Marblestone Mansion, Book 10

by Marti Talbott

  “Okay.”

  Leesil watched Willis leave and then there was just one to deal with. Earl seemed like the sensible one, but he shot Prescot. Even if it was an accident, as long as he had a gun, Earl was the most dangerous. “I could tell them I never saw your faces.”

  “Lady, you have every reason in the world to lie to me. You can promise me the moon and I will not believe you.”

  Leesil lowered her eyes. “Are you thinkin’ you might have to kill me?”

  “How else can I keep you from identifying us?”

  “I see your meaning. Is there anything I can say to dissuade you?”

  Before Earl could answer, Willis came back. “All done. I am so hungry, I could eat a horse.” He went to the corner, moved some of the gunnysacks, picked up one of the old empty barrels, turned it over, and then brought it to the table.

  “You sure Pete will come back?” Leesil asked.

  Willis looked dumbfounded as he made the upside down barrel his chair. “He will, won’t he Earl?”

  “He will come back as long as we have Mrs. MacGreagor,” Earl answered.

  “Oh, that is right.” Willis took off his hat and shoved the top of his mussed hair back before he returned his hat to his head. “That is some house, Mrs. MacGreagor. I never seen one like that before. Lillie Mae says…”

  Earl let his head fall forward. “Willis, stop talking.”

  “You know Lillie Mae?” Leesil asked.

  Willis bit his lower lip and stared at Earl. “Maybe,” he finally managed to say.

  “Why not just tell her your name?” Earl asked.

  Leesil was starting to get alarmed. The more she knew about her captors, the more likely it was that Earl wouldn’t let her live. All those years tricking Old Mrs. Forthright, and for the life of her, Leesil couldn’t think of a trick that would work under these circumstances. With no other options, she said another silent prayer…this time for herself.

  *

  In Marblestone’s parlor, there was nothing to do but wait – wait for the sheriff to find Leesil, wait for the kidnappers to call, and wait to see if Prescot would live or die. Sarah sat on one side of Millie and Hannish sat on the other, when he wasn’t pacing the floor. Justin sat with Blair and Abigail, trying to think of something to say, but nothing helpful came to mind. Occasionally, some of the children would dash past on their way outside, with one or more housekeepers following. Meanwhile, Dugan was upstairs, pacing the hallway just outside Beverly’s door, being a completely useless expectant father. Gloria stood in the window watching the children play, Alistair waited in the foyer and no one paid particular attention to Mr. Skip Jackson, a reporter from the local newspaper.

  In the kitchen, the cooks kept plenty of hot water on hand for the doctor, tea and coffee, while Ronan answered the telephone that seemed to ring constantly, and still there was no sign of the dog. The cooks had never known the dog not to slip into the kitchen and beg for food at least four times a day.

  In the blue room, Nurse Julia opened the door and whispered, “More scalding hot water please, Connie.”

  Happy to be of use, Housekeeper Connie hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen. It was her third trip and each time, those in the kitchen looked to her hoping for good news. Connie sadly shook her head. “They are still operating.” She waited for Cook Jessie to fill the teapot with steaming hot water, used her apron to protect her hand from the hot handle, and then dashed away.

  As soon as she arrived, she knocked and went in. She poured hot water into the washbasin and then set the teapot on the table beside it. As near as she could tell, Prescot still had not moved. While the nurse held a table lamp closer, the doctor was probing Prescot’s stomach wound with a bullet extractor. When she noticed the doctor’s hands were bloody, Connie felt a little ill, went out, closed the door, and leaned against the wall to await the next request.

  Inside, Doc McCormick probed the area a little lower and at last, touched the end of the bullet. “There it is,” he sighed. He turned the extractor, worked until he could get ahold of it, and then pulled the metal out. He laid both the tool and the bullet on the bed. “Sutures.”

  Nurse Julia set the lamp down, reached for the curved needle and suture thread, and then threaded the needle for him. With his hands, the doctor pinched Prescot’s skin together and closed the wound.

  “Why does he not wake up?” she asked finally.

