Marblestone Mansion
Book 8
(Scandalous Duchess Series)
By
Marti Talbott
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© 2011 All Rights Reserved
Editor: Frankie Sutton
Table of Contents
More Marti Talbott Books
The ex-duchess of Glenartair had years to plan her escape and her revenge, and at last, she was free. What she needed now was money, and she knew just where to get it.
Filled with guilt and dread, Hannish fully expected his first wife to seek retribution. With only four days to prepare, he put the MacGreagor clansmen on alert and vowed to do everything he could to stop her. Unfortunately, his everything would not be enough
All of Marti Talbott’s Books are suitable for ages 14 and above.
CHAPTER 1
Four years earlier.
Lord Okerman’s new wife, Lady Loraine Okerman, was considerably younger than he, and not well versed in London’s most delicious scandals. Therefore, when he passed away a short two weeks after they married, and left all he owned to her, she also inherited the ex-Lady, Maude Okerman. Of course, Loraine knew there was a first wife, but she had never met the woman, and cared not to hear the gossip others seemed intent on telling her. Each, and every time the subject came up, Loraine either walked away, or changed the topic of conversation. It turned out to be a mistake, for she could not have guessed how ruthless a first wife could be.
Maude Okerman had been soundly put down at a ball several years earlier, and was subsequently set aside by her husband. Yet, he promised to provide for her until she married again, and neither considered his premature passing. From the very beginning, Maude had no intention of ever marrying again. Her entire life revolved around the latest fashions, the most luxurious surroundings, and being a well-respected member of society. Unfortunately, her divorce robbed her of the latter, but she was not about to give up fashion, jewels and a more modest, but pleasant home to live in.
Conversely, the new Lady Okerman had no intention of providing for the first wife. The modest, but pleasant home the first wife lived in was, after all, part of the second wife’s inheritance, and she was not about to let Maude stay.
Therefore, the fight was on.
After numerous telephone calls, threats, and Maude’s ability to arrive on Loraine’s doorstep unannounced, the grieving widow felt herself hounded, and in time, granted the one thing Maude Okerman would settle for.
Maude was indeed willing to settle, for she saw it not only as a means of income, but as a way of getting even with a society that had shunned her for years. What she wanted was a manuscript – a highly explosive manuscript entitled:
The Scandalous Affairs of Alexandra Sinclair.
*
It was the most daring thing the ex-duchess of Glenartair had ever done.
For six full years, she sought to make her escape from the lunatic asylum, and when the way finally presented itself, she was both excited and apprehensive. Her chances were slim, but getting caught was the worst that could happen, or so she hoped. The thought of living the rest of her life among the mentally infirm was incomprehensible, so she absolutely had to escape…somehow.
She happened upon the way out quite by accident. Early on a cool spring morning as sleep eluded her, she stood at her window contemplating for the millionth time, if she could actually make it over the garden wall. Each time, she thought not. When she was allowed in the garden on sunny days, she repeatedly walked the length of it looking for a possible foothold, but there simply wasn’t one.
A ladder would do, if anyone were stupid enough to make one available. No one ever was.
That morning as she watched, a recently hired guard went to the gate, opened it, and let the cook and the kitchen helpers in. The duchess gasped. A few minutes later, he opened it again and let the night nurses out.
There it was - right before her eyes.
Nurse Lewis, who claimed to be a direct descendent of Mr. Lewis of Lewis and Clark fame, was a no-nonsense nurse. At first, the duchess detested her, but in time, she found the woman had a heart of gold where the mentally incapacitated were concerned. In a large institution that housed both young and old, men and women, Nurse Lewis had her particular patients, and the duchess was one of them. Yet, the nurse also cared about those less advantaged.
There was a distinct divide, the duchess soon learned, between the patients who had someone on the outside paying for their care, and those that did not. The ones that did were put in the care of Nurse Lewis. The duchess apparently had someone, and who that someone was, was easy enough to guess. It was Hannish MacGreagor, the very husband who put her in the lunatic asylum in the first place. Without his support, she would not have shoes that fit, but that didn’t mean she hated him any less. In fact, planning exactly how she would seek her retribution consumed most of her waking hours and occasionally her dreams.
The patients who had no one paying for their care were given socks, most of which Nurse Lewis knitted as she sat behind her desk, regulating the activities of her particular patients. Knitting was something the duchess found fascinating, but showed no interest in learning. She had other, far more important things on her mind.
Nurse Lewis set for herself a strict daily routine, which she faithfully followed. She came to work at precisely five minutes before six o’clock a.m., hung her coat on the coatrack in the hallway, and then went to fetch a cup of tea from the kitchen. It was not until she came back that she put on her pinafore apron and nurse’s cap. At the end of the day, Nurse Lewis carefully checked to see if her pinafore was soiled. If it was not, she neatly folded it, and put it and her cap in her desk drawer before she went home.
