Marblestone Mansion, Book 2

by Marti Talbott

  “Still,” said Lord Bayington, “Olivia was there.”

  Cameron rubbed his forehead. “She is more dangerous than we thought.”

  “There is more,” Lord Bayington said. “Because they disappeared that same night, the constable believes my wife killed him. Olivia is the only one who can testify as to her innocence.”

  “But to do that, Olivia would have to expose herself,” Cameron muttered. “I cannae believe she would.”

  “Nor did I when she first started to blackmail us,” Lord Bayington said.

  “She has been blackmailing you?” Cameron asked.

  “Almost monthly.” Lord Bayington sighed. “When Olivia’s first husband, George Graham, learned where she was, and that she had married a duke, he demanded money to keep silent. In turn, she demanded money from me.”

  “That explains a great deal,” said Cameron. “Go on.”

  “Well, her threat to tell the authorities where to find my wife was hollow no longer. She said George Graham was willing to swear an oath that she was with him that night, not at the scene of the murder. Olivia’s excuse for running off, therefore, was to help my guilty wife flee.”

  It took a moment for Cameron to comprehend it all. “So you met her demands?”

  “What else could I do? I have continued to pay these past two years, and I was about to give into her demands yet again when you arrived. Olivia’s solicitor approached us on her behalf. She wants five thousand pounds to pay off her second husband and secure her release.”

  “I can believe that, he approached me too.”

  Bayington’s mouth dropped. “You?”

  “Aye, he threatened a scandal if I dinna pay.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I said if such were to happen, I will gladly see him ruined.”

  Lord Bayington bowed his head. “If only I had the courage to do that. Did Hannish have her arrested?”

  “I fear I am to blame for that. I have a friend in Scotland Yard. He assured me he would leave you and my brother out of it. I hoped to get her out of our lives forever, but I see now it was far more complicated than a simple case of bigamy.”

  Lady Bayington tried to comfort Cameron. “Perhaps you have done us a favor. ‘Tis time to put an end to this madness.”

  “How?” Cameron asked.

  “We believe ourselves to be relatively intelligent, we shall think of something,” she answered.

  Bayington nodded. “She is right. Send for your wife, Cameron, stay to dinner and help us find the answer.”

  *

  For hours the next night, the Bayingtons and the MacGreagors tried to come up with an action that would stop Alexandra for good. They discussed it all through dinner, over drinks in the parlor, and well into the night. At last, they had a plan…and a very good one, but it meant driving Alexandra and her new husband from the isle of Great Britain, back to America. They examined every other alternative, but in the end, there was no way to avoid it.

  “Is it not odd she managed to find Mr. Whitfield in Paris?” Cameron asked.

  “Not at all,” Lady Bayington answered. “She knows all the right places to be in Paris, and if he so much as mentioned a gold mine, she heard it. Not only that, she holds a grudge against your brother. She might have found the idea of going back to Colorado quite appealing.”

  “To plague Hannish just out of spite,” said Cameron.

  “Precisely. I can’t think what she intended to do, but I would put nothing past her. Mr. Whitfield fell right into her trap. I have yet to meet a man who could resist her devices, and her devices are many…from a tantalizing smile to a seemingly accidental touch. We must learn to warn our sons more severely, for there are many Olivia’s in the world.”

  *

  The next morning, Cameron placed a call to Hannish and waited for it to be connected. When it was, he again spoke Gaelic and he had a lot to say.

  *

  Hannish hung up the phone and put his head in his hands. The trouble with the duchess seemed insurmountable, and once more, he questioned his own ability to make sound decisions. Had his father not cautioned him to choose the right wife?

  At least he chose wisely the second time, although that was of little comfort. His troubles now became Leesil’s troubles too. If all went according to plan, Charles would surely bring the duchess home and then what? There would likely be no survivors, not in his family or in the family of his best friend, Claymore Whitfield.

  *

  Summer activities were many in Colorado Springs and normally several of Marblestone’s inhabitants attended each. There were socials in the park, trail walking at the breathtaking Garden of the Gods, horseracing and parades.

