Marblestone Mansion, Book 9

by Marti Talbott

  “It will pass soon,” Mrs. Jolly assured her. “I understand you are a widow. Do you miss him terribly?”

  “Not terribly. We did not get on well.”

  “Oh, I see. Of course, not all marriages work out as well as mine and Mr. Jolly’s.”

  “You are most fortunate.”

  “Indeed I am. Have you any children?”

  “No,” the duchess lied, “which is just as well. I travel extensively.”

  “Do you mean to say you’ll not be staying long in Salina?”

  “My plans are not fully set as yet.”

  “I see. I had hoped to encourage you to join our little book club.” She picked her cup back up and took a sip.

  “A book club? What does a book club do precisely?”

  Mrs. Jolly grinned, “Between the two of us, we chat mostly, but we do read books and then discuss them when everyone has finished. We each have our favorite authors, and debate which book to read next quite zealously, but we have yet to dissolve the club over it.”

  “It sounds fascinating.”

  “Would you care to join us? We meet every third Thursday, except during planting and harvest. Most are far too busy during those times to come.”

  “I understand.”

  Mrs. Jolly abruptly stood up. “Oh dear, where are my manners. I baked a cake this morning. Would you care for some?”

  “I would indeed.” She watched the sheriff’s wife leave the room and then sipped her tea. A book club might be very interesting, particularly if they were discussing the book about her. Of course, they would not know that it was about her, and besides, she checked just that morning and her book had not yet arrived. Still, for a moment, she imagined hearing all the compliments on her brilliance. Perhaps she might actually confess that she was indeed Alexandra Sinclair. Sadly, she could not…not as long as there was a reward for her capture. Who was to blame for that? Mr. Hannish MacGreagor and someday she would make him pay for all the misery he had caused her.

  “Here you are,” Mrs. Jolly said, as she handed Mrs. Lyons a slice of cake.

  “I read quite extensively. What book are you discussing currently?”

  “The Longest Journey, by a British author by the name of E.M. Foster. We simply love everything British. Have you been to London? I so long to go, but Mr. Jolly cannot leave his position long enough to take such a long voyage.”

  “Indeed, I have been there a time or two.”

  Mrs. Jolly practically squealed. “Have you seen the Tower of London where all those wives were beheaded?”

  The duchess didn’t think she would, but she rather enjoyed Mrs. Jolly and spent the entire afternoon talking about London and its wondrous society. By the time she left, the rain had stopped.

  Unfortunately, the soaking wet brothers somehow discovered where she was and were waiting across the street. She opened the gate, closed it behind her, opened her parasol and then started down the street in the opposite direction.

  “Told you it would rain,” said Matt, dashing to catch up with her.

  “I told her first,” Dale argued.

  “Did not.”

  “Did too.”

  The brothers were about to spoil the best afternoon the duchess had seen in a long time. Furious, she abruptly stopped and spun around. With fire in her eyes, she dropped her parasol and slowly started toward them. Her voice sounded almost foreign, her fists were clenched and her jaw was set when she said, “Get away from me!”

  “We cannot,” said an unafraid Dale. He was determined to stand up to her, until he noticed his brother was backing up. He looked this way and that, and then decided no woman could scare him off. “We love you…or I love you. I need…”

  The duchess took another firm step toward him. “What you need is a sound thrashing.”

  Dale wrinkled his brow. “No, that is not what I was going to say.”

  Just then, Matt shouted, “Here comes the Sheriff!” Dale immediately turned, followed his brother around the nearest house and disappeared.

  The irritated duchess gritted her teeth and as soon as the sheriff drove to her, she pointed in the direction the brothers had gone. The overweight sheriff looked as though he was going to get out and give chase, but then he thought better of it. She was not surprised. She picked up her parasol and headed on down the street. “Simpletons, one and all,” she muttered as soon as she was too far away from the sheriff to hear her.

