Marblestone Mansion, Book 3

by Marti Talbott

  What was wrong with her – why weren’t the words coming? Because…because he did not say he loved her. He only asked his question, said he missed her, as all friends do and nothing more. She removed the fountain pen cap and finished her letter.

  Therefore, I understand now how a lad can love his second wife as much, if not more than the first. When you are ready and have chosen a second wife, she must count herself the most fortunate of all lasses to have your heart.

  Cathleen

  It was as if a great burden had been lifted off his shoulders. At last, he had found the words to convince her that being his second wife would not put her in competition with his first. It was time to tell her what he’d wanted to for weeks.

  My dearest, sweetest Cathleen,

  Do you not know – it is you who has my heart? I can think of nothing but you day and night.

  Cameron

  *

  September 14, 1901,

  My dearest Cameron,

  As you have already heard, our good Mr. President McKinley died yesterday. Everyone thought him quite recovered from the two bullet wounds he received eight days ago, but he took a sudden turn for the worse.

  The church bells rang in town and a rider came shortly after to tell us. As usual, the lines were so busy, one could not make a call on the tele, even if one was dying. The whole town gathered in the park to show our respect. The preacher could hardly speak, so broken up was he, but the mayor had plenty to say. I do not recall what, however.

  We stood near an American flag with the usual 45 stars, although it seems no one is quite certain which star stands for which state. The MacGreagor quartet sang ‘God Bless America,’ followed by ‘The Lord’s Prayer,’ and there was not a single dry eye. I know little of our new, President Theodore Roosevelt, but then I paid little attention to President McKinley.

  The fall colors are glorious again this year, as though nothing could possibly be wrong with the world. Why a lad would so blatantly kill a President, is beyond my comprehension. Nevertheless, the flowers will bloom again.

  Cathleen

  Post Script: You have my heart as well.

  CHAPTER 16

  In London, a furious Solicitor John Crisp declared Attwater a crook, but paid the five thousand pounds anyway. It was the only way to get the last chapter of his book written.

  Finally, it was finished and he was exceedingly proud of his accomplishment. His secretary spent months neatly typing it on a Hansen Writing Ball, another expense he resented, but a necessary one. The final step was to put the pages in a mail pouch, tie the leather straps and have his secretary send it off to a publisher.

  He had no doubt the publisher would quickly snatch it up. After all it involved a clever woman, sex, daring, and at least two men of importance in London society, a society he would have liked being a part of. Who wouldn’t want to read it?

  Crisp bade his secretary good evening, walked out the door and happily went off to the nearest pub to celebrate.

  *

  There was a chill in the air that foggy London night when Cameron MacGreagor left Lord Bayington’s house and mounted a horse.

  A call from a stranger the night before greatly intrigued him. He wrote down the directions and agreed to meet the stranger on a lonely stretch of road between London and the Bayington mansion. What he found greatly surprised him. Two wagons, the first holding several people and the second loaded down with household goods appeared to be waiting for him.

  Cameron halted his horse, dismounted and walked to the man standing behind the second wagon.

  The stranger held up a lantern so Cameron could see his face, then he bowed. “Your Grace, I am happy to see you. I have a gift for you.”

  “Have we met?”

  “Nay, Your Grace.” The stranger set the lantern on the back of the wagon, retrieved a mail pouch and untied the leather straps. He handed it to Cameron and then lifted the lantern so he could see what was inside.

  Cameron studied the grin on the man’s face for a moment, looked inside, pulled the top pages out and then caught his breath. The first page read:

  The Scandalous Exploits of Alexandra Sinclair.

  By

  John Crisp

  “Where did you get this?”

  “I am his secretary, Your Grace. I spent weeks typing it and it is all there, every detail about Charles Whitfield, your brother and Lord Bayington. Some of it might be made up to make the book more shocking. I took his notes too. They are little more than scraps of paper you will find on the bottom.”

  Cameron put the pages back in the pouch and once more studied the grin on the man’s face. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You dinna know, do you.” He set the lantern down, leaned against the wagon and folded his arms. “Years ago, my father was executed. He left a wife and four children with no means of support. The very next day, my mother received a month’s wages. At first, she thought Father was owed it and that was the last we would see.

  The next month, the same amount arrived and it arrived every month thereafter. I was the last child and I was grown by the time the money abruptly stopped.”

  “Why did it stop?” Cameron asked.

  “Why was it sent to begin with? It took several years before I found the answer. Working for John Crisp allowed me access to some documents I might never have seen otherwise, although working for Crisp has been no pleasure of mine, I assure you. Crisp is the worst of the lot…well, never mind all that. Your Grace, the money stopped the day your father died.”

  “What?”

  “How he learned about us is something I could not easily discover, for we lived in London and he lived far to the north in Scotland. Furthermore, we were not the only ones he sent money to. I have found five families so far.”

  “Father never said a word,” Cameron admitted.

  “I am not surprised. I have been to the cottage you grew up in and ‘twas not as though he was a wealthy lad.”

  “Who are you?”