Dressed in the green frock all the patients were required to wear, the duchess spent the day after her remarkable discovery sitting in the activity room pretending to read a newspaper. Mentally, she went over and over her escape plan. Indeed, her strategy was not foolproof, but she had no choice – she had to make her move before the new guard became acquainted with all the nurses. Besides, how hard could it be to fool a mere guard, she’d been fooling Dr. Morris for years, and he had yet to catch on.
After her arrival at the asylum, Dr. Morris insisted on a session with the duchess each and every week. During the first few sessions, she tried her best to flirt with him, but he was married and could not be tempted. Furthermore, he pointed out that there were much worse places to be, should she cause him the slightest indignity.
For weeks thereafter, the duchess totally refused to speak, let alone answer his outrageously absurd questions. That was before she happened upon an idea. She struck a bargain with him – an answer for a privilege. He was suspicious at first, but her first request was minor. All she wanted was newspapers to read. To him, it sounded harmless enough, and he consented to leave his used newspapers for her at the nurse’s desk each day. To her, it meant keeping abreast with what was happening in the world, although sadly, he only gave her American newspapers.
Naturally, the answer to his next question begged another request, which was access to the London papers. Knowing what was happening in Europe and London’s society was to her, a slice of paradise. She was especially interested in what Russia’s Tsar Nicholas II was up to, for she thought to go there one day. After all, most of Europe’s royalty were related in one way or another, and to become adored by one, was to be accepted by all the rest. With her remarkable figure and beauty, she was convinced, becoming adored was as easy as walking into a ballroom.
In time, Dr. Morris required more in-depth answers to his questions before he would grant her more privileges. She dithered for a week or two, and then gave in and recounted her first marria
ge to George Graham. Naturally, when she told of running away from that marriage and the island she was born on, she failed to mention the murder of Laura Bayington’s first husband. The doctor was so pleased with his ability to successfully get her to open up, she feared he would literally pat himself on the back.
By the time she got to her tantalizing but short marriage to Lord Bayington, she had her corset back, and when her marriage to Hannish MacGreagor, The Duke of Glenartair came up, she was rewarded with her petticoat. At last, she felt human again. He refused to return her jewels or to allow her something other to wear than a drab green frock, so she requested more unimportant things, such as afternoon snacks for all the patients. She was about out of requests, when the doctor made an announcement that changed everything. He stated that she would never be set free if she did not admit that her many husbands were a figment of her imagination.
So stunned was she, that she went into a state of catatonia which lasted for three whole hours.
The irony of having told the truth only to be called a liar puzzled her greatly, until she realized it was Hannish MacGreagor’s doing. Of course it was, he had forewarned the doctor that she might lay claim to false marriages, one of which was to him. Hannish was a man – she a mere woman, and which of them the doctor would believe was laughably obvious. For weeks, the duchess seethed. Marrying Hannish MacGreagor was the biggest mistake she’d ever made, and if it took forever – she would make him pay.
Confined, betrayed, and determined to gain her freedom, the duchess began making up lies she thought the doctor would believe. It was not that hard to do, and as time passed, she quite enjoyed plotting what she would tell him next. It was precisely her kind of game and she was a master at it. From the very beginning, the overjoyed doctor nauseatingly radiated. In his opinion, the duchess was slowly, but surely overcoming her propensity to lie. What a nauseatingly contemptible man he turned out to be.
Nevertheless, the time the duchess spent in the New York lunatic asylum was not completely without benefit to her. It was upon those benefits she reflected in the early morning hours as she waited to make good her escape. Perhaps, the most useful thing she learned was how to control her mind. When she let herself get too upset, the doctor said, her mind entered a state of catatonia, a condition she had never heard of before. It explained the blank spaces in her memory.
The doctor called it, “the red lady,” while others described it as hot fury. Unfortunately, she knew exactly what he meant. Therefore, she eagerly learned how to know when she was entering that condition, and how to prevent it. More importantly, she learned how to fake it when she got sick of all of Dr. Morris’ annoying stupid questions.
She also learned that her unscrupulous first husband, George Graham, was dead. How happy she was to hear that…until she realized he was the only one who could prove she did not kill Lady Laura Bayington’s first husband. She fretted over what his death truly meant for weeks, but in the end, she supposed such an ancient murder investigation would never be reopened, and pushed it from her mind.
The death of George Graham also conjured up the possibilities available to true widows, and she had plenty of time to explore them. Even if her past caught up with her, her next marriage would certainly be ruled legal. Therefore, her plan, when she finally got out of the asylum, was to marry a very wealthy, very old man, and rightfully inherit his wealth. All she had to do was outlive him.
It sounded easy enough.
First, however, she intended to make Hannish MacGreagor feel the full force of her fury, and she knew just how to do it. Her plan required slipping in and out of Colorado Springs without being discovered. With that in mind, she strived to get rid of her English accent. If she could switch from a Scottish to an English accent, how hard could it be switching from English to American? It was harder than she thought, and her progress was so slow, few in the asylum noticed.
