Marblestone Mansion, Book 5

by Marti Talbott

  *

  Lady Maude Okerman spent the night in a hotel, making call after call until she learned who had hired the private detective to find the duchess. It was a very surprising turn of events when she learned the answer, and she was quiet curious to know why. His office was in a seedier part of town, her attire was far too grand and her expensive carriage stuck out like a sore thumb, but Lady Okerman ignored the stares of the common people and went inside. A plaque on the wall directed her upstairs, and when she opened the door to the outer office, she was surprised to find no one there.

  “Mr. Crisp?” she called out.

  Having just dozed off, Solicitor John Crisp woke with a start. “What?”

  “Oh, there you are.” She marched into the next office and seated herself before he could object. “I am Lady Maude Okerman.”

  Both of Crisp’s eyebrows shot up. While he had not been formally introduced, he knew the name well enough. She was most likely the most powerful woman in London. This could be either good or bad news. On the good side, she could be there to hire him, and on the bad – well that could have something to do with most anything in his dark past. “Lady Okerman,” he hesitantly asked, not bothering to stand and bow. “What brings you to see me?”

  “You hired a man to find a friend of mine and I want to know why?”

  He attempted to put forth his most pleasant smile. “Of whom are you speaking?”

  “Mr. Crisp, do not be coy. I speak of Mr. Garrott, a private detective, hired by you to find Alexandra Sinclair.”

  “I am afraid any association I may, or may not have with Mr. Garrott, it is quite confidential?”

  “Do you deny it, then?”

  He took a moment to consider his answer. “I neither confirm nor deny it.”

  “In the very least, tell me if she has been found. I fear for her safety.”

  It was possible they were friends, but Crisp doubted it. The only close friendship Alexandra alluded to was with Laura Bayington, and that was over years ago. “Has the private detective not said if your friend has or has not been found?”

  Maude was clearly getting annoyed. “Would I be here if he had?”

  “Then perhaps you already have your answer.”

  She lowered her gaze and noticed the worn area in his rug. “Mr. Crisp, I see you are short of funds. Someone in my position might remedy that circumstance a little.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “It is imperative that I find her. She…she has certain information I am in desperate need of.”

  “What sort of information.”

  “It is of a personal nature.”

  “I see.” The sound of payment for information was music to his ears, and information of a personal nature concerning Alexandra Sinclair was something he had plenty of. Yet, he intended to make a fortune when he sold his manuscript to a publisher, and hesitated to mention it. “Lady Okerman, I might be able to help you. I am getting old and have my heart set on leaving the country. How much would you be willing to pay for such information?”

  “First, you must tell me what you know.”

  “First, you must pay me.”

  “How do I know you have any information at all?”

  Crist was waiting for that question. He could smell money and Lady Okerman had plenty of it – perhaps more than he could make by selling the book. He carefully put his hand atop the pages of his manuscript and strummed his fingers. “What you want to know is all here, I assure you.”

  “You have kept a log?”

  “Not a log, I was well into the last chapter of this book when Alexandra disappeared.” He peeled off the title page and handed it to her. In bold type, it read:

  The Scandalous Affairs of Alexandra Sinclair

  Lady Okerman caught her breath. “Is my brother mentioned in this book?”

  “All that was said and done is in this book, but to see it, I require payment in advance.”

  She stared into his determined eyes for a long moment before she handed the title page back. “I see. You intend to have it published, I presume.”

  “I do. Day after day, she poured her heart out to me and I have worked tirelessly to tell her true story.”

  Lady Okerman thoughtfully wrung her hands for a moment. “Yet, you cannot finish it until you find her.”

  Crisp shifted his eyes. “Ah, but I can finish it. I shall end it with her disappearance, and after that article in the newspaper; I now have a picture of her. She wouldn’t allow me to take one, you see.”

  “I do see.” Maude was beginning to get nervous and stared at the manuscript. “How much?”

  “Like I said, I wish to retire and spend my last days on holiday. Say ten thousand pounds a year – for fifteen or twenty years?”