  *

  In the New York City Lunatic Asylum where the duchess was a guest for five years, Doctor Morris put the book he had received from her aside, and picked the newspaper back up. He’d been deceived, and quite easily so, by Hannish MacGreagor. According to the book, Alexandra Sinclair had been telling the truth all along.

  Now, MacGreagor was looking for her and had enlisted the entire country to help him. It was odd, however, that the reward poster claimed the duchess was quite ordinary looking, and the doctor considered that for quite some time. Obviously, MacGreagor did not truly want her found, for she was still a remarkable beauty by any man’s standards.

  It occurred to the doctor that helping society find her might sufficiently punish MacGreagor for having her falsely committed. Of course, he had no idea what would happen if she was caught, other than MacGreagor would be out five thousand dollars. She might be sent to prison, albeit one in England, for most of her crimes were committed there. At any rate, she was guilty of bigamy and apparently admitted it to the woman who wrote the book.

  Doctor Morris strummed the fingers of his right hand on his desktop. Perhaps a reporter for a New York newspaper might be interested in what he had to say about the matter. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and found an envelope marked with the year the duchess was committed. He opened it, withdrew all the pictures, and began his search. At length, he found what he was looking for. It was not the best of pictures, for the duchess looked quite put out at the time, but it would do.

  He set the picture in the middle of his desk, put the rest away and gave his idea a second thought. What, if anything, could go wrong? Dr. Morris stood up, put his hands behind his back and paced the floor in his office. When he could think of no retribution on him or his establishment, he clipped the article out of the newspaper, put it and the picture in an envelope with a scribbled note, sealed it and anonymously mailed it to the most prominent newspaper in New York City.

  It was not until the next day that he remembered the part about her wearing a gun under her skirt. Dr. Morris considered rushing off to the newspaper to reclaim his envelope, but then they would know who sent it, and likely ask endless questions about why he had a picture of her. No, it was best to let it be. The paper probably wouldn’t print the picture anyway…or so he hoped. In any event, he charged himself to be a lot more careful, and from that day forward, he was mindful of her everywhere he went.

  *

  Gloria couldn’t imagine who might have sent her a package from Denver. There was no return address on the brown paper, so as soon as her father handed it to her, she took a seat in the parlor, withdrew a pair of scissors from the desk drawer and cut the strings. She carefully unfolded the brown paper, and then stared at what was inside. Atop a copy of The Scandalous Affairs of Alexandra Sinclair was a note that read,

  Gloria,

  Hope you have better luck than I did.

  Yours very sincerely,

  Alexandra

  Instantly furious, Gloria was about to throw it in the trashcan when she thought better of it, and took it to the Whitfield housekeeper instead. A gentle older woman, the housekeeper had been with them for years and never once thought of leaving, but she did express a desire to read the book. Gloria gladly gave it to her, nodded and left the room. She hurried back to the parlor, looked at the postmark and then threw the wrapping away before her mother got a good look at it. The last thing any of them needed to know was that the duchess was in Denver.

  Unfortunately, Gloria forgot to ask the housekeeper not to mention the book to Abig
ail, and with no other ready explanation, she was forced to tell Abigail the truth. Even then, she held back the knowledge of the postmark, and her mother did not ask.

  Enraged, Abigail picked up a glass candy dish, and with all her might, threw it into the stone fireplace. It shattered into a million pieces. “There, I feel much better,” said Abigail. She sat down, picked up the mystery she was reading and that was the end of it.

  That same day, a copy of the book arrived at the Colorado Springs newspaper office, where the mail boy unwrapped it, promptly put it on reporter Hiram Lloyd’s desk and forgot about it. Not ten minutes later, the reporter put a research book on top of it.

  *

  On the other side of the world, Jillian’s father seemed to have good days and bad, but he went to work nevertheless. Jillian did her cleaning, her washing and her marketing just as usual, but she was worried about him. She thought a few days of complete bed rest would be good for him, but he was a persistent man and claimed they needed the money. He was right, of course.

