“I mean to make you pay and pay handsomely. By the way, I left a most incriminating letter with a friend. If I am returned to the asylum, he is instructed to mail it.”
“A letter?” Bernie stammered.
She folded her arms, walked to the window and looked down at the well-manicured backyard. “I know what you are thinking. Why would they believe someone like me? They would not, obviously.” She abruptly turned to face him. “Dena was most helpful, you see. She explained your many deceptions in great detail, and supplied me with all the names of your shills.” The duchess waited for him to say something in his defense, but what could he say? “While I shall not be in New York City long enough to testify against you, the others shall be.”
“I see.”
“I thought you might. I require proper clothing and enough money to make good my escape.”
“How much money?”
“How much is being locked away for six years worth, do you imagine? How surprised you pretended to be, when you came to visit your wife and saw me there. I was not fooled. I knew it was you who told Hannish MacGreagor how to find me.”
“I assure you, I…”
She narrowed her eyes. “Save your lies, Bernie. No one else knew I would be coming out of the hotel at that precise time.”
Bernie let his chin fall to his chest in defeat. “To this day, I know not how they found me.”
“Then you admit it?”
“I think it useless not to.” He again glanced at the door, but he knew full well no one would be coming to rescue him. “Mrs. Graham, I am in need of using the facilities and of dressing. If you would be so kind as to leave the room, I shall join you shortly.”
“Very well, but do not dawdle. I have no desire to stay one moment more than is absolutely necessary.”
*
The duchess impatiently waited outside Bernie’s bedroom door, and listened for the unwelcome sound of other footsteps. She heard nothing. Paintings in gold frames hung on the hallway walls, and some were signed by Europe’s masters. She spent her time closely examining three of them, and dreamed of someday having his kind of wealth.
As soon as she heard Bernie’s door open, she hurried back. He had not bothered to dress, and instead, wore a monogramed robe over his pajamas. Bernie had combed his hair, however, and his face was still wet from splashing water on it.
“Clothes,” she reminded him.
“Yes, yes. Will some of my wife’s things do? She has little need of them now.”
“That is precisely what I had in mind. We are nearly the same size.” The duchess followed him to the next room, and when he opened the door and stood aside, she went in.
“They are a bit out of date and I have not had them washed in a year or two, but you may have what you need.”
She expected them to be outdated. The change in clothing styles was something she paid close attention to in the newspapers. Women’s necklines were moving up, and men now preferred straight ties to bows. Hats were not as wide, and some women got their hair bobbed, while others continued to enjoy the longer, upswept look the duchess preferred. Nearly everything from hats, to stoles and coats were trimmed in fur. At least the flat-chested look was done away with, and replaced with more voluminous bodices. Bustles were back, but they were much flatter than before.
In the immaculately clean room, the duchess walked to a closet, opened the double doors, and began to examine the clothes. “You told me your wife was dead.”
“It was easier than explaining.”
“Lies always are.” The duchess chose a black taffeta skirt and a white blouse, laid them on the bed and went back for more. “Your wife misses you.”
Bernie was completely taken aback. “She does? How can you tell? When I am there, she gives me not the slightest sign of recognition.”
She paused to explain, “When you are not there, she struggles and cannot fit even one piece in the puzzle. When you come, she does it with ease.”
Bernie’s mouth dropped. “They have never said a word of this to me. Surely, you are not the only one to notice.”
From the closet, the duchess removed two more skirts and blouses, two afternoon dresses and two gowns suitable for evening. She laid them on the bed, and then walked to a dressing table with a large center mirror and two smaller ones on each side. She sat on the cushioned stool and began to examine the contents in each of the drawers. “They do not tell you, because you pay handsomely for her care.”
“Indeed I do.”
In a bottom drawer, she found a collection of purses and chose a simple black one with a wrist strap. “Have you any idea how many families do not?”
It took a moment, but Bernie finally caught on. “You mean they do not want my Cynthia to get well?”
