The servants fetched, cleaned, washed, cooked, served, and hung the laundry out to dry on the clotheslines at the far edge of the backyard. Paul and Triston tended the grounds and the horses, and daily, Dugan drove all those who wished to go to town to do the marketing. They planted a garden out back that year, hoping to grow enough fresh vegetables to supply some of their needs, and Lillie Mae and Brookton took to the planting, weeding, and watering, as if they were born to it. Some thought there was a romance budding between the two, and others were certain that would never happen.
Occasionally, servants and family alike treated themselves to a black and white movie or a play in town, especially when a famous troupe arrived. As well, there were the usual summer celebrations such as Gold Rush days, the Fourth of July, and Colorado Day, to commemorate becoming a state. After that, they could look forward to plenty of stifling heat, severe storms, and at least two weeks of canning fruits and vegetables after harvest. Naturally, the next big chore was chopping wood to keep everyone warm in winter.
As he had with all the children, even Cameron and Cathleen’s, as soon as Hannish got home from work, he snatched the youngest baby up. He hauled her around the house, while he got his nightly report from the butlers, and then settled into his study to wait for dinner to be served. It was the highlight of his day and each time he came to get little Bridget, Leesil was always happy for the relief.
In mourning, Lady Laura Bayington continued to wear black and spend time with the sisters, chatting, and sewing. There was nothing she enjoyed more than playing with the children, and endeavored to have tea with the little girls every afternoon. It did much to help her get through the terrible feeling of loss after Edward’s death, although the nights were still very difficult.
McKenna came often to spend time with her before Laura sailed back to England, and of course, all the women went to Abigail’s weekly sewing circle. They did little actual sewing, but no one seemed to care. Naturally, each of the women swore the only place they dared gossip was at Abigail’s, for all could be trusted not to repeat a word.
Abigail completely agreed. After all, these days she spent a lot less time gossiping on the telephone and a lot more time listening.
Even though Laura, Cathleen, Leesil and Abigail knew, none of them said a word about the horrible book. Hopefully, it would never arrive in their peaceful community. There was still hope, albeit not much, for the duchess had an uncanny way of interfering in their lives with remarkable regularity.
Blair, the eldest of all the children by nearly seven years, seemed undisturbed by the prospect of the whole world knowing the truth about her mother. But then, few knew Alexandra Sinclair was her mother. Instead, Blair was happy to read more interesting books and talk to Laura’s twins, who were closer to her age than the other children. Blair also excitedly attended gown fittings, for Gloria Whitfield had chosen her to be her maid of honor.
The MacGreagor men went to work and carried on as if nothing could interfere with their happy, well-organized lives. They came home, had dinner, went to bed, and started all over again the next morning. Yet, in the back of everyone’s mind lurked the coming calamity the book was sure to bring, and there seemed no way of getting out from under it.
Now, they had another problem – the hostility between Abigail and Provost MacGreagor had suddenly escalated.
CHAPTER 3
In the warehouse of the Whitfield and MacGreagor Construction Company, Ben O’Connell put on his carpenter’s belt, helped load lumber on a wagon, and got ready to ride to a house the men were currently building. First, however, he walked between the rows of supply shelves into Hannish’s small office, and sat in the chair facing his brother-in-law’s desk.
For Hannish, it was time to take the monthly inventory, a chore that he was never fond of. More business meant more supplies coming in and going out that had to be accounted for. It was the best way to keep costs down, and making their houses more affordable than those built by their competitors. So far, their business model was working well enough for the company to make a small profit, which neither he, Cameron, or Claymore truly needed.
It took a moment for Hannish to realize Ben was in his office, and when he did, there was no mistaking the look on the younger man’s face. “You need not look so forsaken. The weddin’ will go on somehow.”
“‘Tis worse than that.”
“How so?”
“Last night after dark, people gathered on our street to watch Mrs. Whitfield swallow her pride and ask permission.”