  With a little extra time on her hands, she went to the library to see if they had an available copy of a book she wanted to read. The name of it was, The Scandalous Affairs of Alexandra Sinclair, and copies were so sought after, she had not yet managed to find one. It was the talk of the market, and more than once, she heard the name MacGreagor mentioned. She thought nothing dreadful concerning the family James dearly loved, for there were many MacGreagors, especially in Scotland. Even so, she wanted to see for herself what all the fuss was about.

  As luck would have it, the woman in front of her at the library counter had just turned in a copy, and Jillian was spared having to scour the shelves for one. She quickly checked it out and then went to find one she hoped could tell her what to do about her father’s cough.

  Sometimes, when she looked for books, she found some out of place and wondered how the librarian kept her position. Still, it was none of her affair and she didn’t mind putting the occasional book where it belonged. At length, she found a medical book she thought might do, checked it out and started for home. When she arrived, she put her groceries away, made herself a cup of tea and sat down to read the book everyone was talking about.

  “Alexandra Sinclair was not her real name, but then, neither was Alice...”

  As soon as she heard the front door open, she closed the book and laid it on the table. “Father, you are home early.”

  “Look who I brought with me. It is Mr. Gray,” he proudly said.

  Jillian stood up and smiled. “It is very good to see you again, Mr. Gray.” He looked somewhat different and it took her a moment to realize he had shaved his beard and mustache. He was not an overly attractive man, but he certainly looked more pleasing clean-shaven. She promised herself she would consider Mr. Gray, but there was nothing there. She felt no delight in seeing him and found no excitement in his eyes. He simply was nothing like James.

  Her father gave her a quick hug. “I hope you do not mind. I have asked him to stay to dinner.”

  “I do not mind at all,” she said. She picked up the book, walked into the kitchen and then tried to think of the worst possible meal she could prepare. There was no point in letting Mr. Gray think she was a good cook. “Perhaps a little too salty?” she whispered. “Or no salt at all? No, that will not do. He will simply add his own.” She tapped her foot on the floor a few times until it struck her and she knew just what to do.

  *

  It was a disastrous meal of overcooked everything including soupy mashed potatoes, and meat that was too tough to chew. Mr. Gray, a tall, thin man at nearly thirty years of age, remarked on the marvelous taste, which made Jillian wonder if he was short a few notes in the song he boasted of writing. While Mr. Gray smiled at her constantly, her father looked at her as though he could not quite decide if she had done it intentionally or not.

  Jillian tried yet again to like Mr. Gray, but nothing about him pleased her – not the way he overloaded his fork when he ate, not his constant reference to music, and certainly not the sound of his somewhat whiny voice. God help her if she had to listen to that for an entire lifetime.

  After she cleared away the dinner dishes, Mr. Gray insisted upon singing his latest creation for her. To her dismay, her father made his excuses, went out the back door, and then up the stairs to his bedroom. Alone with Mr. Gray for the first time, she sat on the edge of a chair and grasped both armrests, ready to bolt out the front door if need be. She feared it would be a love song, and to her horror, it was. Mr. Gray’s voice was not too terribly awful, but fearing what he might say when he finished, she encouraged him to sing it again and yet a third time.

  When he finished, she stood up and walked to the door. “Your song is quite delightful, Mr. Gray. Perhaps you might come again when father is feeling up to listening.”

  Instead of waiting for her to open the door, he abruptly knelt on one knee in front of her. He quickly produced a ring and said in a squeakier voice than normal, “Miss Eldridge, I do adore you so. Will you consent to be my wife?”

  She wrinkled her brow and took a step back. “Do get up, Mr. Gray.” Instead, he reached for her hand and tried to slip the ring on her finger. “Mr. Gray, I beg of you,” she said, jerking her hand out of reach. “I…I.”

  He smiled. “Your father said you would resist me at first, so I am not put off.”

  “Mr. Gray, please stand up. I do not enjoy looking down on a man.” He did as she asked, but there was still hope in his eyes. “Mr. Gray, I have no desire to hurt you, but you deserve better than a loveless marriage.”

