Marblestone Mansion, Book 2

by Marti Talbott

  “I promise to wait until you wish it.”

  “And if I dinna ever wish it?”

  He wrinkled his brow. “Not ever?”

  She tightened her grip on her satchel as though she needed it for protection. “Do you or do you not promise?”

  Dugan was not about to promise a lifetime of celibacy. “Nay. I give you no such promise.”

  She bowed her head. Perhaps she was being a little too demanding. On the other hand, she had a very suspicious nature, and had no idea who or what he might turn out to be. She needed help, that was for sure, but having the child of a despicable man was not something she intended to do. “A year will do then. Will you promise not to trick or tempt me for a year?”

  He scratched the side of his face and looked away. A year would not be too intolerable, he supposed, and perhaps she might change her mind in a month or two. “I promise not to trick you, but I’ll not promise not to tempt you. You are a lass whose kisses I find very pleasing and a lad can only abide so much.”

  “Then I shall not kiss you, agreed?”

  Somehow, Dugan was not winning this war. “You will kiss me once of a mornin’ and once at night, agreed?”

  “Just once each time?”

  “Just once,” he answered, “and only when I desire it. You are never to be the one to kiss me, agreed?”

  Two kisses a day might be survivable, she thought. After all, she found his kiss pleasing as well, though she was not about to tell him that. All the way across the Atlantic Ocean, she worried about what she would do once she got to New York. Her chances with him were as good as with any other. “You will shave your mustache, agreed?”

  “What?”

  “Is your hearin’ goin’?”

  “You dinna like my mustache?”

  “Not enough to kiss it twice a day.”

  He truly had not considered how a mustache felt to a woman when she was being kissed. He was reluctant, but he finally nodded.

  “Then I agree to be kissed twice a day, but only when you desire it. I’ll not lay a hand on you.”

  “Good.” He started to stand up.

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “I dinna know your name.”

  “I am Dugan Forbes.”

  “Forbes…Beverly Forbes…’tis a good enough name. Very well then.”

  *

  Hannish hoped for good news when the call came from New York City, but when Dugan began to speak Gaelic, his heart sank. “What has happened?”

  “She was the last to get off the ship, Mr. Hannish. I showed her the money, but she would not come away from Charles. She must love this one.”

  “Have you lost your wits? The duchess loves no one but the duchess.”

  “I have called all the best hotels, but they are staying in none of them. I have failed, Mr. Hannish.”

  “‘Tis not your fault. Where are you stayin’?” Hannish quickly wrote down the name of the hotel. “I shall see what I can find out. Perhaps Claymore knows where they are.” He hung up and began to rub the back of his neck. What possible excuse could he use to ask Claymore where Charles was without raising suspicion?

  Begrudgingly, Hannish picked up the phone again and placed a call to the Whitfields. Claymore was still at the mine and was not expected back until the next day, so he talked to Abigail instead. If the lively Abigail knew where her son was, she would not hesitate to volunteer the information, and when she didn’t, Hannish decided not to ask.

  He spent a sleepless night and when he called Dugan the next morning, he was in for the surprise of his life.

  “Nay, Mr. Hannish, I dinna find them. Mr. Hannish, I have taken a wife.”

  “A…wife?”

  “Aye. Her name is Beverly.”

  “I see. Had I known, we might have built another cottage.”

  “‘Tis not that sort of marriage.”

  Hannish raised both his eyebrows. “What sort of marriage is it?”

  “Might I explain when we get home?”

  “Of course. Beverly will be welcome here and I will alert everyone.”

  “Please, Mr. Hannish, tell them not to fuss. She is…‘tis not that sort of marriage.”

  “I will tell them. Come home, there is no point in you staying there.”

  “Aye, Mr. Hannish.”

  *

  A few hours later, Abigail called McKenna to say Charles and his bride planned to catch a train out of New York. As soon as he heard, Hannish placed a second call to Dugan, but he had already checked out of the hotel.

