CHAPTER 4
Mrs. Goodwin and her banker husband had been friends with Hannish MacGreagor since he first came to Colorado Springs, more than three years earlier. Their home, just across the street from the park, was one of the largest in town and McKenna was not surprised when Keith answered the door.
“Good morning, Miss MacGreagor,” said Keith. His smile was warm and friendly just as it always was, even though he had good reason to resent the members of her family. It was Keith who fell in love with Leesil and lost her when she married McKenna’s brother.
“Keith, you are looking well. I hope I have not come too early.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Goodwin said to show you to the library.” He led the way through the parlor, and then down a hall and opened a door. “Miss MacGreagor is here.”
Maude preferred the clean, simple look even in her library where shelves on all four walls were filled with books. “McKenna, you have come. As you see, we’ve plenty of books and you are welcome to take as many as you like.”
“How kind you are.” McKenna set her small handbag on an end table and removed her gloves. “Have you read them all?”
“I am afraid I much prefer sewing to reading, but Mr. Goodwin is a great reader, particularly in winter.”
“He will not mind if I take a few?”
“I doubt he will even miss them. Besides, he rather likes having your brother’s money in his bank.”
McKenna giggled and started to silently read the titles on the bookbindings. She liked everything about Maude Goodwin and had since the first day they met at Abigail’s weekly sewing circle. “Maude, might I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
McKenna left the bookshelf in favor of sitting in a chair. “I ran into a very disagreeable lad who accused me of comin’ to America to beg for a husband.”
“What? Tell me who he is and I shall see he is boiled in oil.”
“I dinna know his name, nor do I wish to. Maude, is that what the whole town thinks of me?”
Maude was horrified. “Of course not. In fact, there are several men in town who would like you to at least notice them.”
“I have noticed one or two, but ‘tis perhaps still too soon.”
“I understand. Abigail said you left your heart in Scotland, but I expect there is more to it than that.”
McKenna sighed. “I confess, I was completely taken in by him, as were several others, I have heard. He said he loved me, yet he married another. How shall I ever trust a lad again?”
“My dear, you cannot hold an innocent man guilty for the crimes of another. The right man will come along, you’ll see.”
“Aye, but I thought that one was the right lad. Suppose I have lost all reason where lads are concerned?”
“If you are that uncertain, then it is not time yet. You are young, and marriage is forever. I suggest you enjoy your freedom while you can.”
“Thank you, I intend to.” Feeling a little better, McKenna went back to choosing books. She found six that looked interesting and when she was finished, Keith carried them to the carriage for her.
*
Sarah drew in an exhausted breath. It was the third time in as many days that Lillian had sought her out to lodge the same complaint, only this time, it was in Hannish MacGreagor’s private study.
“But I am a lady’s maid. Why was Harriet chosen over me to care for Miss McKenna?” Lillian whined.
“Lillian, you are not to be in here and you know it. Please leave.”
Lillian ignored her, walked to the table, picked up the first in a pile of invoices and began to read it. “I could clean in here as well as you.”
“Put that down. You know very well Mr. Hannish asked me, and only me, to clean his study. You must go at once, or I shall call a footman and have you taken out.”
“Oh, very well,” Lillian said, putting the invoice back. “I only came to ask for help with the laundry.”
“I will send someone to help you. Now go.”
Just then, Alistair opened the door and was surprised when Lillian quickly skirted around him and walked out. “What was she doing in here?”
“Nosing around as usual. I am tempted to suggest Mr. Hannish put a lock on this door.”
“We should not have hired her.”
“A bit too late now. I was hoping her laundry duties might convince her to leave, but it has not worked. She still thinks she should be Miss McKenna’s lady’s maid instead of Harriet.”
Alistair thought for a moment. “Perhaps you might give her kitchen duty as well. She hates helping the cooks.”
“And insult the cooks? I like to eat as well as anyone.”