  She scoffed. “You ask far too much. A prudent man can live quite comfortably for the rest of his life on ten thousand pounds alone.”

  “Fifty thousand pounds and not a farthing less.” He watched Lady Okerman take her eyes off of him and look at the thick manuscript again.

  “You can assure me I will get my money’s worth?”

  “I can. Everything you ever wanted to know about Alexandra Sinclair is in this book.”

  “Ten thousand pounds.”

  “Thirty,” he shot back.

  “Twenty, and I shall go the bank, draw up the draft and return with it directly.”

  “Done!”

  *

  In her hotel room and long into the night, Maude Okerman carefully read every word of John Crisp’s manuscript. The tale of Alexandra’s many exploits might have been fascinating, had her brother’s name not come up several times. Still, when she got to the last page, the answer to the most important question remained unanswered. Furthermore, there was no mention of a Spaniard. It was true, Alexandra’s marriage to Hannish MacGreagor was invalid, but he had lied in front of her entire society, and she wasn’t about to let him get away with it.

  Maude picked up the telephone and asked the operator to connect her to Clearguard 6394. “I demand to speak to my husband,” she said. After a long pause, she heard Thorndike clear his throat. “Hannish MacGreagor lied and I can prove it. Olivia married Lord Bayington before she married him. That explains why he lied, nevertheless, Hannish MacGreagor lied. I have a manuscript…”

  “Maude, you lied and I can prove that as well. Let it go, Maude, let it go. You have done enough damage to the world. Just let it be over with.”

  “But Lord Bayington…”

  “You dare not tarnish his name as well, not if you want the endowment I am thinking of bestowing on you. I warn you, Maude, leave the MacGreagors and the Bayingtons be.”

  A loud click in Maude’s ear signaled the end of the conversation. Exhausted, she hung up the phone, set the manuscript aside, turned out the hotel room light and went to sleep.

  *

  Lord Thorndike Okerman looked as though he had aged several years in the last few hours since the ball. He arrived on the doorstep of Lord Bayington’s mansion unannounced, just as Hannish, Cameron and Edward were coming out.

  “I fear my wife means to cause more trouble, and it involves you, Lord Bayington.”

  Edward closed his eyes and took a step back. “What does she know?”

  “She says it was not a Spaniard, but you, who married Olivia before Hannish.”

  Hannish rubbed the back of his neck. “She is guessing.”

  “She has a manuscript,” said Thorndike.

  “Crisp,” Cameron muttered. “He has written it again.”

  “He needs to be shot,” Edward muttered.

  “We must destroy that manuscript,” said Cameron.

  “Before you do, I would like to read it,” said Thorndike.

  Hannish put his hand on Lord Okerman’s shoulder. “Better yet, hear it for yourself first hand. An Irish lord called this morning. He is bringing Olivia back and we are just off to meet his ship.”

  “Even better,” Lord Okerman said. “How soundly I should lik
e to shut Maude up.”

  Cameron followed the others down the steps. “I see no reason not to let Thorndike read it, but we must get it out of Maude’s hands before anyone else does.”

  Thorndike stopped and started back toward the mansion. “Allow me to use your telephone and I’ll have my butler pick it up. He takes no nonsense from my wife. After I am finished, I shall burn it myself.”

  *

  The morning of her departure, the duchess discovered all the clothes were gone except the blue ball gown she arrived in. By now, it was far less than splendid. In fact, it was wrinkled, soiled and the hem was coming out in the fashionable two foot train. The duchess did not balk, for what did it matter what she was wearing when the sharks ate her? She did the best to fix her hair, but she was so apprehensive, the pins would not stay where she put them, and her best attempt remained lopsided.

  It was raining but that didn’t matter either. At least she was being let out of that miserable, stuffy suite. She could not bear to think of the balls and the other events of the season she had already missed – and would miss in the future. That’s what hurt the most, for she was always so admired and sought after in London’s magnificent society.