The duchess shrugged, put several hair and safety pins in the purse, and turned to look at him. “I have seen the tears in your eyes when you leave her, and I see how she is when you are gone. She touches the place on her cheek where you kissed her, and then she closes her eyes to remember your touch. I have watched it for six years.” The duchess stood up and abruptly glared at him. “I would have told you sooner, but you would not let me near you.”
Bernie cast his eyes downward. “I thought…”
“You thought I would try to kill you?”
“I suppose I did.”
“With what? My bare hands?” There was nothing he could say, so she dropped the subject and took off her coat.
Bernie muttered, “Dr. Morris advised me not to go see her too often.”
“Dr. Morris is more simpleminded than his patients, except where money is concerned. There is little he will not do to see that you keep paying for your wife’s care.”
“I am appalled and grieved…deeply grieved. Should I bring her home?”
The duchess took a deep breath, considered it, and went back to rifling through the drawers. “She has been there for years. Take her for a ride in a carriage. If she does not get upset, bring her here for a short visit, perhaps for tea.”
When the duchess tossed the last of the things she had collected on the bed and started to undress, Bernie respectfully turned his back. “I shall, I surely shall.” Again, he hung his head. “I never once suspected. It seems you have a kinder heart than I was led to believe.”
The duchess let her disgusting green frock fall to the floor, and then stepped out of it. “No one is completely without tender feelings, even me, though there are those would argue the matter.”
“How shall I ever thank you?”
She turned to grin at him. “You shall thank me, and quite liberally before I leave.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Are you well now?”
She smelled one of the white blouses, and decided it didn’t smell too musty. It would do, at least until she could wash it. She put it on and reached for the black taffeta skirt. “I was never ill, but I do not expect you to believe it.”
“Where will you go?”
“Home.”
“Where is home?” Bernie asked.
“London.”
“I see. In that case, you are in need of more funds than I thought.”
“I shall need living expense for a time as well, until I am settled.”
“Yes, I suppose you shall.” He had not forgotten a word Hannish MacGreagor told him. It was her pattern to ask for money, and once given, would likely come back for more. “Is it true that you shot a man?”
The duchess rolled her eyes. “I did not intend to kill him, but yes, I shot him. He would not listen.”
“I see.”
“I doubt you do, but it matters not.” She lifted the black skirt over her head, put her arms through, and pulled it down in place. Fortunately, it was not too snug, although Bernie’s wife was a bit smaller than the duchess.
“You may turn around now. I could use a traveling bag, if you please.”
“Of course.” Bernie walked to the closet, shoved the rest of the clothing aside, and found his wife’s bag on the floor. He t
ook it to the bed, lifted a table lamp, pulled a doily out from under it, and began wiping the dust away.
The duchess chose some perfume, and then examined her reflection in the mirror. It felt good to be wearing real clothing again, but she did not think she would ever get used to seeing her hair that color. It was somewhat flattering, she had to admit. It made her skin look darker and her eyes brighter. What was left of the dark strands lay beneath the white, and when she pulled it all up to pin it on top of her head, it made her look quite ridiculous. There was nothing she could do about it just now, so she went back to the closet and found a white hat that would hide most of the gray. Getting out of New York City without being spotted was her first priority.
The duchess found a black hat, and a hatbox to put it in. Next, she stuffed the rest of the clothing in the bag and buckled the straps. The stolen nurse’s coat would not do, so she chose a dark green one and put it on. She was about to lift the satchel off the bed when she thought of something, went back to the dressing table and lifted the lid off Mrs. Hathaway’s jewelry box. She chose a ruby and diamond ring, and when Bernie did not protest, she tried it on and it fit. Next, she chose a string of pearls and put them on.
“Once I am gone, perhaps you might get my jewels from Dr. Morris,” she said.
“Are they stolen?”
The duchess grinned. “Of course.”
