Marblestone Mansion, Book 7

by Marti Talbott

  “Gambling? I certainly have not.”

  “Then you will not mind being wrong. I was born and raised right here in America.”

  “But you have a Scottish accent.”

  Brookton answered in his best Scottish imitation. “You cannae be livin’ amongst ‘em without pickin’ up a thing or two.” He waited until everyone stopped laughing. “Here’s the truth of it,” he said, as he pointed to each of the servants, “Cook Halen, Butler Prescot, Lady’s Maid Harriet, housekeepers Marie and Grace, Seamstress Gretchen, Footman Shepard, and I are American.”

  “Dinna forget Henry,” Jessie put in.

  “That’s right,” said Brookton. “Henry cares for the horses and drives for the MacGreagors now. He too is an American.”

  “And the Scots?” Mr. Lester asked.

  “Cook Jessie,” Brookton started, “Head Housekeeper Millie, who shall also serve as lady’s maid to Miss Cathleen when she arrives, footmen Ronan and Dugan, and Dugan’s wife, Nanny Beverly.”

  “Best not forget Mr. and Mrs. MacGreagor,” Millie added.

  Brookton grinned. “They are…come to think of it, they are all both American and Scottish. Miss Leesil and Miss Cathleen were adopted in America, which means Mr. Hannish and Mr. Cameron are both Scots and American by marriage.”

  Mr. Lester grinned, “You have forgotten one.”

  Brookton wrinkled his brow, “Who?”

  “Me,” Elaine said, “but you need not tell him what I do.”

  “Why not?” Brookton asked. “If you did not do the laundry and the dishes, I would have to.”

  Mr. Lester took stock of the way Elaine glared at Brookton and chuckled. “I believe she would like to do away with you, Mr. Brookton.”

  “That reminds me, Mr. Lester,” Cook Halen interrupted. “We shall need four bottles of milk from this day forward.”

  Mr. Lester pulled the napkin out of his shirt and wiped his mouth. “Then it is true? The Duke and Duchess are set to arrive today. The whole town is talking of it. We are about to have our very own duke, right here in Colorado Springs.”

  Millie cleared her throat, “I heard the Americans dinna hold with titles.”

  “Quite right,” Mr. Lester said, “but this one belongs to us, you see. Well, I best be on my way.” He stood up, left his napkin on his plate, put on his crisp white milkman hat, and tipped it to Elaine. “Good day to you all.” With that, he walked out the door.

  Prescot waited until he heard the outside door close before he whispered to his wife, “I am convinced of it. He is sweet on Elaine.”

  “He is not,” Elaine argued. “If the man wants a wife, he best look somewhere other than at one he accuses of stealing bells, for pity’s sake.”

  “If you do not want him, I do,” said Gretchen. She got up, scooted her chair up to the table and headed out the door.

  “You do?” Shepard asked, quickly following her out.

  “Mr. Shepard,” the Butler said calling him back.

  “Yes, Mr. Prescot?”

  “Tell Henry, Mr. Hannish wishes the carriage brought around at a quarter past eleven. The train is due to arrive at noon.”

  “Yes, Mr. Prescot.” Brookton hurried out of the room to catch up with Gretchen.

  “They’ll be wantin’ a late lunch?” Cook Jessie asked.

  “They’ll be wantin’ a bath and a nap,” Millie put in.

  “Perhaps sandwiches and cookies, then,” Cook Halen suggested. “We intend to bake cookies for Miss Blair anyway.”

  “Ladies, follow me,” Millie said to the maids. She made sure Beverly was set to take care of Julian, and then started out of the room. “We’ve clean beds to make up and a crib to wash down. ‘Tis been in storage at the Whitfield’s a good long while and…”

  Prescot watched the housekeepers leave, heard his wife’s voice fade down the hallway, and then stood up. He helped Beverly take Julian out of the highchair, kissed his daughter on the cheek and then watched them leave as well. “Gentlemen, they’ll no doubt bring another two or three trunks with them.” He started as he led the footmen out. “Put them in the…”

  When the dog came sliding into the dining room, halted, and barked, Jessie giggled. She examined the leftovers and found only one sliver of ham and a lonely pancake to give him. She smiled when he quickly wolfed it down and then pleadingly looked up at her. “Dinna the master of the house feed you?” Traitor sat up and barked again. “Oh, very well, I shall fry an egg just for you.”