  Hannish had one last chance – send someone to intercept the duchess when she and Charles changed trains in Denver. It meant meeting each train for a day or two. However, who better to accomplish it than Alistair, who happened to be in Denver on his honeymoon. Prescot was there too, and perhaps he could distract Charles long enough for Alistair to talk to the duchess. He hated to bother them, but he didn’t think either of his butlers would object to another three or four days in Denver.

  He placed the call and as luck would have it, Alistair was there. Again, he spoke Gaelic in case someone was listening.

  *

  Dugan and his wife boarded the sleek, black, steam powered train in New York and headed home. He loved the trains, especially after hearing Mr. Whitfield’s stories of how the men laying the rails were lured away by rumors of gold strikes in Colorado.

  It normally took eight days to cross the entire United Stated, but only half that to reach Colorado. Still, the journey was grueling, with extended layovers, and trains that were not always on schedule. Changing trains was exactly what they had to do at the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway Station.

  Dugan didn’t mind the journey, even though he had made the trip five times in the few short months since he first arrived in America. There was always something new to see, and besides, he had a wife to get to know. True to his word, he only touched Beverly when it was necessary in order to guide her in the right direction. On their first night as husband and wife, she slept in the bed, he on a sofa and that morning, she seemed to trust him a little more. Yet. she refused to relegate her small satchel to the baggage compartment and instead held it in her lap.

  “You are frightened,” he said not long after the train left Chicago.

  “A little. I am quite far from home, and I am not altogether certain how I got here.”

  Dugan reached in his pocket, pulled out a map he managed to buy in New York and unfolded it. “We are here,” he said pointing to Chicago. This train will take us across the Mississippi River to St. Louis, where we must change trains again. The next train will take us through Kansas City, here, and on to Denver. We must again change trains in Denver, but the ride to Colorado Springs is a short one.”

  “How long altogether?”

  “Four days.”

  “Four days? Where do we sleep?”

  “In our seats, but if we tire of sitting, we can walk the length of the train as often as you like.”

  “Have they no sleeping cars in America?”

  “Aye, but they are all taken and I cannae afford it anyway.”

  “You could if you wanted to.”

  Dugan lowered his voice, “As I said before, ‘tis not my money to spend. I was to give it to the lass on the boat dock without her husband seeing. She would not take it and I must give the money back to Mr. Hannish.”

  “I see.”

  “Good. Would you care to hear more about your new home, or would you rather just look out the window.”

  “I will hear more of your fanciful fables, if you please.” The new Mrs. Beverly Forbes was relieved to know her husband was employed, and listened attentively. His description of where they were going to live and the glorious MacGreagors sounded as farfetched as any tall tale she had ever heard. Dugan fed her well and kindly kept her safe, which is more than she would have gotten had she married that ogre back in Scotland. Still, she suspected the personality he let her see was just as fanciful as the stories he
was telling.

  Dugan stood when she asked to go to the washroom, let her out and noticed how she still tightly hung on to her satchel. He didn’t blame her since it was all she had, and while she was gone, he mindlessly looked out the window. Her suspicious looks were not lost on him and he wondered what he could say to make her believe she could trust him. He was still deep in thought when Beverly tapped him on the shoulder.

  “That lass is on this train,” she said.

  “What lass?” he asked standing up.

  She leaned close and whispered, “The one at the boat dock.”

  “Where?”

  Beverly pointed back the way she came.

  *

  A seething Alexandra stood in front of a partially opened window in the baggage compartment and let the wind blow in her face. Charles Whitfield was by far the most boring, ill-mannered man she had ever endured. Worse still, he clung to her like a child and she was forced to wait for him to fall asleep in their Pullman compartment, before she could slip away.

  What she needed most was a long hot bath and a cigarette. The bath would have to wait, but not the cigarette. Yet, when she searched her gold mesh clutch bag, she realized she neglected to bring her lighter.

