“Not today. Today, I work my second job, which is driving matronly ladies around to show them the sights.”
“Ma…tronly?” the duchess sputtered.
“I hope you did not take offense. I meant it as a compliment.”
“How is ‘matronly’ a compliment to any woman?”
“It means, you are old enough to know what is true in the world and what is not. You seem like the sort that knows her head from her feet.”
The duchess frowned. “Where I come from, it means portly.”
He was shocked. “Does it? Indeed, I am most apologetic.”
“I believe the word you are looking for is sensible.”
“Ah, yes, sensible.” As he drove through town, she decided to forgive him. Someday, she might need him, even if he was a sheriff.
When they reached the river, he halted the horses. “This is the Salina River. It twists and turns, but it is not very deep this time of year. Folk like to have picnics hereabouts. Farther east is Smoky Hill River, which runs all the way to the great Missouri. I’ll take you there if you want…when I have more time.”
“You are quite proud of your town, I see.”
“Born and raised here. Wouldn’t live anywhere else if they paid me.” He started the team moving again. “The Smoky Hill Trail runs right near the river. Thousands of men and women, mostly men, walked it to Pikes Peak. They came back this way too, defeated and all tuckered out. The river made it so they didn’t lack for water, but food was hard to come by.” He followed the river for a ways and then turned down a street that had houses on both sides. Several children played in yards, and mothers watching them waved to the sheriff.
For the life of her, the duchess couldn’t imagine why she needed a history lesson. Did she not marry Charles Whitfield because she mistakenly thought he owned Pikes Peak gold mines? She certainly didn’t need to be reminded of that debacle. She longed to say something to keep from hearing more of it, but she refrained.
“We do all right here,” he was saying, “considering we have seen our share of wild fires and locust. Yes, sir, we do all right. Most folks are farmers. They grow wheat for the flour mills and alfalfa to feed livestock.” The sheriff turned down another street, halted the horse once again and pointed to a large building. “Over there is where they make wagons, carriages and farm equipment. Next to that is the garment factory. You’ve heard of Lee Jeans, I’m sure.”
“I don’t believe I have.”
“They make ready-wear dungarees and jackets. You’ll likely see everyone wearing them in this town.”
“What’s the weather like here?”
“You thinking of staying?”
“I might.”
“Well, it is not usually too hot in summer or too cold in winter, if that’s what you’re asking. Will you be looking to buy a house?”
“Not likely. The hotel will be fine for me.”
“I wouldn’t mind living in the hotel myself.” He leaned a little closer as if someone was near enough to hear. “They got good food and my wife doesn’t cook very well.”
“Nor do I,” the duchess felt she should admit, before he got any more friendly. “Have you a bank?”
“Of course. It’s over in the Watson Building. You can’t miss it. We have a bank, three churches, two flour mills, a full block of nothing but storerooms and offices, a train station, which you have already seen, and another hotel…if that one does not please you.”
“I am more interested in the bank.”
He looked at her through the corner of his eyes. “Thinking of robbing it?”
The duchess laughed. “Fortunately, I do not need to. My husband left me well taken care of.”
“Is that so? Well then, you’ll be wanting something to do. Mrs. Jolly can help you with that. She’s got all kinds of hobbies and such.”
The duchess couldn’t help but notice a tall, muscular man walking along the side of the street. He reminded her a little of Jedidiah Tanner. He wore dungarees, and a long sleeved shirt unbuttoned at the collar, with a vest that was all the way unbuttoned. His face was clean-shaven, his hair was the color of a golden wheat stock, and his eyes seemed to look right through her as they passed. She looked back prepared, to glance away as soon as he looked, but he did not return the favor. How very disturbing. Had she been reclusive for so long she had lost the one thing she counted on most – her sex appeal? She turned back around.
“You have a New York accent,” Sheriff Jolly was saying.
“How very perceptive you are.” Inwardly, she was pleased, for she had worked very hard to get rid of first her Scottish and then her English accent.
“I knew I wasn’t wrong, I rarely am about accents. Is that where you are from?”
The duchess had not really considered what she would say if someone asked, so she used her old standard reply. “I travel a great deal, so I don’t suppose I am from any one place, precisely.”
“I see. How long has your husband been gone?”
“Marcus Reginald Jolly, Reggie for short, I do not like to talk about it.”
“Reggie will do. I understand, Mrs. Lyons. Pardon my being so nosy, but this is a small town and sure as I’m sitting here, others will ask about you.”
“I see. Well, tell them I am quite a private person, as one must be who is hiding from the law.” Sherriff Jolly let loose his comical laughter, and even if she was annoyed, she couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re an odd one, I’ll say that, but if anyone gives you a hard time, you just call the courthouse.”
“Thank you.”
“Ready to go back to the hotel? This is Friday and every Friday, they serve the best fried chicken in town at the National hotel. Me and Mrs. Jolly always have dinner out on Fridays. You’re welcome to join us.”
“I thank you for the invitation, but I am tired. I’ll just have dinner in my room.”