  “I have not yet figured that out,” the doctor answered, “but thank goodness he is out. He would have been in a lot of pain otherwise.”

  *

  Rolling down the sleeves of his white shirt, at last the doctor started down the marble stairs. When he did, everyone in the parlor stood up. He went straight to Millie and took hold of both her hands. “I got the bullet out, but he has lost a lot of blood. He hit the back of his head too. That is probably why he isn’t awake yet.”

  “Will he live?” Millie asked.

  “I cannot lie, Mrs. Prescot. It could go either way.”

  “May I see him?”

  “Yes, Nurse Julia has agreed to stay the night and I might as well too, now that Beverly is in labor.”

  Millie didn’t wait to hear the rest of his sentence before she started up the stairs.

  “Let him sleep if he will,” the doctor said as he watched her go.

  “You are more than welcome to stay. We have plenty of empty bedrooms. Can you do with a little food and drink?” Hannish asked.

  Young Doctor McCormick smiled. “I was hoping you would offer. Have they found your wife?”

  “Not yet.”

  “This way,” said Alistair, ushering the doctor into the dining room.

  At the sound of an automobile arriving at the house, Alistair got back to the door just in time to let Claymore in.

  “I got it,” Claymore said as he zipped past Alistair and walked straight to Hannish. “Had a devil of a time finding Banker Goodwin. He went fishing out at Palmer Lake, of all things.” Claymore lifted a satchel and practically shoved it into Hannish’s arms. “Take this will you. I feared I would get robbed all the way here from the bank.” He took a deep breath, turned around, spotted Abigail, and then slid into the seat beside her. Claymore reached in his pocket, withdrew his kerchief and dabbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead. “Darkest day I ever did see. They find Leesil yet? How is Prescot?”

  Relieved to see him safe and sound, Abigail shook her head to his first question and shrugged in answer to his second.

  *

  After church, the remaining members of Abigail’s sewing circle shared a picnic lunch and tried to decide what to do.

  “The parade must go on,” Pearl said.

  Loretta nodded. “Yes, but we have no driver for the float, and no children to ride and hold up the signs. With Blair gone and all her friends in uproar, nor do we have teenagers to pass out the candy. I asked around and even Provost MacGreagor is not here.”

  “I could ride on the float, I suppose,” said Mrs. Mabs. “I fear I am too old to walk and pass out candy.”

  “We could toss the candy from the float?” Pearl suggested.

  Loretta was delighted. “Yes, we could.”

  Mrs. Goodwin wrinkled her brow. “Was there not to be people walking behind the float to collect the contributions?”

  Loretta puffed her cheeks. “Yes, there was.” She looked around trying to see whom she could commandeer.

  “I can do it?” Miss Matilda Meriwether, the newest member of the circle, said.

  Pearl was so pleased, she hugged Matilda. “Good.”

  “So can I, and my boys can help,” said Mrs. Wilma Miller.

  “Oh, I knew we could come up with something,” said Loretta. “Now all we need is a driver.”

  Behind them, a man’s voice said, “I can drive a team.”

  No one was more surprised to see the druggist than Pearl Hughes. “Why Mr. Tuttle, how nice of you to help us.”

  For the first time ever, he returned her smile. �
�It is for charity, is it not?”

  “Indeed it is,” Pearl answered.

  “Where should I meet you?” he asked.

  “The float is parked beside the Baptist church,” said Mrs. Mabs, “and would you be so kind as to water the horses.”

  “Mr. Tuttle tipped his hat, started to leave, and then thought better of it. “Miss Hughes, perhaps…I mean to say…there is to be a dance this evening and I…”

  “I shall be going too,” Pearl said to ease his discomfort. There was no mistaking his grin this time, as he once more tipped his hat and walked away.

  “I think I might faint dead away,” Pearl whispered.

  Loretta let her mouth drop open. “I wonder what has suddenly inspired him.”

  “Who cares?” Pearl released a long, exaggerated sigh.