  She endured Mr. Sweeney’s harsh grasp on her elbow. She was put in a dingy with Liam, and rowed out to his most unimpressive ship. She had likely eaten her last meal too, which consisted of undercooked eggs and a scone so hard, she was forced to dip in tea to soften it.

  The circumstances of her impending demise were completely out of control, and once she was aboard, and Sweeney released his grasp, she marched down the deck to the bow. At least she might know where he was going to murder her, and how far it was to the nearest shore, should she happen to survive.

  There she stayed and not once did she look back as the sails were set, the rain stopped, the ship got underway and began picking up speed. It was a busy day in the waters off the coast of Ireland, and as long as there were other ships in sight, there would be spotters aboard looking at her through magnifying scopes. All she needed to do was stay on the deck where they could see her. Again, she considered jumping overboard, but that pesky Mr. Sweeney was only two steps away, ready to pull her back, so his master could have the pleasure of throwing her in.

  The duchess waited and waited for death to come, but her heartless husband made no move to dispose of her. The ship traffic tapered off considerably, yet there were two sailing ships, one on each side of her heading their same direction. They were headed, she finally realized, straight to Scotland. The closer they got to a group of islands and as the ship made its way around them, the more she relaxed. If she was going to die in the ocean, it was becoming far too late to throw her in. Not only that, there were witnesses, and some were standing on the shore watching the ship come into the bay.

  Closer, and closer, it came to the coastline and it was not until she recognized the two extraordinarily tall men, that she caught her breath.

  Five men stood side-by-side on the shore of the horseshoe shaped bay, near the small village of Oban, Scotland. They were Hannish and Cameron MacGreagor, Charles Whitfield, Edward Bayington, and Thorndike Okerman. As soon as it was close enough, the ship dropped anchor and a few minutes later, two men bodily put the struggling duchess in a dingy, and then climbed in with her. Ropes lowered the dingy into the water, and while one man unhooked the ropes, the other made ready to row to shore.

  “She is afraid to look us in the eye,” Cameron said.

  “Hopefully,” said Charles Whitfield, “she will fall in the water and drown.”

  “We should be so fortunate,” said Hannish.

  “Is it Olivia?” Thorndike asked.

  “Aye,” Hannish answered. “I would know her anywhere.”

  The man doing the rowing, hopped into the water, pulled the dingy ashore and then held out his hand to her. The duchess turned her back, gripped the sides of the dingy and refused to budge.

  “The water is too shallow to drown her now,” Charles said loud enough for her to hear.

  Spiteful, she spun around and glared at her fifth husband. Just as she did, Liam lifted her up, swung her over the side and dropped her in the water. She let out a terrified yell, flailed in the water as though she thought she was drowning, and before she could think to get up and run, Sweeney had her by the arm. Each took an arm and together, Liam and Sweeney drug her to shore and refused to let go.

  “Mr. MacGreagor,” Liam said, recognizing the picture of Hannish from the newspaper article, “this is my wife, Catherin.”

  “And my wife, Olivia,” Hannish added with a nod.

  “And my wife, Alexandra,” Charles announced.

  “And most regrettably, my wife, Alice,” said Edward.

  Thorndike counted on his fingers and could hardly get his words out. “Four husbands?”

  Cameron shook his head. “After Charles, she married a poor fellow by the name of Nelson in California, and after that the train robber, Jedediah Tanner.”

  “You must be the Duke of Glenartair,” Liam said. When Cameron nodded, he politely bowed, although he still didn’t let go of the duchess. “Your Grace. Thank you for agreeing to take her off my hands.”

  Cameron smiled. “I would not have missed this for the world.”

  “Six husbands?” Thorndike sputtered.

  “Nay, not only six,” Hannish answered. “Before Lord Bayington, there was Mr. Graham and Mr. Sinclair, who had the good sense to die before she could cause him any more grief.”

  At that, the duchess had the nerve to glare at Hannish. “Mr. Sinclair loved me, and I’ll not have you…”

  The expression on his face was stern when Cameron shouted, “SILENCE!”