  “Let him have it raw,” Cook Halen suggested.

  Elaine was horrified. “Not in here. He should be taught to hunt rabbits outside on his own.”

  Still sitting at the table, Halen asked, “And then what would we do with all the table scraps?”

  “Save them for when Elaine gets hungry next,” Jessie teased.

  Elaine was used to their bantering at her expense and ignored them. She liked Traitor, but not when he ate on the floor and she had to clean up after him. It was bad enough when the humans spilled. “What is the matter with Shepard and Gretchen? When I first came, everyone thought they would get married.”

  Cook Halen drank her last drop of morning tea, and set her cup and saucer on the tray Elaine held. “I do not think any of us know the answer to that. I remember a time when they did everything together, but not these days. Whatever the trouble is, they have kept it to themselves, and I for one would never ask.”

  “Shall I ask?” Elaine wanted to know as she set the dishes in the washtub, and then returned to the dining room to get more.

  Jessie found that question annoying, “Not everythin’ is our business, Miss Elaine, and you best mind your manners. If they want to tell it, they shall. Until then, we dinna ask and neither should you. If you do, you will be a busybody like someone else we know.”

  Elaine set the tray down on the table and pouted. “First, I am a thief, and now I am a busybody.”

  Jessie looked at her through the top of her eyes. “You’ll be called worse than that, if you dinna get to washin’ the dishes.” She waited until Elaine filled the tray with more dishes and took them to the kitchen, before she turned her attention to Halen. “We’ll be havin’ a houseful tonight.”

  “Aye, and won’t we be glad of it,” Halen agreed. “There are days that need fillin’ up for some of us, and more MacGreagors to care for is just the ticket.”

  Elaine came back to the doorway. “Must I learn to curtsey? What will a Duke do in this country, anyway? Americans do not curtsey.”

  “That may be,” said Jessie, “but the Scots do, and we shall honor the duke with a bow and a curtsey, until he says otherwise.”

  “Oh, very well,” Elaine muttered as she went back to her dishwashing. She set more dishes inside, held on to the edge of the washtub, put her right foot behind her left and bent her knees. Her attempt was far from graceful, but she did not care.

  “It is a stupid custom,” she muttered.

  CHAPTER 2

  By the time Hannish MacGreagor received delivery of his three-horsepower, curved-dash, Oldsmobile in Colorado Springs, the first automobile and bicycle accident had been recorded in New York City. Two men had driven a two cylinder Locomobile Steamer all the way to the summit of Pikes Peak, and Thomas Edison had intentionally electrocuted a dangerous circus elephant named, Topsy. For the purchase price of $18,000.00, the Yankees baseball team was moved to New York City. The Rhodes Opera House burned down in Pennsylvania killing 170 people, and Harry Houdini escaped from a police station in Amsterdam. Railroad workers went on strike, defying anti-strike laws, a multigraph duplicating machine was conceived, and Niagara Falls ran short of water.

  New inventions seemed to spring up overnight. The Wright brothers were granted an airplane patent, a man named Wyman was set to ride his motorcycle clear across the United States, and the British White Star Line launched the ship SS Ionic, complete with a Marconi wireless radio. The King and Queen of Serbia were assassinated in Belgrade, and Dr. Plotz discovered a vaccine to prev
ent Typhoid.

  For the exorbitant price of six hundred and fifth dollars, the MacGreagor’s first automobile came by train, as did most everything else. A runabout two-seater, it was black with green trim, and green spoke wheels. Top speed was somewhere between twenty and twenty-seven miles an hour, depending on the incline, and it had two forward speeds with one reverse. As impressive as it looked, it was noisy and violently vibrated.

  Radio would soon be in every home, or so they said, but until then, the best form of communication was still the telephone, of which Abigail Whitfield made considerable use. In fact, she had been talking non-stop for more than twenty minutes when Hannish walked into Marblestone Mansion’s upstairs sitting room.

