Marblestone Mansion, Book 2

by Marti Talbott

  Millie often came too, and sometimes their outings included Margaret Ann, but not as often since Margaret Ann had a child to take care of. Millie spoke Gaelic also and occasional she and Beverly spoke it to each other, which always invoked a suspicious glare from Leesil and Cathleen. Beverly interpreted and before long, the sisters were picking up words, if not whole phrases.

  Sometimes the sisters acted very grown up. That usually happened, Beverly noticed, when Mr. Hannish and McKenna were around. Once they were gone, the sisters sighed and went back to being children. Beverly found it amusing. They boldly asked why she did not live with her husband in the normal sense, but Beverly politely told them it was not their business.

  That was the end of Inspectors Leesil and Cathleen’s life of spying.

  Always, there was laughter somewhere in the house, and Beverly was beginning to like them all. In fact, she couldn’t think of a one she didn’t like. She noticed something else too. Leesil never went anywhere without kissing her husband goodbye, nor did she return without seeking to greet him with another kiss. Having been raised by a widowed father, Beverly found the practice touching.

  It also reminded her that Dugan had not kissed her even once since their wedding day, and that was only a peck on the cheek.

  *

  The St Louis Sheriff got so tired of a whining, sniveling Charles Whitfield, he put him on a train bound for Denver and warned him not to come back. Of course, Charles neglected to tell the Colorado Springs sheriff that part, when he went to demand a whole posse be sent to search for Alexandra. “I tell you, she was kidnapped. Alexandra loves me and would not have left of her own accord.”

  In contrast to the slender Charles, Sheriff Thompson was a stout man. He wore the same sort of dark suit, vest and coat most men wore, with his gold badge prominent on his lapel. Instead of the shorter, wide-brimmed sort, the sheriff preferred a tall Bowler hat, rounded on the top. His office, on the street level of the courthouse, had two empty cells, was spotless and well organized. With very little crime, he only hired a deputy when there was some sort of town function and just now, he was quite alone in his office.

  “Mr. Whitfield,” the sheriff said, “I do not see what I can do to help you. If the sheriff in St. Louis searched and could not find her, sending more men seems useless.”

  Charles sat in a chair on the other side of the sheriff’s desk, leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “I dare not think what is happening to her at this very moment. There must be something you can do.”

  “Well, we might have something printed in the newspaper. Do you have a picture?”

  Charles shook his head. “I do not.”

  “Then can you describe her to me. What does she look like?”

  “She is the most beautiful woman in the world. She has dark hair and blue eyes.”

  “How tall is she?”

  Charles stood up and put the side of his hand near the top of his shoulder. “This tall?”

  “Five feet, four or five inches, do you suppose?”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “Good. I shall post this in the paper tomorrow. Go home and get some rest. You look as though death stands at your door, Mr. Whitfield.”

  *

  At first, Sheriff Thompson believed what everyone else believed – Charles Whitfield’s wife just up and ran off. That was before Lillian had something to say about it. Dropping in at the Antlers Hotel where he hoped to run into her had become of habit of his and on this day, he found her sitting in the empty dining room reading the newspaper.

  “Did you see this?” she asked as he removed his Bowler hat, pulled out a chair and joined her at the table. “Mr. Whitfield is telling everyone she was kidnapped and I believe it.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “You do?”

  “My friend Ruth says she picked up the telephone once and heard Mr. MacGreagor speaking an odd language. Those MacGreagors have something to hide. I heard other things when I worked for the MacGreagors too, very suspicious things.”

  “Such as?”

  “I heard their butler say, ‘she means to cause trouble and if she does, I mean to see she is stopped.’ I thought he meant the duchess, but it was Mrs. Whitfield he was talking about. Later, Mr. and Mrs. MacGreagor talked about Charles Whitfield and his wife. Mr. MacGreagor said the fault was his and it was up to him to get rid of her.” Lillian could tell by his expression the sheriff didn’t quite believe her.

  “Get rid of her? Are you certain those were his exact words?” he asked.