“Aye, but she could peel peaches in an outer room. Peach fuzz should do it.”
Sarah grinned and gave her intended a kiss. “As you Scots say, you are right dead brilliant, my love. The others might prefer laundry to peeling just now anyway.”
She started to move away but he pulled her back into his arms. “I cannae wait to marry you.”
“Then you best get back to your building. We brides like having a roof over our heads.” She turned him around and started shoving. “Go, run, hurry!”
He rolled his eyes and went back out the door.
*
Born into the wealth his father gained from his gold mines, Charles Whitfield had gotten everything he wanted and then some. Yet he had never been lucky in love – until now. Now he was in the blissful clutches of Alexandra Sinclair, and the last thing he wanted was to be free of her. In his opinion, Alexandra was five times more beautiful than McKenna MacGreagor, whom he thought he loved just a few short months ago.
With a bit of a crooked smile, Charles had reddish blond hair, which he normally wore long enough to reach the nape of his collar. Just now, however, it had been a while since he had seen a barber. What he did not happily abide was taking orders, so when he was told to be in the solicitor’s London office at a specific time, he intentionally delayed his arrival.
For Solicitor John Crisp, the first order was to find out if Charles Whitfield managed to bring Alexandra Sinclair’s jewels with him, when he followed her from Paris to London. One telephone call to Whitfield at his hotel answered that question, but he needed to see them to determine if the Sinclair jewels were among them. Therefore, a meeting was set between the two in the solicitor’s uninspiring office. Piles of papers seemed to have no organization at all, and left barely enough room for a client to sit in the only unburied chair.
A stickler for punctuation, Crisp was not impressed with his tardiness when Charles Whitfield walked into the outer room, and breezed past the befuddled male secretary.
“You’re quite late!” Crisp said, not bothering to stand when Charles entered the room. “Let it not happen again. Did you bring them?” Charles offered no explanation before he set a cloth bag on the desk and plopped down in the only available chair.
The moment Crisp pulled the drawstrings apart, the pungent smell of perfume filled the air and made him draw back for a moment. First, he removed several small glass bottles with corks, one holding rice powder and one with lemon juice for Alexandra’s face, most likely to hide her real age. Another held beet juice to add a touch of red to her lips and the rest of the bottles held various perfumes, the combination of which reminded Crisp of a cheap brothel he once frequented. He found the loose jewels on the bottom of the bag, grabbed a handful, pulled them out and laid them on his desk.
A ring with a very large jade caught his eye first. Knowing just a little about jewels, he reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a magnifying glass and began to examine the ring. As far as he could tell, it was real. Nevertheless, he frowned. “These might do.” He felt inside the bag to make certain he had them all, withdrew two more rings, put Alexandra’s makeup and perfume back inside, and handed the bag to Charles.
“When will she be free?”
“Not for a few more days. Tell me, have your parents sent the money for my fee?”
> “Are the jewels not enough?”
“Hardly, getting a prisoner out of jail is very expensive. These will do nicely as a bribe to get her second husband to drop the charges, but they will not cover my fee. And without that…”
Charles was incredulous. “You will not get her out until you are paid?”
“I do not render my services for free, Mr. Whitfield. All my clients pay in advance. You said your parents are quite wealthy. What seems to be the problem?”
“My father is a suborn man. He thinks I squander money and refuses to send little more than I need to pay my expenses at the hotel.”
“Perhaps they will see reason if you tell them she is your wife.”
Charles was surprised. “Alexandra told you? She made me swear not to tell.”
“She was wise to tell me. How can I defend her if I do not know everything?”
“Of course…you must know everything.” A troubled Charles was lost in thought for several moments before he heard Crisp clear his throat. “What?”
“I say again, why not tell them you are married? A daughter-in-law might…”
“I cannot tell them for fear they cut me off completely. I was upset when she was arrested and told them it was for bigamy.”