  “Miss Eldridge, I hope to become a famous song writer, and I need a wife to care for me while I pursue my dreams.”

  “Even one who does not love you? I cannot see how that would lead to the happiness of either of us.”

  “Suppose…”

  “Mr. Gray, I do not love you,” she more bluntly said.

  “Not even a little?”

  “Not at all. You are a good and kind man, and I have no doubt you shall easily find a much better match.”

  He finally lowered his hopeful eyes. “I confess I am fond of you, but do not feel the kind of passion a man should in marriage either.” He looked up again, but this time, he seemed far more sincere. “Perhaps you would settle, as I shall, for a marriage of convenience. Your father wishes you to be established before…” He could not bring himself to say it and looked down again.

  “Before what?”

  “Certainly you know how ill he is. At work, he can hardly keep up. Jillian, he wants to know you shall be taken care of.”

  “I see.” She took another step away from him. It was not as if she didn’t suspect how ill her father was. Nonetheless, she was not prepared to hear the confirmation, and it pained her. “Perhaps you might promise to look in on me from time to time instead.”

  “Yet, if I find a wife, looking in on a woman with no husband, would hardly be proper.”

  She considered that for a moment. “I suppose not. Nevertheless, I cannot believe Father truly wants me to live my life without love.”

  “But what will you do when he is gone?”

  “I am of age, Mr. Gray.” She opened the front door for him. “I have the house and I can work the same as everyone else. I thank you for your kind offer, but…”

  He looked a little relieved as he walked through the doorway and then turned to look back. “I understand. If you should change your mind, just call.”

  “I shall.” She watched until he drove his buggy away and then hung her head. How cruel life had become. Her mother was dead, her father was dying, and James lay on the bottom of the sea. There was only one thing left to do. She had to save her father somehow. Jillian went back in the house, ignored the dishes and began to read the medical book she brought home from the library. Somewhere, there had to be a cure for a cough that simply would not go away.

  *

  There was no cure for her father, at least not one in the book she feverishly studied. She
bought garlic cloves, which might have helped had he not refused to eat them raw. Horehound candy helped, but it didn’t cure him. His breathing seemed to be more labored every day, and still he insisted on going to work in a cotton mill where lint floated freely in the air.

  “Father, please let me call a doctor,” she begged, as he once more dressed for work and started down the back stairs.

  “What money would you have me spend on doctors, daughter?”

  “We could sell a few things at the market. People do it all the time.” She followed him into the kitchen and waited until he stopped coughing.

  “Sell what?”

  “Your tools, perhaps, and our extra blankets?”

  “The tools are rusty and the blankets are old. Who would buy them?”

  “Then I shall find employment.”

  Mr. Eldridge drank his cold cup of tea, followed it with a sip of hot coffee and a horehound candy. “Perhaps you should.” He coughed several more times before he continued, “Not that I will see a doctor if you do.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Jillian, you have no friends. Get out in the world, meet people your own age, and find a good husband to care for you.”

  “Very well, I shall see about employment come Monday.” That settled it, and as she watched him walk out the door, she sank into a chair. No matter what she tried, she just couldn’t save her father, and it was time to face it. She cried that day, but from then on, she put on a brave face for his sake.

  When Monday came, she went to the establishment she was sure to enjoy working in most – the library. She was hired immediately, and began work that very day. After she had done all she could for her father at night, she sat down to read the book about Alexandra Sinclair. It didn’t take long for her to realize that indeed, the book was not only about a scandalous duchess, but about the family James MacGreagor loved so very well. Glued to the pages, she read long into the next two nights. At last, she finished, closed the book and laid it on the nightstand next to her picture of James.

  Never in her life had she considered calling anyone in America, and in fact, had no idea how to do it. Still, she longed to talk to someone who knew and loved the man she so wanted to marry. At least now, she knew where in America the ex-Duke of Glenartair was.