  CHAPTER 7

  The parade started at precisely two p.m. and the Sewing Circle float, with its colorful crepe paper bows, was in the middle. Mr. Tuttle drove, the ladies held up signs, and collected the money just as planned. There was one thing odd and both Pearl and Loretta noticed. Mr. Gantry McBride, the Abraham Lincoln lookalike Abigail found most suspicious, stood along the parade route with a little girl on his shoulders.

  “Did you see him?” Pearl asked when they were seated at a table in a cafe counting the money they collected. “A man holding a child up high enough to see cannot be all bad.”

  “Should we tell Abigail?”

  Pearl giggled. “What, and spoil the best joke on her we’ve had in months?”

  “Very well. I shall call to let Abigail know of our success, and see what is happening at Marblestone. How upset they all must be.”

  “How upset Leesil must be. Oh, Loretta, do you suppose they have killed her?”

  “Do not even suggest such a thing.”

  *

  Another hour passed. Millie stayed at Prescot’s bedside, letting Julia come downstairs to grab something to eat. The little children were put down for a nap and Doc McCormick checked on Beverly’s progress. Dugan looked worse than his wife, but the doctor only smiled and went to see how Prescot was.

  When the telephone rang again, everyone held their breath.

  In the kitchen, Ronan instantly answered it, “Marblestone.”

  In the parlor, Hannish gently lifted the handset, put it to his ear, listened, and then hung it back up. He looked at Cathleen and shook his head. It seems everyone they knew wanted to know what was happening. Ronan did a good job of politely telling each one there was no news, and that the family wished not to be disturbed.

  None of the calls were from the kidnappers, and Hannish was about to go completely out of his mind. “I am of no use here. I should be out there looking for her.”

  “I feel the same,” said Cathleen. “I suppose we should call Mother O’Connell.”

  “I shall do it,” Gloria volunteered. “She is still coughing and I was hoping she would rest this afternoon. She will never forgive us for not telling her.” Gloria left the room, walked into the downstairs sitting room and made her call.

  *

  When Pete finally came back and saw the horses gone, he was alarmed. Once Willis came out of the shack, he relaxed. “Where are the horses?”

  “I hid them over there,” Willis said, pointing. “What did you bring us to eat?”

  Pete dismounted, walked into the shack, and set a flour sack on the table. He opened it, pulled out two loaves of bread and handed them to Willis. He unloaded a package of cooked and sliced turkey that was wrapped in paper, and laid it on the outside of the sack. Next, he pulled a knife out of his pocket and began to slice the bread.

  Willis made sure Leesil got something to eat. She wasn’t very hungry, so when they weren’t looking, she fed the dog. It was better than letting the men eat it. After their meal was finished, Pete left for a minute and when he came back, he set a bottle of whiskey on the table.

  Just as the sun was beginning to slip behind Pikes Peak, the dog’s ears suddenly perked up.

  “Traitor,” a voice in the distance called. The dog recognized Cameron’s voice, disregarded him as usual, and laid his head back down in Leesil’s lap.

  Leesil heard it too and so did the three men. Earl drew his gun and then slipped out the still open door. He hid behind a tree and cautiously peeked around it.

  “Traitor, here boy.” the voice shouted again, only this time it was farther away. Relieved, Earl put his gun away and went back inside. “The dog’s name is Traitor?” He asked Leesil.

  “Aye.”

  Willis was still wide-eyed. “They are looking for her. What should we do, we...”

  “Shut up,” Pete demanded.

  Leesil said, “You best turn yourselves in. If my husband finds you first…”

  Pete pounded his fist on the table. “I said…Shut up!”

  “Her husband is that big guy, right?” Willis asked Earl.

  “Aye,” said Leesil. “That was him just now, and he will not give up until he finds me.”

  “We should run while we can,” a frightened Willis said.

  “He will not find us,” Pete scoffed. “She is just trying to scare us.”

  “It’s working,” Willis admitted.

  Earl went to the window and yanked the tattered curtain down so he could see out. “If we run, we have to leave her here.”

  “No we do not,” said Pete. “Think about it. No one saw us. As far as they know, she just walked away and got lost.”