  Just as she was about to go back for it, a lit flame appeared in front of her face. She put her hand on his to hold it steady, lit the end of her cigarette and then looked up. Her surprise lasted only a moment before her expression turned to revulsion. “What are you doing here?”

  “I might ask the same of you, duchess,” said Dugan.

  She quickly glanced around to make certain they were alone. “Are you following me?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why?”

  “Mr. Hannish wishes me to give you enough money to make your escape.”

  “Does he, and why would he care what I do?”

  “He is a friend of your…new husband’s father. He does not want Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield to know their son is a simpleton.”

  “How could they not already know?” she sneered.

  Dugan smiled. “They suspect, but to suspect and to know for certain are two different things.”

  She studied his eyes, as she took another drag of her cigarette and let the smoke slowly escape from her lips. “Hannish is a stupid man. I had no intention of going to Colorado until you offered to pay me. How can he think I would settle for a handful of dollars when there are millions to be had?”

  “Mr. Hannish thinks you would rather have this handful and be gone, than tempt him to tell Scotland Yard where to find you.”

  ‘He knows about that, does he? Of course he does. It was he who had me arrested. I shall never forgive him for that.” She glanced behind her again to make sure Charles was not coming. “How much?”

  “Two thousand dollars, providin’ you promise never to come back.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “How very generous of him. Am I to believe my darling husband would part with two thousand dollars simply to spare a friend embarrassment? What is he up to?”

  “If he were up to anythin’, he would not tell me, and I would not tell you. Truth be told, I cannae abide the sight of you.”

  “I am not fond of you either.”

  “Or anyone else,” he scoffed. “You’ve had five husbands, none of which you were anymore fond of than Lady Bayington’s first husband. Did you enjoy killing him?”

  She gasped. “I have killed no one.”

  “Perhaps not, but we all know you are capable of it. Mr. Hannish vows not to let you hurt anyone else.”

  Alexandra rolled her eyes. “I barely touched the little gutter rat and you know it.”

  It was all Dugan could do to hold his temper. “Take care, duchess. Sassy is a favorite of mine.” He glared until Alexandra turned away and looked out the window again. “Take the money. St. Louis is big city with lots of shops. Perhaps you prefer Chicago or New York. I hear both are pleasant this time of year and you could easily catch the next train back east.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Mr. Hannish will be forced to tell Mr. Whitfield the truth. You will then be arrested and sent back to face murder charges. Your picture will be in all the papers and of course, there is that other thing.”

  She finally looked at him. “What other thing?”

  “I followed you, duchess.”

  “What?”

  “When you went away for days at a time while Mr. Hannish was in America, I followed you. You hid in the bushes and watched a child, a lassie who looks a lot like you.” He watched Alexandra’s eyes shift from side to side. “Surely, you dinna want her to find out her mother is a bigamist as well as a murderer.”

  “I know you too well, Dugan, you would not tell her. You are too kindhearted.”

  “True, I would not, but Lord Bayington might, once he knows you kept a child from him.”

  “You cannot know whose daughter she is.”

  “Nay, but she is the right age to have been born between your marriage to him and the one to Mr. MacGreagor. Mr. Sinclair, your second husband, must think the child is his for he loves her dearly. How sad it would be if Lord Bayington took her away from Mr. Sinclair.”

  Dugan reached in his pocket, pulled out the packet of bills, grabbed her hand and put it in her palm. “Good bye, duchess. Have a merry life.”

  With that, he turned and went back to his wife.

  *

  “Did you find her?” Beverly asked as soon as Dugan sat down beside her.

  “Aye. Wife, you must not tell anyone about her.”

  “Why?”

  “Word of her grieves the people I love. Give me your pledge not to say anythin’ to anyone.”

  Beverly eyed him wearily, “Not until I know why.”

  He tried to think of just the right thing to say to convince her, and at last came up with an idea. “When we get home, you shall meet Margaret Ann and her wee bairn. One night, a lad…” He had her full attention as he told the story and when he was finished, he added. “‘Tis the sort of lad Mr. Hannish is. He would give all he owns for any one of us, and we will do anythin’ he asks in return.”