“Oh, no.” Hannish rubbed the back of his neck and blankly stared at the papers on his desk, trying to think what to do.
“I fear the longer it takes her to give in, the larger the crowd.”
Hannish shook his head, leaned forward, and rested his arms on his desk. “You are right. It may soon get completely out of hand.”
“They place wagers.”
“Truly? On which side?”
“Both. I am bettin’ on the Provost, which means I shall lose. Marryin’ Gloria has become a very long and drawn-out process, thanks to my future mother-in-law. Do not mistake my meanin’, I adore Mrs. Whitfield…most of the time, but all I want is to make her daughter my wife. If I had my way, we would run off to Denver and find a Justice of the Peace.”
“You could, you are aware.”
“Without the Provost’s permission?” From the look on Hannish’s face, Ben guessed that wouldn’t work. “Besides, Gloria has her heart set on wearin’ her weddin’ dress.”
“Disappointin’ a wife is not the best way to start a marriage.”
“I am aware of that much, at least. Will you talk to him? You are our laird and if Provost MacGreagor will listen to anyone, ‘tis you.”
“I might have to strike some sort of bargain with him.”
“Such as buyin’ him a cannon?”
Hannish laughed. “Mercy no, he is apt to fire it at Abigail.”
Ben laughed too, although he wasn’t so sure there was anything to laugh about. He sighed, walked back through the warehouse, mounted his horse, and rode off.
*
Provost MacGreagor watched the last train of the day pull away from the station, and was about to move out of his chair when he realized Hannish was leaning against the wall next to him. He tipped his head back and looked up.
“No sign of her?” Hannish asked.
“Not the slightest inkling. Perhaps the duchess fell in a lake and drowned somewhere.”
“Or went back to London.”
“That too.” Provost MacGreagor took the hand Hannish offered him and let the stronger man pull him up. “I best be getting home. I’ve me whittlin’ to do.”
“Ben tells me there is a crowd gatherin’ outside your house at night.”
“Aye. They come to see if Mrs. Whitfield will show. So far, I’ve not seen hide nor hair of her, but it has only been a day.”
“What will you do if she dinna come? You cannae stop the weddin’.”
“She will come.”
“You cannae be sure of that.”
“She will come, Laird MacGreagor. Just you watch, she will come.” He tipped his hat and walked away.
Hannish rubbed the back of his neck again, the way he always did when the stress was getting to him. On the drive home, he tried to think of something the Provost wanted that Hannish had not already provided for him. As far as he could tell, the elder man was in want of nothing. The problem seemed to be that the Provost had too much idle time on his hands, and the only remedy for that was to marry him off. The thought made Hannish chuckle. “Now that would be a grand feat, indeed.”
He doubted the Provost would ever marry again, not after what happened all those years ago in Scotland, but it was an idea worth considering. The only question was…which woman would make the best match? It didn’t take long for Hannish figure that out. As soon as he got home, he went upstairs to the sitting room, kissed Leesil, and took baby Bridget out of her arms.
&nbs
p; “Thank you,” said Leesil. “She has been a fussbudget all day.”
He left the sitting room, went down the stairs, walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. The place was unusually empty, save for Scottish Cook Jessie and American Cook Halen. Close to the same age, the two cooks had a difficult time getting along at first, but now they were the best of friends and confidants. The kitchen gloriously smelled of the meatloaf that was cooking in one of the large ovens. Halen stood next to a large pan that held peeled potatoes in water, and Jessie stood at the counter snapping the ends off of string beans.
“Have my two favorite lasses time for a spot of tea with me?” he asked.
“Always,” said Halen. Even though Halen had a few more gray hairs in her brown tresses than she did when she first came to work at Marblestone, she still preferred to wear it pulled back under a white bonnet.
“He’s up to somethin’,” said Jessie. “I know that look.” She brushed a blonde curl off her forehead and narrowed her eyes.