Bernie was surprised by her candor, and even liked her a little better now than he had when he first met her. Even so, he eagerly looked forward to having her gone. He watched her pick up the hatbox, grabbed the traveling bag for her, and followed her out the door. He was right behind her when she walked down the stairs and made her way to his office.
The duchess went straight to his banker’s safe and pointed. Bernie puffed his cheeks, set the bag on a chair, walked around her and opened the safe. He withdrew a stack of fifty-dollar bills and handed them to her. The duchess took it and then wiggled her fingers for more.
Defeated, Bernie pulled out two more stacks and gave them to her. “This is all I have.”
She abruptly turned her furious glare on him. “Am I to pity you? You could have lied to Hannish MacGreagor.” The duchess slipped a few bills in her purse, and put the rest in her girdle in such a way as to enhance her bosom. It was nothing new, she had been enlarging herself that way for years.
She was right, and there was nothing Bernie could say in his defense. Besides, the look in her eyes was frightening, and he dared not argue the point. He watched her pick up the hatbox and the bag, and without another word, she was gone. He heard the front door slam, rushed to the window, watched her walk down the avenue, and at last, remembered to breathe.
CHAPTER 2
By the time Hannish MacGreagor learned that the duchess had escaped, the White Star Line passenger and mail ship, the RMS Republic, had already collided with the SS Florida in the North Sea. It sank without the loss of a single passenger, and it was touted as the first radio rescue at sea. Unfortunately, the mail could not be saved.
The American Great White Fleet had returned to Virginia after successfully circling the entire globe. President William Howard Taft was inaugurated in the middle of a ten-inch snowstorm, and the Ottoman Empire was beginning to crumble after the horrifying massacre of thousands in Armenia. At sixteen, Mary Pickford appeared in her first motion picture, and Shine on Harvest Moon was the most popular song in the United States. Hard Bakelite plastic had been invented and began to change the face of manufacturing forever. The newer Automobiles now seated four instead of two, although the problem of loud backfires seemingly remained impossible to solve.
For the better part of an hour after Dr. Morris called with the unwelcome news, Hannish MacGreagor sat at his roll top desk and tried to think of the best way to handle the situation. The head of the growing Marblestone family, as well as the MacGreagor clan, Hannish had a great many more responsibilities than ever before. As part owner of the Whitfield and MacGreagor Construction Company, he was in charge of keeping their employees busy, and overseeing the building of the houses. As well, he was constantly consulted by clansmen over something as trivial as a man’s disagreement with his wife, and as serious as a shopkeeper’s propensity to cheat the Scots.
Yet, nothing was more daunting, than the fear that the birth mother Blair knew nothing about, might suddenly appear. Through his study window, he could see Blair in the backyard. She was sitting in the swing, enjoying the company of her four best friends from school. Their ages ranged from thirteen to fifteen, and they had not a care in the world save clothes, boys, hayrides, barn dances, and the upcoming summer celebrations in town. That was just as it should be and Hannish intended to keep it that way – if he could.
In the last six years, much had changed at Marblestone. There were so many people constantly coming and going that it took both Butler Alistair, and Butler Prescot to man the front door, and see that the mansion ran smoothly. That was not always easy, considering the number of new babies that were born, both in the family and to the married servants. Nanny Beverly was the only one who had not conceived, much to Dugan’s disappointment. However, to everyone’s delight, the mansion had filled with children much more quickly than even Hannish could have wished.
At the same time, there were considerable changes in the staff. Not one single person, not a servant nor a member of the family, suspected a thing when seamstress Gretchen suddenly ran off with Henry, the MacGreagor’s driver and hired hand. Shepard set out to attend law school in the east, which was fitting considering the number of detective novels he managed to consume at Marblestone.
Housekeepers Marie and Grace found husbands, were given festive MacGreagor weddings, and went to live in town. Sarah, Lady’s maid to Cathleen, gave Butler Alistair a son, and two years later, another son. Millie had been Leesil’s lady’s maid for years, and gave birth to a second daughter, which her husband, Butler Prescot, adored. Both couples still lived in the cottages at edge of the backyard, and when raising their own children became a full time job, Sarah and Millie gave up their positions.