  “He asked you to give that lass money? Why?”

  Dugan sighed. “It matters not why. He asked it and I did it.”

  “You do not know the reason?”

  He was about to lose his patience. “Hear me very well, wife. If you speak of what you know, you will hurt the ones I love, and for that, I will not forgive you. Give me your pledge.”

  “Oh very well. You dinna say her name and I have no one to tell anyway.”

  CHAPTER 10

  As night fell, Beverly began to doze off and at length, put her head on Dugan’s shoulder. He, on the other hand, could not sleep. There was still a chance the duchess would keep the money and not run off. Twice, Charles walked past, but Dugan kept his face turned away both times. Just as the sun began to rise, the train pulled into St. Louis, where they needed to change to the Toledo, St. Louis and Kansas City Railroad. They faced a long layover, so he just let his wife sleep.

  The Whitfields, on the other hand, got off the train and when Charles came out of the café and discovered his wife missing, he shouted loud enough for the whole station to hear. Through the window, Dugan watched Charles run from this place to that, until he felt sorry for the man -- just not sorry enough to tell him the duchess was gone for good.

  Even then, Dugan couldn’t be sure it was over; there was still a chance the duchess would show up. That’s when he saw her. He would know that figure anywhere, and when he caught a glimpse of the back of a woman darting around the corner of the train station, he knew for sure.

  By the time he and Beverly got off one train to catch the next, Charles was in such a snit, he couldn’t think straight. Two policemen were attempting to assist, but Charles admitted he wasn’t certain what she was wearing. Blue, he thought, or perhaps pink. The voice of Charles Whitfield faded as Dugan ushered his wife onto the next train, found their seats and sat down. Only then, d
id he relax enough to rest.

  *

  It was midafternoon when a distraught Abigail Whitfield burst through the front door of Marblestone Mansion. “McKenna!” she shouted.

  “What is it?” a startled Shepard asked rushing into the foyer.

  “She is gone!”

  “Who is gone?” Hannish asked, hurrying across the parlor. When he looked up, McKenna, Leesil and Cathleen were coming down the stairs and several of the servants were arriving from different parts of the house.

  “Alexandra! Charles lost sight of her in St. Louis and he cannot find her anywhere. She has been kidnapped!”

  “Kidnapped?” McKenna asked. “Oh Abigail, who…”

  “She has been kidnapped, I tell you. Oh, McKenna, what are we to do? Charles demands his father go to St. Louis straight away to help him look for her, but Claymore refuses.” She suddenly grabbed his arm. “Hannish, you must talk to him.”

  Abigail was visibly shaking and Hannish became truly concerned about her. “Abigail, sit down before you make yourself ill.” He took her arm, guided her into the parlor, and then helped her sit on the settee. “Now, tell me exactly what happened.” As soon as Leesil came to stand next to him, he put his arm around his wife.

  “I do not know,” Abigail answered. “Charles is beside himself with worry. She has not eaten all day, and he frets over that the most. She was too thin, you know, when they let her out of jail, and she has no money to speak of.”

  “Is he certain she has not run off?” Hannish asked.

  “Run off?” Abigail nearly shouted. “Why would she do that?”

  McKenna sat down beside Abigail. “Dearest Abigail, perhaps she does not truly love Charles and only used him to get to America.”

  “Oh dear, I had not thought of that. My poor Charles, how he will suffer if it is true. Then again, she must have been kidnapped. What woman runs off and leaves all she owns behind?”

  McKenna exchanged glances with Hannish. “‘Tis a bit odd.”

  “Yes it is,” said Abigail. “Very, very odd indeed. And she has no money to buy new, which Charles says she loves to do. She is very attentive to dressing just so. No, she has fallen into the clutches of the most unsavory of men. From the very beginning, Charles feared someone would carry her off. She is quite beautiful and more than one man kept an eye on her when they were in Paris.”