  Parades were a favorite and if the town didn’t have a specific reason to celebrate, they made one up. Each parade featured two High Wheel Bicycles, with large front wheels the height of a man’s leg and a high seat to match. The bicycles were so expensive only the sons of the wealthy could afford them. Hannish considered them dangerous and refused to buy one, since an abrupt stop propelled the rider right over the top. Alistair pretended to pout, but Hannish would not relent. He doubted even Alistair’s hard head could withstand the impact.

  On several occasions, Judge Mitchel was not in attendance, which was a relief to McKenna. She found no redeeming qualities in the man and wished to avoid him for life, if possible. At each gathering, the members of the Orphanage Committee took turns selling baked goods in an effort to raise money, and it was on one such occasion McKenna found no escape from the judge.

  “Mrs. Whitfield, Miss MacGreagor,” Judge Mitchel said, tipping his hat.

  McKenna stood behind the table next to Abigail and when she looked, she found his eyes oddly appealing. Quickly, she looked away. “Judge Mitchel.”

  “What is your pleasure, Judge?” Abigail asked.

  In summer, when most women refused to do any extra baking, the sale was especially popular and by late afternoon, there wasn’t much left. He glanced at a slice of cherry pie, and then at a chocolate cake. “I cannot decide. What do you recommend, Mrs. Whitfield?”

  I recommend you go away, McKenna thought. Up close, he was taller than she remembered, his smile was warm and her heart was racing for some odd reason. He was even somewhat handsome, something she clearly had not considered before and suddenly, she felt ill at ease. At last, he chose the chocolate cake. McKenna held the saucer while Abigail cut the cake.

  “Will the committee be buying the house at Palmer Lake?” he asked.

  Abigail began to chatter about the problems they were having, including how busy her husband was these days, and failed to give him a direct answer, McKenna handed him the plate, but offered no answer either. Instead, she found his question impertinent. What business was it of his?’

  “Did you like the house, Miss MacGreagor?” he asked.

  For Abigail’s sake, she smiled politely. “It will do.”

  “I think it is a fine place for orphans to grow up,” He said. She said nothing in return, so he pulled a dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Keep it all.”

  Abigail licked a smudge of chocolate off her finger and grinned. “See there, McKenna, I told you the judge was a very generous man. Thank you, Your Honor. Perhaps we shall have a plaque in your name.” Her eyes widened. “I can’t think why I have not thought of it before. Yes indeed, a plaque with the names of all the donors. Oh dear, I don’t believe I have written down all the donors.”

  Judge Mitchel smiled. “Some of us would rather remain anonymous anyway.” He tipped his hat again, walked to a park bench and sat down to enjoy his cake. It was then he heard two men behind him talking.

  “She is over there selling pies,” said one.

  “I heard she came to beg for an American husband,” said the other.

  The first man laughed, “Is she taking volunteers?”

  Judge Mitchel had heard enough, stood up and turned around. “Gentlemen, do not let me hear either of you say
such things about Miss MacGreagor again!”

  Horrified, both men quickly said, “Yes, Your Honor,” and just as quickly walked away.

  Judge Mitchel finished his cake, took the plate back, set it on the table without even looking at McKenna, and headed home.

  *

  If there was one thing Lillian excelled at, it was croquet. Neither Leesil nor Cathleen had every played the game, and they were determined to learn, just so they could beat her at it. In the cool of the evening, the sisters eagerly practiced and before long, they were challenged by practically everyone else. There were so many of them wanting to play, Hannish bought another set.

  The second best player, and not nearly as serious about the sport, was Carl. He could hit the ball and make it go under the hoops with either hand, on one foot, with one seemingly disjointed hip, and one arm behind his back. Most of all, he could put his foot next to the ball, hit his shoe with the mallet and make the ball go through the hoop perfectly. That trick always got him a round of applause, to which he took off his driver’s cap, and swept it across the grass as he bowed.