As the Marblestone population grew, so did the staff needed to do the laundry, the cooking and the cleaning. The new servants, some of which had come from Scotland, included Cathleen’s Lady’s maid, Adrian, while Lady’s Maid, Harriet, stayed on to see to Leesil’s needs. The butlers added head housekeeper Julia and housekeepers, Stella, Mable, and Connie. To footmen George, Ronan, Dugan and Brookton, they added Tristin, and Geddes. Paul was hired to care for the yards and the horses, Cheryl and Karen took turns helping in the kitchen and aiding Nanny Beverly with the children. There were so many to sew for, they did not replace Seamstress Gretchen, and instead, gave their business to the various seamstresses and tailors in town.
Most of the newly hired were blissfully unaware of someone the family called, “the duchess.” Those who knew hoped never to see her again and rightly so.
And then there was housekeeper, Lillie Mae.
Lillie Mae Flynn was a source of irritation to head footman, Brookton, and a source of amusement to everyone else. She was a good worker and always willing to do her part, but no one knew what Lillie Mae would say next.
At age nine, Justin, the eldest of Hannish MacGreagor’s four children, had friends of his own, although most boys were put upon to help in the fields or in their father’s shops after school. His greatest responsibility was to see that his six-year-old sister, Kate, and cousin, Anna, got to school and back in one piece.
Leesil gave her husband another son, which they named Connor, and a daughter, Bridget, both named after ancestors in the old family stories. As he did with all his children, and when time permitted, Hannish commandeered each baby and took them with him wherever he went in the mansion.
After Anna, Cathleen gave her husband, Cameron, two sons, Patrick and Thomas, born barely two years apart. Therefore, the number of children in the mansion at any given time was ten, ranging in ages from nine months to thirteen years.
Lees
il and Cathleen adored celebrations and there were plenty to be had. Rarely a month went by without a birthday to celebrate or a wedding to plan, and rarely did a day go by without Abigail Whitfield’s help with the preparations. Abigail’s favorite pastime remained the telephone, and with the population of Colorado Springs constantly growing, she never ran out of people to gossip about.
Recently, her favorite topic was her daughter, Gloria, for a special day was fast approaching. Gloria Whitfield was coming home to stay, and the MacGreagors were set to give a ball in her honor at the Antler Hotel, where all her friends could welcome her back.
All in all, life was good, save for a few bouts of illness, and an occasional challenging problem not so easily handled. In the three-story, sixty-seven room mansion, children were given their own rooms once they grew too old for the nursery. Softer colors were replaced with louder ones in the sitting rooms, and two of the downstairs rooms were turned into places for children to play indoors.
Yet, a most necessary change came about subtlety and without fanfare. A tall, thin, hollow marble box with a removable lid was placed beside the center table in the all marble foyer. Inside, it concealed an ancient sword with a blade made of pure gold. On the lid, sat a crystal vase filled with seasonal flowers, and few knew what the marble box held.
Indeed, life was good, and not one, not even Hannish, was truly prepared for the kind of upheaval headed their way.
Laird Hannish MacGreagor stood up and walked to the tall window in his study. It had been a long time since he took note of how much Blair resembled her mother. Aside from her delicate features, she had her mother’s manner of walking, sitting up straight and even folding her hands in her lap.
When Blair spotted him watching her, she hopped out of the swing, hurried to the window, grinned, and then slowly and graciously bowed to her laird. As always, it made Hannish roll his eyes and made her friends giggle. Just as quickly, she hurried back and plopped down on the grass beside them.
On the other hand, Blair was not like her mother in much more important ways. She was sensible, thoughtful, loving, and a delight to have as a member of the family. In fact, Blair was the one and only good thing to come from Hannish MacGreagor’s first marriage.
Marblestone Mansion, Book 8 Page 2