  With nearly a hundred rooms to choose from and two sitting rooms, it was this room the MacGreagor family liked most. It faced east, which meant it was warmer in winter and cooler in summer. Raised in an orphanage where everything was drab, Leesil made certain her children were surrounded by every color in the rainbow. It was where she did her sewing and where three-year-old Justin sat at the table and played. The room had a stunning view of Colorado Springs, but instead of looking out the window, Hannish took the earpiece out of his wife’s hand and gently laid it on the table.

  An unusually tall man with dark wavy hair and blue eyes, he took Leesil in his arms and kissed her passionately. Three years and two children later, Leesil still melted in his arms when he kissed her that way. “I am off to collect the rest of our family,” he whispered.

  On the telephone, Abigail was saying, “And I ask you, how very impossible would it be for him to…”

  Deep dimples showed in Leesil’s cheeks when she smiled up at her husband. Her auburn hair hung down to her waist and the color of her blue eyes nearly matched his. “How I long to go with you. Do hurry back.”

  “And another thing…”Abigail was telling.

  Hannish released his wife finally, and then went to the cradle to admire his newborn daughter. Little Kate’s hair was blonde, just as their son, Justin’s, had been when he was born. Hannish gently touched her soft cheek with the back of his first finger.

  “Dinna you dare wake her up,” Leesil whispered. “I just got her to sleep.”

  He turned to hug his wife again. “Very well, I shall wait, but the moment I am back, she is all mine.”

  “Did you hear me, Leesil?” Abigail shouted through the telephone. “Charles wishes to attend a university, and he thinks to…”

  Leesil giggled, watched her husband go out the door, and then retrieved the telephone. “Thinks to what?”

  “Marry again – a good one this time.”

  “How wonderful. When?”

  Abigail suddenly caught her breath. “I wonder if he has told her about the duchess. Come to think of it, I believe I still have that woman’s retched belongings somewhere. Oh, Leesil, what shall I do with them?”

  “If ‘twas me, I would burn them.”

  “Yes, yes, that is precisely what I shall do.”

  “Abigail, take care you dinna…” Leesil was too late, for Abigail had already hung up. “…start a forest fire.”

  *

  Mr. Simon Merth was proud of his position as Train Station Master. On this day, the Duke and Duchess of Glenartair, Scotland were set to arrive. Even in the August heat, it seemed half the town, including the milkman, was at the station waiting with Hannish MacGreagor for the noon train. Mr. Merth was not surprised. He was just as excited and even gave the passenger platform a good scrubbing the day before.

  He rarely had to see the train’s black billowing smoke rising in the distance to know it would soon arrive, for without fail, someone would shout, “Here she comes!” When that happened, he would leave his place behind the counter inside the station, walk out the door, go to the bell tower and pull the rope – only this time, the bell didn’t ring. Instead, the other end of the rope fell to the ground and nearly hit him in the head. Mr. Merth blankly stared at it for a moment, and then looked up. Sure enough, the cast-iron bell was gone.

  He ignored the crowd’s laughter and kept staring at the top of the fifteen foot tower in disbelief. It took a moment for him to realize Hannish MacGreagor was standing beside him. Hannish and Simon Merth became friends long before either of their wives became members of Abigail Whitfield’s sewing circle.

  Mr. Merth lifted his black cap and scratched his head. “Now that the trains run on schedule, the people expect me to ring the bell when it arrives. Some even set their watches by it.”

  “I suppose we best order another,” said Hannish.

  “It will take weeks to get it.” Still staring at the empty spot in the top of the tall, slender tower, he put his hat back on and hopelessly sighed. “Sheriff cannot do anything about it. He’s off trying to settle things in Colorado City.”

  “Where he has been for months,” Hannish agreed. “I shall make some calls. Perhaps, there is a bell in Denver we might buy.”

  “Thank you, Mr. MacGreagor, but I shall call the company. With bell towers all over America, the railroad must have another they can send. Only, how do I keep it from getting stolen?”

  “Perhaps after you put it up, you might tear down the ladder slats.”

  Mr. Merth thoughtfully nodded. “A grand idea, Mr. MacGreagor. I shall do exactly that.”

  When the train slowed and then came to a halt, Hannish excused himself and hurried off to greet his brother and sister-in-law. For days, the Marblestone footman had come to the station to collect the trunks sent on ahead of Cameron and Cathleen’s arrival. Considering the number of them, it was clear they intended to stay, and no one was more pleased by the prospect than Hannish.