  On one such evening, just as he hit the ball with his left hand, rain sent everyone scurrying for cover. As quickly as they could, they all rushed inside and then up the stairs to watch the magnificent lightning show summer storms were famous for creating.

  The elder Blanka preferred not to climb the stairs. Instead, she sat on a window seat in the marble foyer and petted the dog. She was pleased when Hannish opted to stay with her instead of joining the others.

  “You are unwell?” he asked, taking her free hand in his.

  “Not at all. Never have I been so content as I am this day.”

  “Then I am content as well. Shall I carry you up the stairs so you can watch the lightning with the others?”

  “Nay, I have seen lightning before.” She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. “My dear lad, what distresses you? I, who knew you as a laddie, can see the trouble it in your eyes.”

  “I have no secrets from you, do I.”

  “Nay, and you best not lie or I shall make you scrub the kitchen floor on your hands and knees.”

  He chuckled, let go of her hand, and put his arm around her. “‘Tis the duchess.”

  “I dinna think she would be so easily got rid of. Are we to see her again?”

  “Not if I can prevent it.”

  “You must not trust her, my dearest laddie. She hurt Donnel before McKenna took us away,” Blanka said.

  “Is that why McKenna moved out of the castle into the cottage?”

  “Aye. The duchess needs be put away somewhere.”

  “I considered it before I sent her back to Scotland, but I could not bring myself to do it. Suppose some harm came to her in an asylum? The fault would be mine, the same as if I harmed her myself.”

  A loud clap of rolling thunder alarmed the dog a little and interrupted their discussion for a moment. When it subsided, Blanka spoke again, “Your choice was to protect the duchess or leave her out in the world where she could cause harm to others?”

  “Aye, I reasoned that if she were no longer a duchess, someone would likely hit her back and cure her of such viciousness.”

  “I hope they do.”

  “As do I, and I sincerely hope I made the right decision.”

  She put her head on his shoulder. “You are but one lad, you cannae save the world.”

  “I know.”

  “I say put her away if she comes back.”

  “How?” he asked. “I am not married to her now.”

  “Lie. ‘Tis not as though she has never lied. Take her to another state, say you are her husband and put her away.”

  “Nay, I cannae do it. There is another answer…there must be.”

  *

  “What?” In the parlor of the London detention home, Alexandra Sinclair wore clean clothing, her dark hair was fashionably styled and her black eye was gone.

  “Your jewels,” said John Crisp. “I have had them appraised and they are sufficient to pay my fee. The ones belonging to Mr. Sinclair have been returned and he is prepared to say he was mistaken.”

  She finally smiled. “Oh, I knew he would. He is such a dear, sweet man.”

  “Yes, well, all we must do now is go before the judge, after which I am to deposit you at Mr. Whitfield’s Hotel.”

  It seemed too good to be true and her smile faded. “You are certain I will be free?”

  “Quite certain, it is all arranged. The constable will come for you at precisely four o’clock. Oh, I nearly forgot. I brought a newspaper so you could reacquaint yourself with the world while you wait.” He handed her the newspaper and put his hat back on. “See you at four, then.” John Crisp tipped his hat and left the sorry looking jail parlor. Yet,he did not quickly go to his waiting carriage. Instead, he stood outside and watched Alexandra through the window.

  With no one guarding her, Alexandra seriously considered walking out the door…until she remembered the jail keeper liked to work in his vegetable garden this time of day, and he would probably catch her. She sighed, settled back in her chair, opened the newspaper and began to read. There wasn’t much of interest on the first two pages; just the usual politics and reports of what Queen Victoria was up to. Page three reported sporting events and page four seemed a mixture of everything else. Yet on the last page, the headline blared:

  SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD SCALLOWAY MURDER SOLVED

  Mr. George Graham has confessed and has been arrested for the murder of Moan Caswall, a man who was bludgeoned to death in his Scalloway home sixteen years hence. That same night, Mr. Graham’s wife disappeared and she is now being sought as an accomplice to the murder. Mr. Caswall’s family says…

  *

  Alexandra abruptly tore off the last page and looked around. Thankfully, the afternoon was just chilly enough for a fire in the decrepit hearth, so she hurried to it, held the page in the flame until the precise article began to burn, and then tossed it in.