The duchess looked at the clock, and finally, the designated time of her escape had arrived. She slipped out of the rooms she shared with three others, and hid behind a door until the night nurse left her station. As quietly as she could, the duchess retrieved Nurse Lewis’ pinafore from the bottom drawer and quickly put it on over her frock. Just as she hoped, the pinafore of the much taller nurse covered all but the hem of her dreary green frock. That accomplished, she grabbed the cap and hid behind another door, one which afforded her a view of the hallway coatrack. At last, Nurse Lewis came in, and true to form, hung her long, black coat on the rack.
The duchess held her breath, waited until the nurse went for tea, slipped into the hallway, and put on the coat. Next, she secured the cap on her head with two stolen hairpins, and calmly walked out the side door.
The guard smiled as she approached, reached for the gate handle and opened it just enough for her to get through. “Good night,” he said.
“Thank you,” said she, as she walked to her freedom.
Her first instinct was to run, and she might have, had she known in which direction she should go. She knew other nurses would be coming out soon, therefore, instead of walking down the street, she made her way around the outside of the very stonewall she so often plotted to climb. At last, she came to a busy street, hurried across it, and spotted several tall buildings in the distance. To her delight, New York City’s business district lay directly in front of her.
When a two-passenger buggy pulled up beside her and stopped, she caught her breath and tried not to betray her nervousness.
“May I offer you a ride?” the older man asked.
She glanced his way, considered turning him down, but what choice had she? Walking all the way into the city would be drudgery. She smiled, took the hand he offered her from the driver’s seat, and stepped up.
“You are a nurse, I see,” he began as he got the buggy moving again. “I was just this morning reading about America’s first school of nursing in Minnesota. Of course, you are very familiar with Florence Nightingale’s work in England. What a splendid woman she is. They called her, ‘The Lady with the Lamp’ during the Crimean war. Land,” he continued, “war is always about land – who may live on it and who may not. I have often…”
Fortunately for the duchess, the kind stranger never required an answer, and kept talking until she asked him to let her off. She thanked him, smiled, and went on her way. Certain the authorities would be looking for a nurse, she slipped into an ally and removed the pinafore and cap. She tossed them away, put the coat back on, and headed to her first destination.
*
Getting inside Bernard Allen Hathaway’s 5th Avenue mansion was easy. When the duchess lifted the latch, the back door had been foolishly left unlocked, and after quietly pushing it open, she stepped right in. As soundlessly as she could, she closed the door and crept down the hallway. When she came to the first open door with a light on, she stopped and pressed her back against the wall. She listened as someone loudly set a pan on the stove and walked away. Ever so carefully, the duchess peeked into the kitchen, spotted the cook at the icebox with her back turned, and scurried across the doorway.
Afraid she would soon run into a butler or a housemaid, she tried the next door, found the sitting room empty and darted inside. The room was as grand as any she had seen. It was decorated with all the extravagance money could buy, and if she had a mind too, she might have easily made off with several expensive items. Yet, what she needed was cold, hard cash, not trinkets she would have to find a way to sell.
On the wall was a portrait of someone the duchess knew well. She should, she had watched Bernie’s wife struggle to put her wooden child’s puzzle together for years. The duchess asked, but the doctor either did not know, or would not say how Mrs. Hathaway had come to be in such a state. Bernie’s wife was not like the others who sometimes swore at her, sometimes spilled their food down the front of their frocks, or more often than not, softly cried all day. His wife’s mind was simply stuck somewhere.
The duchess admired the lovely woman in the pi
cture for a moment more, shrugged, and went back to the door. She opened it slightly, listened, heard no one coming, and once more darted down the hallway. As she suspected, and rightly so, Bernie’s office was in the front of the house facing Central Park. She was surprised, however, to find an actual bank safe in his office. The duchess tried the handle, but the safe was locked tight.
Once more, she listened at the door, and went out. She found it odd that there were no sounds, save those coming from the kitchen, but so far, it was her lucky day. Cautiously, the duchess crossed the parlor and crept up the stairs.
In his bedroom on the second floor, Bernie awoke with a start and sat straight up in bed. He had gained a few pounds, which made his face even rounder, and his mussed hair did nothing to hide his receding hairline. He immediately recognized the woman he first knew as Nora Dell. She stood at the foot of his bed wearing the same dowdy green frock his wife was allotted, and in the bright morning sunlight, there was a frightening fierceness in her blue eyes.
He was not shocked by the way the top of her hair had turned gray. For years, he watched it gradually change in the lunatic asylum and thought it rather becoming, or at least did when she was put away where she could do him no harm. Now, he found it quite frightening. Not for a moment had he forgotten she once shot a man, and he immediately looked to see if she had somehow gotten ahold of a gun. To his relief, both of her hands were void of weapons. Even so, he was truly terrified, and in his panic, he thought to call out, until he remembered it was the butler’s day off, and the cook was unthinkably hard of hearing.
“What are you…how did you get out?” he finally managed to mutter.
“It was not easy, I assure you,” the duchess answered.
He nervously glanced at the door. “What do you mean to do?”
Marblestone Mansion, Book 8 Page 1