  “That’s the most surprising part. Mother took another name after father was executed to keep us from the shame of it, I suspect. Our real name is MacGreagor.”

  Cameron’s eyes lit up. “We are cousins?”

  “Aye, twice removed. Your father was my laird.”

  Delighted, Cameron tucked the pouch under his arm, reached out and vigorously shook his cousin’s hand. “What is your first name?”

  “I am Moan, Moan MacGreagor and I am very pleased to meet you.”

  Cameron pulled the manuscript out from under his arm and held it up. “Not as happy as I am to see you. You have saved us from a horrible scandal. Has Crisp let you go?”

  “Nay, he won’t know I’m gone till mornin’. He’ll not find out the manuscript is missin’ for a few weeks, at least. I was to mail it for him on my way home from work last night. ‘Tis sadly lost in the mail.”

  Cameron chuckled. “How can I ever repay you?”

  “I was hoping you would ask. I am qualified to secure another position but I’ll have no references now.”

  “Will references from myself and Lord Bayington do?”

  “Bless you,” Moan said. “I was hoping you would offer.”

  Cameron took a moment to think. “Have you ever thought about going to America?”

  “Many times, but Your Grace, I have a wife, two sons and four daughters. A voyage for eight is expensive, even in steerage.”

  “My brother is in need of a good secretary in Colorado. Would you go if he paid your expenses?”

  “In a heartbeat, Your Grace.”

  “Done then. Follow me to the Bayingtons. You can spend the night there and we’ll see to the arrangements in the morning.”

  Moan’s grin finally faded. “Lord Bayington will not object?”

  “Not once he sees this. I doubt there is anything he will not grant you when he sees what you have done for us.”

  Cameron tucked the precious pouch between two crates in the wagon, walked back to his
horse and mounted. He waited for Moan to climb into the driver’s seat of the overloaded cargo wagon and then led the way north.

  *

  The hour was very late when he woke Lord Bayington and asked him to come down to the sitting room. In his nightshirt and lounging robe, Edward wrinkled his brow as he walked past a woman and her six children waiting in the foyer. Nevertheless, he followed Cameron into the sitting room and closed the door. “What’s this about?”

  Cameron pulled the manuscript out of the pouch and handed it to him. The title was enough and for a moment, he thought Edward was about to have a heart attack. He urged Edward to sit down while he introduced his cousin and explained.

  Once it sunk in, Lord Bayington was so happy, he stood up and heartily shook Moan’s hand. “Is that your family in the foyer?”

  “They are in need of a place to stay,” Cameron answered.

  “Of course.” He walked to the wall and rang the service bell. “You are more than welcome to stay with us for as long as you like – longer even.” He immediately went to build a new fire in the hearth. When his butler arrived, Edward gave him instructions and turned his attention back to Moan. “And you have no idea where she is?”

  “None,” Moan answered. “Charles Whitfield dinna find her either. However, she sent ball gowns to Mr. Sinclair, so she means to head back this way soon.”

  “It would appear so.” Satisfied the fire was burning well enough, Lord Bayington took a handful of pages out of the pouch and began to feed it sheet by sheet into the fire. “At least this will never see the light of day.”

  “What do we do about Crisp?” Cameron asked. He thought about helping Edward burn the pages, but decided to let Bayington have his pleasure.

  “What can we do? We must ruin him in such a way as to let the world know he is not to be believed. We must keep him from writing this again, somehow.”

  “Can you manage it on your own?” Cameron asked.

  “Why, where are you going?”

  “Back to America. I left something there I have desperate need of.”

  Edward smiled. “Cathleen?”

  “Aye, Cathleen. Will you look in on Blair from time to time?”

  “Of course.”

  *

  Fewer people liked crossing the ocean in winter, which meant passage on a ship was easier to obtain, particularly for a duke. First class was filled, but second class was not and Cameron managed to buy tickets for four staterooms. Hannish was happy to hear the news and that he would soon receive Moan, his wife and children. However, Cameron neglected to mention he was coming too.

  All was set and in less than a week, seven MacGreagors boarded a ship bound for America. Even though he loved getting to know his new family, Cameron thought the journey would never end. The sea remained calm and they crossed the Atlantic in record time, but the train ride through the snowy and rainy weather from New York to Colorado took two extra, exasperatingly long days. Therefore, there was no one there to greet the train when they finally arrived. There was, however, a large buggy for rent at the livery stable and the station manager ordered it for them. At last, the carriage collected all its passengers and turned up the road toward Marblestone.

  *

  The October weather was warmer than usual and demanded only a light coat, when Cathleen went to swing in the backyard. For her too, the days seemed to slowly creep by. Loving Cameron and waiting for him to propose was maddening at best. Why he hadn’t called was beyond her understanding. All she wanted was to hear him say those glorious three words – I love you.

  Loving him was so distracting, even reading would not calm her aching heart. She took long walks, played with Justin and William, continued the history lessons Beverly prepared for her and read Cameron’s letters so often, they were nearly warn out. Soon, she supposed, she would wear out the swing too.