  “Positive.”

  “Why would Mr. MacGreagor want to get rid of Mrs. Whitfield?”

  “He didn’t say, but don’t you find it suspicious that his butlers happened to be out of town when Mrs. Whitfield disappeared? I wouldn’t be surprised if they did away with Mrs. Whitfield for him.”

  “Lillian, I have never heard a harsh word said against Mr. MacGreagor.”

  “You’ve not heard what happened to Wesley Bennet? He disappeared too.”

  “Who is Wesley Bennet?”

  Lillian set the paper aside and leaned forward. “Wesley Bennet is the man who forced Margaret Ann and gave her a baby. Mr. MacGreagor caught him in the act and thrashed him good. After that, no one ever saw Mr. Bennet again.”

  “You think MacGreagor killed him.”

  “Why else would Mr. Bennet leave everything he owned in his hotel room?”

  Sheriff Thompson thoughtfully stroked his neatly trimmed beard. “Why indeed. Do you happen to know which butler you overheard?”

  “It was the Scot, Alistair. I saw both butlers get on the train myself. Sarah and Millie were with them too. They finally got married, I suppose.”

  “When was that?”

  “I do not remember exactly, but the station master would know.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Yes he would.”

  “I never did find out what truly happened to Mr. MacGreagor’s first wife. Around town, some say she went back to Scotland and some say she is buried beneath the bushes in the rose garden.”

  He was shocked. “Buried in the rose garden? I had not heard that.”

  “All I know is we were told never to say or ask anything about the duchess, for fear we might upset Mr. MacGreagor. Margaret Ann said he can be very fierce when he is angered.”

  The sheriff took a moment to absorb what she was saying, and then reached across the table and took her hand. “Will I see you this evening?”

  Lillian blushed. “Perhaps I might do a little shopping at the general store.” She returned his smile, felt him squeeze her hand and then watched him leave the room.

  CHAPTER 11

  After Sheriff Thompson left the Antlers Hotel, he walked back to his office just two short blocks away. In the way of records, the previous sheriff left little more than shabbily written notes on scraps of papers. It took a while to look through the box, but Sheriff Thompson finally found the name -- Wesley Bennet. The note mentioned neither Margaret Ann nor Hannish MacGreagor, but did say Wesley Bennett’s belongings were sold to pay for his hotel room. It was true then, and if Lillian told the truth about that, the rest of it was probably true as well.

  He found the MacGreagors and all their money fascinating, especially the redheaded beauty he tried to court at the town picnic. Unfortunately, she preferred one of MacGreagor’s butlers. He also admired the red carriage before the tornado destroyed it, and even entertained thoughts of trying to court McKenna MacGreagor. He dismissed that notion, because she was used to the finer things in life -- the kind of things he could not give her on the salary of a lowly sheriff. He couldn’t afford one butler, let alone two. Now he was glad he didn’t court her. It would have put him in a very awkward position.

  *

  No longer did Sheriff Thompson have to stand outside watching the people for entertainment. Suddenly, he had three exhilarating cases and it was up to him to find out what happened to Wesley Bennet, the duchess and Mrs. Whitfield. They all had one thing in common – M
r. Hannish MacGreagor.

  He remained at his desk, jotted down notes and tried to examine everything he had heard. There were rumors that Mrs. Whitfield had been arrested for bigamy in England, but then he heard she was falsely accused. It was curious that both of the MacGreagor butlers were out of town that week, although it probably meant nothing, not if they were on their honeymoons. Still, they might have found a way to do both. It was not the first time a killer, or perhaps two, had a perfect alibi. On the other hand, MacGreagor could have sent someone else to do it. The Sherriff picked up his note pad, left his office and walked another three blocks to the train station.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Merth.”

  “How can I help you, sheriff?” the stationmaster asked. He took a package off his counter and placed it atop several other packages on a cart waiting to be shipped on the next train.

  “Do you know Mr. MacGreagor?”

  “I should, he comes here often enough.”