Hannish wiped the smile off his face, sat down at the table, put the baby over his shoulder, and began to pat the squirming Bridget’s back. “I cannae think what you mean.”
Jessie was not convinced, but she filled a cup with tea and took it to him.
“Are you not joinin’ me?” he asked.
“I am,” said Cook Halen. “I long to sit for a spell.” She brought two more cups filled with tea and then took a seat across from her employer.
At length, Jessie sat too. “Get on with it, Hannish MacGreagor. What are you up to?”
“Jessie, have you not known me since I was a laddie?”
“Indeed I have. ‘Tis how I know you dinna come just to have tea with us.”
“You have become so suspicious lately.”
“And with good cause. The last time we had tea together was in the middle of the night after Justin was born. That was years ago.”
“Then I have shamefully neglected you, for which I profusely apologize.”
She was still suspicious and it took a moment for her to say, “Out with it. Have you not come to ask a favor?”
“The truth be told, I have.”
“I thought so. What?”
“‘Tis Provost MacGreagor that concerns me.”
“If you came to ask me to settle him down, you waste both your time and mine. You know as well as I, once he has decided, neither Heaven nor earth can move him.”
“‘Tis not what I came to ask.”
Jessie glanced at Halen, and then looked at Hannish again. “What, then?”
“Jessie, I fear he is not eatin’ well.”
“What?”
“He lives alone and I rarely have time to look in on him these days.”
“You want me to see what is in his cupboards?”
“I had not thought of that, but aye. Have you not noticed how he is losin’ weight suddenly?”
“No, I have not.”
“Well, I have,” said Hannish. “Halen, you see him in church on Sundays, have you not noticed?”
Halen thoughtfully scratched her eyebrow. “I do not believe I have.”
Hannish turned his attention back to Jessie. “Perhaps there is nothing we can do, but ‘twould be a shame to learn we have neglected him.”
“We could bake a pie for him now and then,” Halen suggested.
Jessie frowned. “Just how are you supposin’ I am to see if he is eatin’ well enough?”
“I thought…nay, that would not do.” Hannish lowered his gaze.
“What?” Jessie asked.
“Well, we have plenty and perhaps you might invite him to have dinner with you, say once or even twice a week.”
“Dinner with me, is it? Not with us, but with me?”
“Me darlin’ Jessie, what do you accuse me of?” He asked as innocently as he could muster. He pointed a slight nod toward Halen.
Jessie raised both eyebrows. She was pretty sure she could guess what he was up to, but decided to play along. “How old do you suppose Provost MacGreagor is?”
“He is forty-three,” said Halen. “I asked him once.”
“Forty-three is not old at all,” Jessie said. “Halen, would you mind if we had another mouth to feed occasionally? After all, he is a good lad, when he is not being obstinate, and he might enjoy gettin’ to know all of us. A lad cannae have too many friends and acquaintances.”
“I don’t mind if you don’t,” said Halen.
“‘Tis settled then, and I thank you both,” said Hannish. He finished his tea, got up, and left the kitchen.
Halen set her cup in the saucer. “So, what is he up to?”
“He is playing matchmaker, and he is not so very good at it.”
“Matchmaker? For who?”
“Me, I suspect, but after what happened long ago, Provost MacGreagor will never take another wife.”
“What happened?”
Jessie glanced around to make certain no one else could hear her, and then leaned closer. “‘Twas years ago in Scotland. The Provost was walking through the woods when…”
*
The next day, Provost MacGreagor was surprised when Jessie got out of the MacGreagor carriage, opened the gate and strolled up the walkaway to where he was sitting on the porch whittling. He set his knife and half-finished wooden bear on the floor and stood up.
“Miss Jessie MacGreagor, what brings you to Scot’s row?” He asked in Gaelic. He nodded to him, as Dugan drove the carriage back toward the heart of town.