“Very well.” He drove her back to the hotel, propelled himself out of the buggy, helped her down, and then tipped his hat.
The duchess paid him a dollar, nodded, and then quickly turned her face away before she giggled. One side of his mustache was pointed up and the other side down.
As soon as he was gone, she slipped back out the door and walked down the street. If she was not mistaken, there was a bookshop on that street and she was curious to know if they had copies of her book. Had she looked behind her, she would have noticed the brothers following her.
She perused each aisle in the store, looked over several books, and chose one she wanted to read. Her book was nowhere to be found. However, they had copies of all the important newspapers, except for anything printed in Cleveland. She didn’t mind that. The Cleveland paper usually just repeated what the New York papers had to say. However, because Salina, Kansas was halfway between two big cities, she was delighted to learn the store carried the Denver newspapers. It was almost as good as receiving the Colorado Springs paper, although they didn’t carry a lot of local news from Colorado Springs.
It was then that she decided to live in Kansas. Why not? She could change her subscriptions and at least in Salina, she could walk down a street without having to dodge cameras. Furthermore, Hannish would never look for her there and she was positive Pinkerton men looked nothing like Sheriff Jolly.
The duchess smiled. It was perfect. All she had to do was wait for Blair to grow up, so why not wait there? As soon as the boiler was fixed the next day, she boarded the train and went back to Cleveland to settle her affairs there.
CHAPTER 5
Sunday morning in America came around far too soon for Abigail Whitfield. Claymore was still sleeping when she slipped out of bed in her nightgown and cap, went to the bathroom, wet a cloth and twisted the water out of it. She got back in bed, put the folded cloth on her forehead and began to softly moan.
Claymore opened one eye, looked around, found his wife beside him and sat up. “What is it, my love?”
“A ferocious headache,” she said, pitifully
moaning again.
Claymore didn’t believe a word of it. “Is it a usual headache, or is this one called Provost MacGreagor?”
Abigail ignored the sarcastic tone of her husband’s voice. “The usual.”
“I see. Well, I shall have breakfast sent up, and when you are better, off we go to church.” He threw the covers back, got up and reached for his trousers.
“Headaches do not simply go away that quickly, you know.”
“I know. I’ve had one or two myself. Although I must say, the female of the species seems to suffer them more often than the male…particularly when they wish to avoid going to church.”
She abruptly ripped the cloth off her forehead. “Avoid it? Why would I avoid it? Provost MacGreagor means nothing to me, nothing at all.” She realized what she had done, put the cloth back over her eyes and loudly moaned once more.
“Very well, but everyone will notice,” he said as he tucked his shirt inside his trousers. “They shall think you are afraid of facing him, now that you so firmly refuse to ask his permission.”
“Why should I ask his permission? Gloria is our daughter.”
“Yes, but Ben is a member of the MacGreagor Clan and they have certain rules he must adhere to…as you are well aware.”
Claymore walked to her side of the bed and lifted the cloth until he could see Abigail’s right eye. “You shall have to face him sooner or later. Why not today?”
“He said to come after dark, and the last I heard, church is held in the morning.”
“Very well, stay in bed and let the people talk. They are hard pressed to gossip about anything else these days anyway.”
As soon as he was gone, she sat up in bed. She was such a regular churchgoer, that she often wondered what people talked about on the telephone on Sunday mornings. Now was her chance to find out. She waited until Claymore and Gloria were out the door and on their way before she picked up the telephone.
*
Just as he promised, as soon as the sweet corn was weeded and hulled, Hardy bought James a cheap day ticket on the Great Western Railway train bound for Bristol. “You are welcome to stay with us anytime you are in need,” he said.
“Thank you,” said James. The train station at Exeter was a long building that also housed shops and a hotel. Opposite the entrance, a train shed covered two sets of railroad tracks, one leading north and one that took passengers west toward London. The northbound train had already arrived, letting passengers depart and others were now boarding.
“Did Mave write our address for you?”
James reached in his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper and then nodded. Nervous and excited, he glanced at the train again, just to make certain he was not about to miss it.
“Here, then.” Hardy said as he handed him the ticket. “Stay in touch if you can, for we shall wonder what has become of you.”
James shook the man’s hand, and then quickly boarded the train. He found a window seat, slid the top half of the glass down and stuck his head out just at the train whistle blew and it began to move. “I shan’t forget your kindness,” he shouted. James waved, kept his eyes on Hardy for as long as he could, and then pulled his head back in and slipped the glass up.
A thousand thoughts seemed to rush through his mind all at once, as he lowered himself into the seat. The day he waited so long for had finally arrived. Not only was his mind racing, his stomach felt a little nauseated. Over and over, he told himself Jillian believed he was dead, and she had no reason to wait for him. The next moment, he wondered if she was at the market, if he would find her at home, or perhaps be forced to wait until she came back from holiday. He leaned his head back against the seat, closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Such thoughts were sheer insanity, and he knew a wise man would do well to prepare for the worst possible outcome. Yet, in four long, desperate years, James just never managed to imagine the worst outcome.
Jillian was still his – she just had to be.