“Oh, I see. Well, let me have these appraised. Perhaps they will cover part of the fee. However, things will go much faster if you are able to pay.” Again, Charles seemed distracted. “Mr. Whitfield, what is it?”
“Can I see my wife? I wish to ask her something.”
“I shall ask the authorities, although such a visit is rarely granted. Perhaps I might ask her for you.”
“Yes, yes, that will do. Ask her to release me from my promise. I am certain my parents will send the money once they know she is my wife.”
“Very well then, Mr. Whitfield. Be gone with you, I’ve work to do.” As soon as he was gone, Crisp rummaged through a pile of papers and found the drawings he made of the Sinclair jewels. It didn’t take long for him to spot them and he breathed a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was convince Sinclair to say he made a mistake; the jewels were not stolen after all.
Crisp put the rest of the jewels in his desk drawer, and might have gotten Alexandra out of jail that very day…if he so chose. He did not. She was far more valuable to him if she remained right where she was. When he looked up, his secretary was standing in the doorway. “Well? Did you manage to make an appointment for me with the duke?”
Crisp’s secretary turned up his nose at the overpowering smell of perfume. “He went to America to see his brother, but the duke’s butler said he is expected back in a few days.”
“I see. Thank you.”
Crisp had not counted on Cameron MacGreagor being inaccessible. Nevertheless, there were others to see, and no doubt much more to learn before he met with the duke anyway. He considered Charles Whitfield’s request to be released from his promise, but Crisp had no intention of asking Alexandra. He would merely wait two days, report that she gave her consent to tell his parents, and hopefully, the money would be forthcoming.
Repulsed by the perfume smell himself, he got up, walked to the window and opened it to let in some much needed fresh air.
*
It was the red carriage that caught Judge Mitchel’s attention. Few owned such a rig, and everyone knew who owned the only red one in town. The driver stopped the carriage in front of a row of Colorado Springs shops, hopped down and opened the door for McKenna. A moment later, she spotted a hat in a shop window, paused to admire it for a moment and then went inside.
From his second-floor office window, Judge Mitchel could see her reflection in the large mirror as she tried on the hat. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. She had the most remarkable features he had ever seen on a woman, and the colorful pink hat seemed to add a special glow to her cheeks. He could still hear her say, ‘So long as I am not married to you, I am fortunate indeed.’ At first, he found it insulting, as surely she meant it to be. Yet, it proved she had a quick wit, which was something he greatly admired. Vaguely, he heard Glenn’s voice and then realized his secretary was standing beside him at the window watching McKenna with him. “What?”
“She has become the object of a few jokes lately.”
“Who?”
“Miss MacGreagor. The whole town is talking about her. Mrs. Goodwin said a gentleman, who is not a gentleman at all, accused her of coming to America to beg for a husband.”
Judge Mitchel felt a little sick to his stomach. “You are right, he is not a gentleman.”
“They are waiting in the courtroom, Your Honor.”
“So they are.”
Located just across the hall, his courtroom was complete with a prominent desk atop a platform, a gavel, a United States flag with forty-five stars, a Colorado State flag, a witness box, counsel tables, and seating for nearly fifty. Judge Mitchel didn’t bother to button his black robe after he put it on, and once he got to the courtroom, he took it off and handed it to Glenn.
“Gentlemen, I suggest you do away with your coats. I’ll have no one fainting from the heat this day.”
“Yes, your honor,” each of them said, gladly shedding their coats.
Judge Nicholas Mitchel’s courtroom was a bit larger than most in the west, although it seldom held much of a crowd. The last big trial happened before he arrived, and was the murder of a man who took liberties with a farmer’s daughter. How he longed for an exciting case to preside over. Yet to have criminals, the Sheriff had to make arrests. Other than a drunk or two, and Charlotte Wells, who he arrested for stealing a pie at a picnic, the peaceful town of Colorado Springs hardly needed a sheriff. Of course, that was exactly how Mr. Palmer, the town founder, wanted it.