  It had been almost a year since they were last together, and as soon as they disembarked, Hannish warmly greeted his younger brother with a handshake. He hugged Cathleen, kissed the baby she held in her arms, and then lifted seven-year-old Blair high in the air. “I have missed you most of all!”

  Blair giggled. “Have you?”

  Her hair was dark like her mother’s and her eyes were the most brilliant blue he had ever seen. It was uncanny how much she looked like the duchess, but he was getting used to it. Marrying the duchess was the worst mistake he ever made, but loving her daughter was not, nor could it ever be. “Aye, and you are getting’ heavy.” He set her down and took hold of her hand.

  “Where might my Justin be?” Blair asked.

  Hannish grinned, “I have just this mornin’ tossed him in the loch.”

  Blair rolled her eyes. “Have not.”

  “I cannae fool you, I see,” he said, helping her into the waiting carriage.

  Cameron took the baby from Cathleen and as they walked to the carriage, some in the crowd curtsied and bowed. He was surprised, but he didn’t let it show and graciously nodded to each of them. He helped his wife step up, handed baby Anna to her, and then climbed into the carriage beside her. “Leesil is not with you?”

  “The fault is mine,” Hannish said, the last to be seated. “She was up half the night with Kate, and I insisted she rest. Justin was off chasin’ the dog last time I laid eyes on him.”

  Cameron chuckled. “I cannae wait to see them all.”

  “Any more luggage, Your Grace?” Henry, the new driver asked, as he finished tying four traveling bags to the back of the carriage.

  “Nay, ‘tis all we kept with us,” Cameron answered.

  Henry climbed into the driver’s seat, retrieved the reins, got the horses moving, and as the crowd watched, drove the MacGreagors home.

  *

  No respectable welcome home for Cathleen and Cameron would be complete without Claymore and Abigail Whitfield, the MacGreagor’s nearest neighbors and best friends. For the occasion, Claymore dressed in a dark suit, complete with a waistcoat that was a little too tight, highly polished, lace up black shoes, and a tall black hat, atop hair that seemed to be a lighter shade of gray with each passing month.

  After years of marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield looked somew
hat alike, although Abigail was the more ostentatious of the two. She had bright red hair, green eyes, and kept herself immaculately dressed. She could well afford it, especially after her husband sold his gold mines, and took up less stressful employment as business partner to Hannish MacGreagor. She was also the town’s most notorious busybody, and no one seemed able to keep a secret from her for long.

  The Whitfields had two children: Charles, a grown son who lived in England and a daughter, Gloria, who had recently been sent off to an expensive finishing school in the east. Except for Abigail’s once a week sewing circle meetings, they had little reason to stay home, and were always welcome to partake in whatever was happening at the MacGreagors. Since the staff never knew when they would arrive, extra place settings were kept in the dining room, just in case.

  Therefore, the Whitfields were there when the carriage brought the weary, yet excited Scottish travelers home from the train station. Butler Prescot quickly opened the carriage door, which was a good thing, because Leesil was not willing to wait another second to hold her little sister in her arms again. The older Cathleen became, the more she looked like Leesil. For years, the orphans believed they had different parents, but there was no denying the resemblance now. Cathleen’s hair had even turned to a darker shade of auburn lately.

  The Duke of Glenartair looked considerably older than the last time Leesil had seen him, but he had endured a very stressful year before he finally sold his business in Scotland. Cameron had the same dark hair and blue eyes as his brother, and once she finally let go of Cathleen and cooed over baby Anna, Leesil at last went into his arms. “I am so happy to see you. I thought this day would never come.”

  “Dinna forget me, Aunt Leesil,” Blair said, impatiently waiting her turn. She wrapped her arms around Leesil’s legs.

  “I could never forget you, my darling Blair.” Leesil leaned down and kissed Blair on the cheek.

  A moment later, Traitor came racing around the corner with Justin in hot pursuit. When the dog jumped up to greet her, Hannish had to put his hand on Blair’s back to keep Traitor from knocking her over. Blair shrieked with delight, and then took off running across the lawn with the dog and Justin following. Hannish laughed and took baby Anna out of Cathleen’s arms.