  “They know she didn’t shoot that butler,” Earl countered.

  Willis swallowed hard. “He is right.”

  “Besides,” Earl continued, “how do you know no one saw us?”

  Willis sunk into the chair and laid his head on the table. “How did this get so complicated?”

  Earl turned away from the window and glared at Willis. “It got complicated, because you told Pete. We would be long gone by now with enough money to buy land if you had kept your trap shut.”

  Pete’s irritating grin was back. “Too late now.” He ignored Earl’s glare.

  Willis sat up and put his hand around his throat. “They will hang us for sure if they catch us.”

  Leesil could barely hear Cameron calling Traitor now. She watched as Traitor again perked up his ears and then once more laid his head in her lap. “Go,” she whispered, shoving the dog away, but Traitor just whimpered and snuggled up closer. The twine around Leesil’s wrists hurt, her head was starting to pound, and she was exhausted when she scooted closer to the wall so she could put her back against it.

  At least they were looking for her. She found that very comforting. Her sister and Beverly were out of the hidden room by now, and if Prescot was still alive, they were helping him. She thought about what Millie was going through, and how upset everyone must be. Most of all, she thought about her children. Justin tried hard to be all grown up, but he was still just a little boy and probably frightened for her. Leesil closed her eyes and tried to rest. Baby Bridget would be crying for her by now. Kate was seven and Connor was only three. Thankfully, both were still too little to fully understand. She missed them so much and not once did she think about the argument she had with Hannish that morning. All she wanted was to be back in his arms.

  *

  More hours had passed and what everyone at Marblestone dreaded was now happening. The sun was slowly sliding behind Pikes Peak, turning day into evening and evening into night. Hope of finding Leesil seemed to be fading with it. The telephone continued to ring, but still there was no call from the kidnappers. In the back by the corral, Tristin stood ready to take care of the horses when the posse came back, while Paul waited in the front. Automobiles and buggies without drivers were haphazardly parked in the front yard, where horses were feeding on the new growth of the grass.

  *

  At last, Prescot started to wake up. He moaned twice, remembered what had happened and tried to get up.

  “No, Dearest,” Millie said as she pushed him back down. “You have been s
hot.”

  His eyes were wild. “I must warn the others.”

  “There is nothing for you to do. The robbers are gone and you can rest.”

  Prescot closed his eyes and exhaled his relief. “I have a wretched headache,” he muttered just before Julia left the room to fetch the doctor.

  There was a flurry of excited activity downstairs when Julia announced Prescot was awake. The doctor went running up the stairs and after a time, Millie came down with a smile on her face. “He is complaining.”

  It was a good sign and the news everyone had waited to hear. If only they could find Leesil as well.

  The cooks stayed ready to feed anyone still hungry and Justin stood in the foyer’s bay windows with his father, waiting and watching, while Alistair built a fire in the parlor hearth. It was getting chilly and most hardly noticed.

  Meanwhile, the Whitfield butler went home, assured the servants everything was well in hand, locked the place up tight, and came back to help where he could. There were plenty of fires to light and stoke at Marblestone. When it came time to put the children to bed, the parson said a prayer, promised to come back if they needed him, and took his wife home. The reporter, on the other hand, wasn’t about to leave and kept busy writing notes. A kidnapping was a big deal in Colorado Springs, or anywhere else for that matter.

  Hannish didn’t seem able to decide if he wanted to watch out the window or sit beside the telephone in the Parlor. When the telephone wasn’t ringing, he tried not to think about what was happening to his wife, but keeping the horror out of his mind was an enormous struggle. Was she hurt and lying beside a road somewhere, or worse, was she dead? Did she cry out for him and he wasn’t there? Abruptly, he stood up, went outside to the woodpile and picked up the axe.

  “Where is he going?” Abigail asked.

  “He has gone to chop wood,” McKenna answered. “He has done that since he was a laddie big enough to swing the axe. It comforts him somehow.”

  “I still say the duchess is behind this,” said Abigail.

  “My love,” Claymore started. “We…”

  “Well, everyone is thinking it,” Abigail argued.