The Judge nodded, but only half listened as a man explained where he thought the boundaries of his land were. Judge Mitchel would much rather be upstairs watching McKenna MacGreagor try on hats. Better yet, he would have liked being in a Cripple Creek courtroom. For one thing, it was bound to be cooler up in the mountains, and with hundreds of gold mines, thousands of miners, saloons, dance halls, and ladies of the evening, there was always something happening in Cripple Creek. At least, that’s what their three newspapers said.
“Judge Mitchel?” one of the lawyers asked.
“I heard you. Gentlemen, for all eternity men have fought over water rights, particularly this time of year. Mr. Crestwood, do you really believe the creek marks the edge of your property, even though it clearly moved after the last good rain?” He did not pause long enough for the man to argue. “Mr. Green, a man must have the right to water his livestock no matter where the creek runs. If you fire your gun one more time to scare his milk cows away, I will have you arrested! Is that clear?” He waited until Mr. Green reluctantly nodded. “This case is dismissed. Work it out, gentlemen, or I will have the sheriff arrest you both.” With that, he stood up and left the courtroom.
Judge Mitchel rushed across the hall, opened the door and hurried to the window, but MacGreagor’s red carriage was gone.
*
“She is downstairs?” Cathleen asked. “What the devil is she doing down there?”
Although she slept in her husband’s bed, Leesil dressed for the day in the adjoining room McKenna redecorated while she was on her honeymoon. “Pretending to be a housekeeper again, I suspect.” Leesil puffed her cheeks. “‘Tis the same old disguise. I anticipated a spy would be far more ingenious than that.”
“So did I. Yet, you must admit there is much more to see down the stairs than there is up.”
“Such as who comes and who goes?” Leesil asked.
“And who kisses whom, dinna forget.”
“Inspector Cathleen, I am shocked. Who has been kissing who?”
“Whom.”
“That is what I want to know. Is it that shady character, Alistair? Or could it be the one who pretends to be a butler, that Prescot fellow?”
“Inspector Leesil, ‘tis not the fault of the lads, ‘tis the las
ses that tempt them,” said Cathleen.
“And does Lillian know this?”
“She must, she too is a lass.”
“I had not thought of that. I wonder precisely how much she has already discovered.”
Cathleen rolled her eyes. “Far more than I, I wager. Although…”
“Although what?”
“I did see Alistair kiss Sarah.”
“‘Tis allowed, they are engaged. Come, Inspector Cathleen, we’ve work to do.” Leesil opened her bedroom door, carefully peeked around the corner in both directions, and then began to tiptoe down the hall toward the marble stairs. Soon, Cathleen did the same.
Behind them, Sarah and Millie burst out laughing. “She is not as grown up as her husband thinks,” said Sarah.
“They are when he is around,” Millie pointed out.
“True.”
“If he knew, he would find it amusing the same as we. He might even expect it, having heard Cathleen tell of spying on Old Mrs. Forthright in the orphanage.”
“Well, I think they are delightful,” said Sarah. “We best let everyone know what they are up to.”
*
Thus, it became a game they all played except Hannish and McKenna. Before entering a hallway, the servants first checked to make sure the sisters were not there. If the sisters realized they were always alone, they said nothing about it. Naturally, Lillian had no idea, which suited all of the servants just fine. Prying, complaining Lillian was becoming a thorn in everyone’s side.
*
John Crisp was forced to invoke the name of Lord Bayington’s wife, ‘Alice,’ simply to secure an audience. Bayington’s estate, just outside London, was vast with acres and acres of farmland and hundreds of workers to keep the place running smoothly.
Once inside the excessively furnished mansion, and seated across from him in his study, Crisp tried to size Lord Bayington up. He appeared to have little interest in what the solicitor had to say, yet Crisp guessed, and rightly so, that inside the man was terrified.
Marblestone Mansion, Book 2 Page 6
