ones that share a private door. My brother obviously designed the house that way intentionally.”

  “Do you suppose he would consider switchin’ rooms with her?” asked Millie.

  “I had not thought of that. I shall call him this morning and ask, though I hate interruptin’ their honeymoon.”

  “We could wait and ask the moment she gets home.”

  “Or we could change everything in that room and surprise her,” said McKenna. “She does love the blue room best. Let’s do it. If she is not pleased, she can order new.”
<
br />   “‘Tis a good idea. I shall notify Alistair.”

  McKenna watched Millie in the mirror for a moment. She still looked a little disturbed. “Is there more?”

  “‘Tis just that I worry the duchess will come back. She will not forget Mr. Hannish tricked her into leavin’, and what will she do when she hears he has a new wife?”

  McKenna smiled. “You need not fret, Olivia is locked away.”

  Millie’s mouth dropped. “For what crime?”

  “Bigamy, if you can believe it. My brother is her fourth husband and apparently, her previous husbands have not yet divorced her. Unless she escapes, I doubt we shall ever see her again.”

  At first shocked, it wasn’t long before Millie took a relieved breath. “I am greatly comforted.”

  “Please dinna speak of this. After what happened with Charlotte, Hannish would rather the servants dinna know much about our private lives.”

  Millie finished brushing the section of hair and began to fashion a horizontal curl. “You have my word. I’ll not even tell Prescot, although keeping secrets from him is not easy.”

  “You love him greatly; I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Oh, Miss McKenna, I dinna think it would ever happen again. After my husband hung himself, I thought my life was over. Now I see it is just beginnin’ and I have your brother to thank for it.”

  “Well, I doubt he expects anythin’ more than your continued loyalty, and you need not worry about keepin’ this secret from the lad you love. Both Alistair and Prescot know about Olivia. Only take care you dinna discuss it where anyone else can hear.”

  Millie put the last pin in McKenna’s hair and stepped back. “I will be very careful. Would you like more tea?”

  “I would, but I’ll have it in the downstairs sitting room where it stays cool longer.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  McKenna watched Millie close the door behind her and sighed. “At least they are not accusing you of comin’ here to beg for an American husband.”

  CHAPTER 3

  As every successful London solicitor should, John Crisp had both a personal driver and an affluent carriage in which to ride comfortably. He was expected at half past three when he approached the front of Sinclair’s two-story country manor, and according to his pocket watch, he was right on time. The housekeeper answered the door and then led the way to Sinclair’s sitting room, where Mr. Sinclair appeared to still be reading the morning paper.

  Mr. Sinclair was an ordinary man who lived on a modest inheritance and surrounded himself with ordinary things. He wore casual clothing and exhibited his average height when he stood to greet his guest. Crisp waited until the housekeeper closed the door and they were alone before he said, “I am John Crisp and I have come on behalf of Alexandra Sinclair.”

  Sinclair’s friendly expression immediately turned to one of great concern, “Is she alright?”

  “She is quite well.”

  “Mr. Crisp, you must assure her, it was not I who complained against her.”

  “She does not think you did.”

  “I am greatly relieved. I love her, you see, and I believe she loves me.”

  “Then why did you part?”

  “Please sit, Mr. Crisp.” He motioned to a sofa, waited and then seated himself. “It was an amiable separation. I could not give her what she wanted, yet I could not be without her, so I agreed to let her go and she agreed to come see me when she could. She comes quite regularly, or at least she used to. Sometimes she asks for funds, but she is always forgiving when I have none to spare, and never does she leave without…well, never mind that.”

  “But you have remarried.”

  “That was Alexandra’s idea. She said she hated seeing me all alone. I assure you, being married to one woman and loving another is quite unbearable. Breanne is a good woman and she deserves better, but I cannot seem to help myself; it is Alexandra I long for.”

  “Does your second wife know about the first?”

  “She does now. Imagine my surprise when Scotland Yard came to my door. Since I had not divorced Alexandra before I remarried, they had me quite over a barrel. They insisted I sign the papers.” Sinclair thoughtfully looked away for a moment. “I suspect someone of far more importance than I, who harbors ill will against Alexandra.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “I do not. She said little of the life she led after we separated, and I did not ask.”

  “Yet, it was you who told Scotland Yard Alexandra stole your jewels?” Crisp asked.

  “It was Breanne who told them and set the value…repeating, of course the lie I told her. I let Breanne believe Alexandra was little more than acquaintance, and she was none too pleased to learn the truth.”

  “I suspect not. It is the crime of theft that is the most troubling.”