  Mr. Douglas Swinton asked to take her to this event or that, but she repeatedly turned him down until he gave up and stopped calling. He was most likely a very fine man…he just wasn’t Cameron. Even so, Swinton did not turn his attention to Pearl, much to Pearl’s disappointment.

  As Leesil suspected, Millie was indeed with child as was Beverly. Soon, there would be more babies to love and adore. It was some consolation for Cathleen, but not much.

  Cathleen closed her eyes, gently swung back and forth, and dreamed of how it would be when Cameron finally took her in his arms. Would she like his kiss? She supposed she would, having nothing to compare it to. Someday, her prince would take her to live in his castle, just like in a fairytale. At that thought, she smiled.

  She felt movement in front of her, stopped the swing and opened her eyes. Cathleen caught her breath.

  It was not until he reached out his hand to help her stand that she believed what she was seeing. A single tear of joy rolled down her cheek. “You came back?”

  He slowly wrapped his arms around her and the nearness of him sent an unfamiliar magnificent sensation through her entire body. He wiped the tear from her cheek with his thumb and just as she curled her arms around his neck, he lowered his lips to hers. Her heartbeat quickened, she felt as though her body had melted into his and as his expression of love increased, she was consumed by the exquisite bliss only Cameron MacGreagor could give her.

  Her prince had come for her and he didn’t need an army after all.

  *

  She should not have shot him, the duchess knew.

  Something was amiss with her feminine powers of persuasion and she simply could not understand it. Of course, she had no ticket. What little money she had, she needed for her voyage to England. Before she got on the train in Denver, she considered being a stowaway aboard ship, but hiding in a closet with none of the amenities afforded to a lady of her importance was simply unthinkable.

  She tried desperately to explain that, but the conductor wouldn’t listen. She flirted, moaned and even managed a tear, all to no avail. He was just like every other man she had ever known – impetuous, unyielding and insufferable.

  So she shot him. What else could she do?

  He was not even seriously hurt, at least she didn’t think so, but the Denver judge claimed it was attempted murder. The duchess probably should not have screamed her outrage in the courtroom a month later either, but she could not believe what was happening. Perhaps she was guilty of theft where the train ticket was concerned, but she had no intention of killing the conductor. She was a much better shot than that and offered to prove it, should any of the men on her all male jury be so kind as to loan her a gun.

  None of them would.

  Her pearl handled pistol, complete with the holster, was taken off her leg by a female guard the moment she was taken from the train, in that town of no consequence outside of Denver. Both the gun and the last of her money went to pay court costs, or so the Judge sarcastically said. That left her completely destitute. The lack of money made her cry real tears and before her trial was over, the judge took pity and shortened her sentence by six months. Nevertheless, she was condemned to reside in the new Colorado Prison for Women, for a term of two years.

  As the train’s prison car, the one with bars on the windows, passed through Colorado Springs, she pressed her face against the glass hoping someone from Marblestone Mansion would see her and come to her rescue.

  No one did.

  The Colorado Prison for Women in Canon City, she soon learned, was also the Colorado Prison for men, although the two were separated. She was the sixth woman incarcerated that year and was given the number 279, which she was told to use on all her correspondence. Correspondence to whom, she wondered. Mr. Sinclair was the only one who truly loved her and he was dead.

  Outside of prison, prostitution was against the law. Inside, it was not, particularly since none of the male guards were likely to turn the women in. Her first night there, a woman who called herself, “Sweet Suzie,” mentioned she was collecting nearly a dollar a month for her services. At that rate, the duchess figured, it would
take at least a century to make enough to pay her expenses home. Therefore, she decided to forego that particular opportunity.

  Sweet Suzie had been in three other prisons in the east and talked of a new movement for women prisoners called ‘reformatories.’ The women in reformatories were rewarded for obedience and sometimes released early. Unfortunately, the duchess was not in an eastern reformatory. She was soundly in a prison where her nights were too cold and her days were filled with the dreaded chore of washing and mending men’s clothing. She found it utterly demeaning; after all, a woman of her prominence always had servants to do that.

  She didn’t belong there and often told anyone who would listen. Most just rolled their eyes and ignored her. Her constant complaining granted her no favors from the other women and soon, even Sweet Suzie turned against her.

  The duchess didn’t care. What she needed was a plan – a grand plan to secure her freedom, and then somehow extort a lifetime of living expenses out of one husband or another. She was certainly in the right place to learn how to do it…and do it without getting caught. That then, became her reason for living.

  The world would not defeat her, she vowed – not as long as she still drew breath.

  ~ the end ~

  Read book 4-6 of the Marblestone Mansion Series, Learn more at www.martitalbott.com

  More Marti Talbott Books

  Pick up Marti’s latest book – The Billionaire’s Will – a clean mystery/romance.

  Marti Talbott’s Highlander Series, (books 1 – 13) is a continuing saga that spans four MacGreagor generations, and sees them through plagues, wars, kidnappings, poisonings, and the day-to-day challenges of love and survival.