  She had never heard him do that before and it startled her to the bone. Just the same, she glared at him too. She tried to blow the wet hair off her face so she could glare with both eyes, but it didn’t work.

  Assured the duchess was set down sufficiently and would remain quite; Hannish directed his question to Liam. “It matters not, but do you know if you fell prey to her before or after me?”

  “According to what you told me over the telephone, I married her before you, and perhaps even before she married Mr. Sinclair.”

  “If there is more trouble, will you say so in court?” Hannish asked.

  Liam answered, “Gladly, I shall keep the wedding certificate just in case.”

  Struggling wasn’t working, so the duchess decided to swoon and faint. Still they would not release her and when it began to hurt her arms, she miraculously recovered.

  “You’ll have no more trouble,” Thorndike said. “I assure you, she has made a laughing stock of us all.” Thorndike shook his head in disgust. “Eight husbands.”

  “That we know of,” Hannish said. “Lord Bayington is the only one who managed to divorce her.”

  “Which did not keep her from blackmailing me,” Edward admitted.

  “She tried to blackmail us as well,” said Thorndike. “Where is the child, Olivia, or whatever your name truly is?”

  Both Cameron and Hannish held their breaths while the duchess struggled once more to free herself. At last, she looked Thorndike in the eye and gritted her teeth. “She is dead!”

  “Let her go,” said Thorndike. “She can do us no harm now.”

  The duchess pulled free, lifted her wet, soiled, ugly ball gown, and ran up the shore. She was several yards away when she realized none of them were bothering to chase after her.

  “Run, Alexandra, run,” Charles chuckled.

  “What will you do now?” Hannish asked Liam.

  “I shall divorce her as quickly and as quietly as possible. I’ve me eye on a pretty little lass and I’ve lived alone far too long.”

  “Thank you.” Hannish said. “If ever you need my assistance, do not hesitate to ask.”

  Liam glanced back at the dingy and then started toward it. “Perhaps someday I shall see your little village in Colorado.”

  Hannish smiled and watched Mr.
Sweeney hold the boat steady. “You shall be most welcome.”

  Liam climbed aboard, intentionally turned his back to the duchess and let Sweeney row him back to his ship.

  “Dead,” Thorndike muttered, as the five men turned and headed toward the small village. “How unhappy for the poor child, but how happy for me. I shall find telling Maude all her meddling has come to naught most delightful.”

  Hannish checked his Scotland pocket watch. “Gentlemen, we have just enough time to catch the train back.”

  Cameron was still worried. “Will Lady Okerman still claim my brother has committed adultery?”

  “Not if I say she made it up,” Thorndike answered. “If she wishes to keep the monthly, albeit small bequest I intend to bestow on her until she marries again, she’ll not say another word. There is nothing Maude loves more than my money.”

  “If she does, what reason will you give to say she made it up?” Hannish asked.

  Thorndike chuckled, “Was it not your wife who said all the best people go to Colorado? Maude has never been, you see, and no one insults Maude and gets away with it.”

  Hannish finally smiled, “She is a wonder, my wife.”

  “Indeed she is. Has she any other sisters?” Thorndike asked.

  “Not that we know of,” Cameron answered.

  Thorndike gleefully rubbed his hands together. “I cannot wait to get home “Oh, how my wife loves a scandal, and now…she is one.”

  Cameron put a hand on Hannish’s shoulder. “We should notify Mr. Nelson. He is probably still looking for her.”

  “Aye, we should,” Hannish agreed. “I shall see to it as soon as I get back to America.”

  Charles was the only one who looked back at the duchess. She was still standing there, watching them as though she was in a trance. “How old do you think she truly is?” he asked.

  “Old enough to know better,” Cameron answered.

  *

  “Rotten Eggs – knife!” Egan shouted in the kitchen, pointing to the one Malveen held in her hand. “Give it over.”

  “Egan, you are making me daft,” she said. She handed him the knife anyway.