  “I know, but what can I do?” Again, Sinclair paused to think. “You don’t suppose she still has the jewels, do you? I mean, if they were returned…”

  “She admits to having a few in her possession. Perhaps you might draw a sketch.”

  “I can do better than that.” He quickly stood up, led the way into the parlor, and then stopped in front of a painting. “Mother wore them for her portrait.”

  Crisp dug in his pocket and withdrew a magnifying glass. As jewels went, these were far from impressive and he quickly discerned the value to be much less than the amount claimed in the petition against Alexandra. “Yes, I see. Might I have paper and pen to make a drawing?”

  Sinclair pulled a desk drawer out, found paper and a pen, and then handed them to Crisp. “Do try your best to return the jewels. Breanne fears if her acquaintances learn I was not divorced, she will be held up to scorn and ridicule. Furthermore, I shudder to think what she will do if she sees how beautiful Alexandra is.”

  “I quite understand, and I will do my best.”

  Sinclair looked through the open door to make certain no one was listening. “Tell her how very much I love her still.”

  *

  As always, McKenna was warmly greeted when she and Cathleen arrived at the home of Abigail and Claymore Whitfield for the weekly orphanage meeting. The committee consisted of six very prominent women in the community, which included McKenna, Abigail, Vivian Mabs, Maude Goodwin, Loretta Collins and Pearl Hughes, although Pearl would not be attending this one.

  Hannish and Claymore had known each other since Hannish first arrived in Colorado Springs, and it was Claymore and Abigail who first came to Marblestone to welcome McKenna. McKenna now considered Abigail a good friend, although she could not say the same for their son, Charles. McKenna found him to be a boastful and intolerable young man who lacked manners as well as wits. Gloria, Abigail’s daughter of not yet thirteen, constantly twisted a strand of red hair, rarely made an appearance at the meetings, and was content instead to seek the company of young ladies her own age.

  The Whitfield mansion was not as large as Marblestone, but remarkable nonetheless and fitting for a man of Claymore’s wealth. The Whitfields owned not one, but three thriving gold mines. Decorated by the flamboyant Abigail, the mansion displayed lavish chandeliers in every room and was perhaps a bit too colorfully decorated for the more conservative palate. The formal dining room had busy, blue flowered wallpaper with curtains to match.

  Once just a sewing circle, the women still made quilts using an array of cloth squares, circles and wedges, which were spread out on the table. “I am happy to see you, Cathleen,” said Vivian Mabs as soon as McKenna and Cathleen were seated at the dining room table. “We met at the wedding, and oh, what a lovely ceremony it was.”

  “Was it? Twas my first weddin’,” Cathleen said.

  Maude Goodwin reached over and took hold of Cathleen’s hand. “Of course it was. Once we have our orphanage, we shall take our orphans to see all the wedding they can stand.”

  “What is left to be done?” McKenna asked, beginning to thread her needle.

  Abigail took a quick sip of tea, and picked her sew
ing back up before she answered, “We are hoping to find a doctor willing to tend the children. We first must have a doctor close at hand and Doc Parker is too busy. However, we can begin to find a place to house our dear sweet orphans.”

  “I think the empty house at Palmer Lake would do nicely,” said Loretta Collins. “Palmer Lake is well away from all the rowdy gold miners and the children would be safe there.”

  Cathleen was excited to learn to sew, just as her sister had been, and tried not to look too uncomfortable when the footman served tea and apple pie. Being waited on was something she was still struggling to get used to. “Might they learn to swim in the lake?”

  “Of course they can,” Abigail answered. “It is where we taught Charles and Gloria, which reminds me, I have heard from Charles again. He wants more money, naturally. I am quite certain he spends it far too unwisely, but what can I do?”

  “When is he coming home?” McKenna asked.

  He does not say.” Abigail took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I might as well tell you, my dearest friends, for I hate suffering alone. Charles met a woman in Paris who...oh, a can hardly bring myself to say it. She has been arrested and taken to a London jail, where he has gone to try to secure her release.”

  “Arrested for what?” Maude Goodwin asked.

  Abigail lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “Bigamy.”

  McKenna tried to look just as shocked as the rest of them. “Bigamy?” she whispered.

  “Thank the Good Lord, he has not married her. What a scandal that would be,” said Abigail.

  “But he has gone to help her just the same?” Maude asked.

  “It is just like my Charles to want to help a poor woman in trouble. I would help her too, if I could.” Abigail took another sip of tea and set her cup back in the saucer. “McKenna, who might we call in England to see about her?”

  “I dinna know. There are hundreds of solicitors and several jails. Does Charles say which she is in?”

  “He only says they are in London. Are there that many jails there?”

  “I fear I have no good education in matters such as those? Do you know her name?”