  Outside, John Crisp moved away from the window and walked to his carriage. Just before he climbed in, he tipped his hat to the very large man watching him from across the street. Cameron MacGreagor was one man he hoped never to see again – not after he burst into Crisp’s office, grabbed him by the collar and threatened to throw him out the window. Crisp was getting far too old for the kind of fistfight he once enjoyed, and certainly did not intend to fight an enormous man he had no possibility of beating.

  Cameron made it perfectly clear -- there would be no blackmail money, not from any of Alexandra’s husbands and he was to do exactly what MacGreagor said. If Crisp failed, the huge man would be back to finish him off. Crisp wondered if a duke could get away with murder, decided he could, and thanked his lucky stars he was still alive. In the end, MacGreagor’s demands were simple; get Alexandra out of jail and make certain she reads the newspaper.

  Crisp took a kerchief out of his pocket, blotted his forehead, climbed into his carriage and told the drive to take him to the courthouse. It was only three o’clock, but this was one hearing, he would happily sit in the courthouse and wait for.

  CHAPTER 7

  Abigail Whitfield was so excited, she rang Marblestone Mansion’s doorbell and found it nearly impossible to wait for the butler to answer. She rang it again and again, and as soon as he opened the door, she breezed right past him. “Where is Miss McKenna?”

  “Upstairs in the…” She was halfway up the stairs before Prescot could finish his sentence. “…sitting room.”

  The urgent doorbell ringing made both Leesil and McKenna set their sewing down and stand up. Before they could go to the window to see what was happening, Mrs. Whitfield yanked the sitting room door open and walked in.

  “Abigail, what is it? What is wrong?” McKenna asked.

  “Glorious news, McKenna. I simply could not wait to tell you, and so had the driver bring me to your house straight away. Charles has married her!”

  It took a moment for McKenna to gather her wits. She
feared she knew the answer and held her breath, “Married who?”

  Abigail quickly sat in the rocking chair, folded her hands in her lap and grinned. “Her name is Alexandra and she is quite beautiful, at least Charles thinks so.”

  “Alexandra?” Leesil asked.

  “Is it not a wonderful name?” asked Abigail. “I have a daughter-in-law, at last.”

  “But, is she the one…?” Leesil started.

  “The same.”

  “Abigail,” McKenna said. “How can you be happy he married a lass arrested for bigamy?”

  “Dear me, I forgot to explain. It was all a mistake, you see. When Alexandra stood before the judge, the supposed husband claimed he had never seen her before. It was all a mistake, they arrested the wrong woman.”

  “A mistake,” McKenna muttered. “Then I am happy for you. Tell me, is Charles bringing her home?”

  “As soon as it can be arranged. They hope to arrive before winter.”

  “Well, what a happy time that will be,” said Leesil finally. She was certain her smile looked fabricated, but there was little she could do about it.

  “Charles will settle down now; he will have no choice. He claims an interest in running the mine, finally, and Claymore could not be more pleased. Just think of it, I could be a grandmother by this time next year. Well, I’m off to tell Maude. I am so happy, I can hardly contain myself.” As always, Abigail was gone as quickly as she arrived.

  McKenna took a forgotten breath and put her arm around Leesil’s shoulders. “Our worse fears appear to be coming true.”

  “‘Tis not as though Cameron dinna warn us.” Leesil hugged her sister-in-law, and then sat down. “My husband is a good lad, who says the fault is his, and we must be the ones to deal with her instead of Cameron.”

  “Has Hannish any idea how?”

  “Nay, but he will think of something. ‘Tis better than lettin’ your brother suffer a scandal alone in Scotland.”

  McKenna finally returned to her seat and took up her sewing again. “How wise you have become.”

  “But one thing disturbs me still.”