She answered him in the same language as she walked up the steps, lifted the cloth, and showed him a fresh baked cherry pie. “Laird MacGreagor sent me.”
“Did he now?”
“He says you be losin’ weight lately and sends me to fatten you up.”
With a twinkle in his eye, the Provost flashed one of his rare smiles. “Matchmakin’, is he?”
“Aye.” She looked around, but his was the only chair on the porch. “Are you goin’ to let me in, or have you shamed yourself by not cleanin’ the place?”
“You mean you want to see if there is any food in the cupboard?”
“Well, is there?”
He opened the door and let her pass through. “I’ve me rice and beans to cook the same as everyone.”
She set the pie on his table and glanced around. The house Hannish gave him to live in was spotless, albeit sparsely decorated. She went into the kitchen and began to look in his cupboards. “Are you wantin’ a wife?”
“Are ye offerin’?”
“Me? Marry a blatherskite?” Just as he said, she found a bag of beans plus a bag of rice in his cupboard. There was little else except for a few spices.
Any other time, being called a silly talker would have insulted him, but he’d known Jessie most of her life, and she was one of the few who could get away with it. “Nay, ye’d not want to marry a blatherskite.”
She left the kitchen, and then sat in the chair he held for her at the table. “Hannish said to ask if you would take to a good dinner or two with Marblestone’s servants once or twice a week.”
“Do you do the cookin’? I thought Halen was the cook.”
“We take turns.”
“Do you make turnips?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll be there.” He finally sat down opposite her and folded his arms.
She was surprised. “I wagered you’d say ‘nay.’ You’ll not mind eatin’ with servants?”
“Not if you make turnips.” He smiled again. Two smiles in one day was some kind of a record, but little Jessie had his heart since the day she turned three. He was only eight at the time, but there was something in those big brown eyes of hers.
“Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Losing weight?” she asked.
“I’ve not put another notch in me belt in ten years.”
“Good.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Tell me, do you think Mrs. Whitfield will do as I say…I mean about askin�
�� my permission for her daughter to marry into the clan?”
Jessie smiled. “I think yer gettin’ her good. She needs somethin’ other to worry about.”
“Other? What does she have to worry about?”
“She fears the duchess will come back and shoot her.”
He got up, went to the kitchen and brought back a knife, two plates, and two forks. “‘I’ll not let the duchess get past me a second time,” he vowed as he cut small wedges of pie and served them.
“I confess we worry about the duchess showin’ up too. She could be anywhere…anywhere at all, and next time, she might force Blair to go with her.”
“Now there’s a child that dinna deserve the worst mother in the world.”
“Oh, I think Blair can hold her own well enough, but if the duchess threatens to hurt someone if Blair dinna go with her, I...”
“I see your meanin’. Well then, we best not let that happen.” He loaded his fork, put a bite of pie in his mouth and closed his eyes to fully enjoy the sweet taste. As soon as he swallowed, he asked, “Me darlin’, Jessie, what time is dinner?”
*
At dinner in the Whitfield dining room, with just the three of them in attendance for a change, Abigail went on and on about the preparations for the wedding. She took a helping of peas out of the bowl the footman offered, asked Claymore how his day went, and then failed to listen to his answer.
He was used to that. As large as their mansion was, Abigail managed to have something to do with the wedding in every room. How she remembered where everything was, was beyond him. However, he put his foot down and demanded that the dining room be designated a sanctuary from the wedding plans. That didn’t stop her from bringing in this and that to show him, or from talking about it incessantly. Therefore, he was as eager to have all the fussing over with, as his daughter was to finally be married.
He continued to tolerantly listen to his wife, sip his wine, and eat his corned beef and cabbage dinner, but when Abigail showed him the leftover wedding dress lace she ordered from France, he had heard enough. “Yes, yes, it is quite stylish, just as it should be. But my dear, in a town of nearly thirty thousand, must you invite fully half of them?”
Marblestone Mansion, Book 9 Page 3