  “Do you know all his servants?”

  “Most of them, I recon. Get to the point, Sheriff, I am a busy man.”

  “Do you happen to know which day his butlers left town?”

  “I believe it was on a Monday. They left on their honeymoons, and all the MacGreagors came to see them off.”

  The Sheriff jotted the word ‘Monday’ on his note pad. “Have any of the other servants gotten on the train recently?”

  Station Master Merth was about to reach for the next box when he stopped, lifted his official hat and scratched his head. “I don’t watch all the goings on, I am a very busy man.”

  “So you said, but you do keep a record of who buys train tickets each day, right?”

  “Of course.” Mr. Merth put his hat back on and sighed. He left his pile of boxes, walked behind his counter and began flipping through the pages of his logbook. When he got to the beginning of the prior month, he drew his finger down each page until he recognized a name. “Here we are; Mr. MacGreagor bought four tickets for his butlers and their wives a month ago.”

  “Any since then?”

  Mr. Merth began to search again, “Mr. Dugan Forbes took the train to New York City a little over three weeks ago.”

  “One of the Scots?”

  “Sheriff, how many Americans do you know by the name of Dugan?”

  Sheriff Thompson half smiled. “You ever think the MacGreagor bunch odd in any way?”

  “Odd?”

  “You know, did they seem to have secrets?”

  “Well, they do keep to themselves, now that I think of it. What are you getting at?”

  “Nothing, just curious. Anyone in town know much about them?”

  “Banker Goodwin’s butler, Keith, used to work for Mr. MacGreagor. Come to think of it, I saw him talking to Mr. Forbes just before he left for New York.” Mr. Merth perused his log again. “That’s right, Keith picked up tickets for Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin that day. The Goodwins left this morning for some sort of banker’s get-together in Denver.”

  Sheriff Thompson tipped his hat and left.

  *

  When Keith answered the Goodwin’s front door, he was surprised to see the sheriff. He was even more surprised when the sheriff asked to talk to him alone. Instead of inviting him in, Keith stepped outside and closed the door. “Yes, Sheriff?”

  “It is about the MacGreagors, Mr. Keith. Do you know a man by the name of Dugan?”

  “I do.”

  “Did you see him get on the train the day you bought tickets for Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin?”

  “I did. What is wrong, Sheriff, has something happened to Dugan?”

  “Not that I know of. Was Mr. Forbes acting strange that day?”

  “Mr. Forbes?”

  The sheriff checked his notes. “Mr. Dugan Forbes.”

  “I never knew his last name; we always just call him Dugan. He was a bit on edge, but he was about to miss the train. Mr. Hannish brought the money just in time.”

  “Did it happen to be a lot of money?”

  “I suppose so. It was a pile of bills tied with string.”

  “So he gave his loyal servant a lot of money...I see.”

  “Sheriff, there is nothing sinister about that. Mr. MacGreagor often sends his employees off to make purchases for him when a manufacturer refuses credit.”

  “Did you meet Mr. MacGreagor’s first wife?”

  “I did, but only briefly.”

  “Were you still there when he married a second time?”

  “I was.”

  “Did Mr. MacGreagor say he was divorced?”

  “Not to me,” Keith answered.

  “Didn’t you find it odd that he married again without saying how he got free of his first wife?”

  Keith didn’t like where these questions were going, but he had never been questioned by a sheriff before. Did he dare refuse to answer? He guessed not. “A little, but the Scots weren’t worried, so neither was I. I thought maybe the laws were different in Scotland and once the duchess found out he tricked her, she divorced him.”

  “Tricked her? How did he trick her?”

  “He promised to join her in Scotland after he sold Marblestone, but he had no intention of doing either.”

  “Then he lied to his wife.”

  “Sheriff, you would have lied to her too. The duchess is the kind of woman a man would do anything to get rid of.”

  “Get rid of,” the sheriff muttered. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. Is it possible the first Mrs. MacGreagor died?”