James could not remember a train that moved as slowly as the one he was on currently. The countryside, although beautiful, seemed to go on forever, and the train repeatedly stopped in towns along the way. On one occasion, it stopped until a farmer got his cow off the tracks. Nevertheless, the farmland eventually decreased and the houses grew closer and closer together. Bristol, an English town that was home to over 300,000, was a proud seaport with a grand history of shipbuilding. It was best known for trade with other countries including everything from wool to glass, and lately, work could be had in the manufacture and distribution of cigarettes. James noticed three warehouses that had been built since he was there last, and marveled at their enormous sizes.
At last, the train came to a stop and the conductor shouted, “Bristol!”
James, who was already standing at the door, was the first one off. He paused a moment to get his bearings, and then headed for the heart of town. Thankfully, the bank had not moved and when he went inside, they still had his money. It wasn’t a lot, but it was more than enough to buy a new jacket and a presentable cap. In a shop nearby, he chose a loose-belted, navy blue blazer, with patch pockets and wide lapels. The back had impressive box pleats and the manager helped him find a gray duckbill cap that matched the jacket well enough.
As he left the shop, he considered going to the market to see if he could find her, but it occurred to him that the shock of seeing him alive might be too much for her in a public setting. So he walked to her home on the west side of town.
Built near the River Avon more than a hundred years before, it was not far from the home of Charles Dickens. The small stone cottage had a kitchen and a parlor on the ground floor, with outside stairs in the back that led up to the three bedrooms that fit nicely under a triangle shaped roof. Each bedroom had a small window. The gray stones used to build the cottage stood out against a backdrop of lush green trees and bushes. In the yard were newly planted flowers that lined the front of the cottage. James hoped it was Jillian’s doing and that it meant she still lived there. Then again, her widowed father might have remarried. There was only one way to find out.
The front door was closed, just as it normally was, and it took all his courage to walk up the stone steps and knock. He waited but no one answered. He was about to knock again, when the door opened just a sliver. “Mr. Eldridge?” James asked removing his cap. The door opened a little wider, but not enough to allow him in.
“James MacGreagor?” an astonished Mr. Eldridge asked. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and it was evident Jillian’s father was unwell.
“Aye.”
Mr. Eldridge turned his face away and covered his mouth when he coughed. “We thought you dead.”
“I missed the ship,” was all James could think of to say.
The door opened just a bit more. “Where have you been these past years?”
James hung his head. “Prison.”
The formerly friendly man, who was in favor of his daughter’s marriage to James, did not take the news well. He stared at the young man for a long moment and then started to close the door.
“‘Twas not my doin’, I swear it.”
“You swore to come back too, yet you let my daughter think you dead? She nearly cried herself into an early grave.”
“I can explain. Is Jillian not here?”
He coughed again. “We thought you dead.”
“I know. Please, Mr. Eldridge, let me…”
“You waited too long. She…she is married.” Again, he started to close the door, and then thought better of it. “Be gone with you, James MacGreagor. Jillian is with child and I’ll not have you upsetting her. No good can come of you returning from the dead…not now.” With that, Jillian’s father shut the door in the young man’s face.
Completely taken aback, James stared at the closed door. He feared it and even expected it, but nothing prepared him for the terrible, stabbing ache he felt in his heart. He wanted to cry out or smash his fist into a wall. Instead, he slowly turned arou
nd and walked down the steps. He went back to the street, stopped, looked one direction and then turned to look the other. He had not truly considered what he would do if the news was bad.
James considered going back to work on Hardy and Mave’s farm, but even a hundred miles away was too close. He knew himself well enough to know that sooner or later, he would not be able to resist seeing her again. The money he had left would not be enough, but there was only one place left to go.
“America,” he said aloud. He slowly put his cap back on and then forced his legs to take him back the way he came.
Behind him, Jillian’s father watched until James was out of sight and then let the curtain fall closed. “Prison,” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust.
James arrived back at the train station with only a few minutes to spare. He bought a ticket to Liverpool, boarded and took a seat in the darkest back corner he could find. There had been no miracle – she was married and now she carried a child that should have been his.
Even in prison, he had not felt so alone. He honestly believed he was constantly in her heart and mind, just as she was in his. That she had chosen another made no sense. Apparently, what he thought he was feeling all that time, was some horrible deception conjured up in his own mind. He barely noticed as the train began to move, or as building after building shot past his window. Somewhere, a child cried and a few moments later, a man laughed, but everything was such a blur, he paid no attention to either of them. Two hours passed and still his heart would not be calm. If only he could have seen her just once more, but her father was right. No possible good could come from letting her see him now. Yet, amid the torturous ache in his chest, he could still feel her with him.
He had gone daft… finally.
How was he to go on without her? He considered throwing caution to the wind and getting drunk, but that had not worked out so well for him in the past. Staying busy was the only answer, even if it meant working for free. A busy mind and body would surely let the soul rest. At least, that’s what he was counting on as he sat up a little straighter and tried to get his mind right. He was, after all, a free man.
Marblestone Mansion, Book 9 Page 6