  Keith shifted his weight to the other foot. “Not unless she died in Scotland. Alistair and Dugan took her to New York and she was certainly alive when she got on the ship.”

  “I see.” He jotted down both names and underlined Dugan. “Did Mr. MacGreagor ever harm or threaten to harm his first wife?”

  “Harm her? It was the duchess they all feared. She beat one of the servants with her hair brush.”

  “That’s right, I heard about that. Who do you mean when you say, they all feared her?”

  “All the Scots.”

  “What do all the Scots think of Mr. MacGreagor?”

  “Most have been with the family all their lives in Scotland. When he sent for them, they gladly came.”

  “Would you say they would do anything for him?”

  “I have no doubt of it.”

  “Would they do away with his first wife if he asked?”

  Keith stared at Sheriff Thompson for a long moment. He had already said more than he meant to, and he liked the Scots too much to cast suspicion on any of them. “No one has done away with the duchess.”

  “Perhaps not, but did anyone ever hear from her again…a telephone call…a letter?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “What do you know of Mrs. Whitfield?”

  “I know nothing at all, how could I?”

  “You do know Mrs. Whitfield has gone missing.”

  Keith had had about enough of this. “A assure you, Sheriff, I know nothing about what happened to Mrs. Whitfield. If you will excuse me, I have work to do.” He quickly went back inside, closed the door and remembered to breathe.

  He wasn’t surprised that people wanted to know what happened to the duchess, but Keith never expect the sheriff to be asking questions. This was serious and he wasn’t sure what to do. At length, he went to the desk and wrote a quick note. He folded it, addressed it to Mr. Hannish MacGreagor and hurried off to find someone to give it to. There was always someone from Marblestone Mansion in town, if not at the general store, at the butcher shop or at the train station.

  It wasn’t long before Keith spotted Egan loading two heavy crates onto his wagon at the train station. Keeping an eye out for the Sheriff, Keith quickly went to him, handed the letter to Egan, nodded and hurried home.

  Mr. Hannish,

  Sheriff Thompson was here asking questions about Dugan. I said I saw you give him some money before he boarded the train, but explained you often did that when you sent one of us to make a purchas
e. Then he wanted to know about the duchess and if you ever threatened to harm her. He asked if any of the Scots would do away with her for you, too. After that, he asked questions about the disappearance of Mrs. Whitfield.

  I may have said more than I should have, Mr. Hannish, and I am very sorry. I do hope you will forgive me.

  Keith

  Hannish was about to leave his study and saddle his horse, when he decided a phone call would do just as well.

  “Goodwin residence,” Keith answered. As usual, he heard someone on the party line pick up the receiver too. There was no privacy, not in a town this size, and he suspected listening in had become the favorite pastime of various bored busybodies.

  “Hannish MacGreagor here. Is Mr. Goodwin at home?”

  Keith was certain Hannish MacGreagor always knew when his banker was out of town, since all the wealthy men were kept informed. He answered the question anyway. “The Goodwins are out of town, Mr. Hannish. I expect them back in a week.”

  “I see. Keith I wish to apologize for not greetin’ you at the train station that day. I dinna mean to slight you.”

  Keith struggled to understand exactly what Hannish was saying. His call had to mean he received the note. “You were busy, as I recall.”

  “Indeed I was. I just wanted to be certain there were no hard feelings between us.”

  At last, Keith understood. “None on my side, Mr. Hannish.”

  “None on mine either. Good day, Keith.”

  As soon as a relieved Keith hung up the phone, he collapsed in a chair.

  *

  In his study, Hannish examined Keith’s letter again. The sheriff obviously knew something, but what and how much? When he looked up, Leesil was standing just inside the door. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “I am very sad and I dinna know why?”

  He put the letter down and pushed his chair away from the desk. “Come here.” He waited for her to walk to him, pulled her into his lap and laid her head on his shoulder. “Did you throw up this morning?”

  “Nay.”

  “Do you suppose you are hungry finally?” He smiled when she nodded. “Why do you not go to the kitchen and get something to eat.”