Marblestone Mansion, Book 9

by Marti Talbott

  After her father left for work the next morning, she decided to give it a try. The Bristol operator connected her with the Colorado Spring’s operator in America, who said she was very familiar with the MacGreagors. A click and a buzz indicated the operator was connecting her, so she patiently waited.

  “Marblestone,” Butler Alistair answered.

  “My name is Jillian Eldridge,” she began. “May I speak to the Duke of Glenartair?”

  “I regret to say the family is out for the evening. May I take a message?”

  Jillian’s heart sank. “No, I suppose not. I shall call again another time.” Sadness filled her heart as she slowly hung up the telephone. Yet, it occurred to her, that it might have been a good thing they were not home. If they did not know James was dead, she certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell them the bad news. Just knowing where they were and that she could call sometime in the future was good enough. Therefore, she decided not to call back.

  Jillian felt bad for the MacGreagors, and in a way, happy that James was not there to face the scandal the book was causing. It was a small thing, but it was something to be grateful for. Even so, her heart still cried out for him. She still talked to his ghost when she was alone at night and no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t bring herself to love another.

  CHAPTER 10

  Cameron was just climbing into his automobile to leave for work when Alistair hurried out the front door to stop him. “Telephone, Mr. Cameron.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Someone from the White Star Line.”

  Cameron hurried back inside and picked up the telephone in the parlor. “Cameron MacGreagor here.”

  “Your Grace?”

  “Aye.”

  “This is Mr. Brooks from the White Star Line in Liverpool. You said to call if ever a James MacGreagor boarded one of our ships?”

  Cameron caught his breath and sat down in a nearby chair. “Go on.”

  “He is an engineer’s mate on the RMS Celtic bound for America. He should arrive in four or five days, depending on weather conditions. Your Grace, we cannae be certain he is the James MacGreagor you are lookin’ for. Shall I enquire?”

  “Please, and telegram the answer. If it be so, see that he has everythin’ he needs. Invoice my banker in Scotland, and say I shall have a train ticket waitin’ when he docks in New York. The ship is sailin’ to New York, is it not?”

  “Aye, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you. You have no idea what this means to us. I look forward to hearin’ from you directly.” He waited until the line went dead, listened to see if anyone else hung up, and when he was convinced no one was listening that early in the morning, he was relieved. Cameron looked up the marble staircase, and then toward the dining room to make certain no one else could hear him. As he walked back to the door with his old friend, Cameron excitedly put his hand on Alistair’s back. “I think we might have found James.”

  “Alive?” Alistair gasped.

  “Aye, and on his way here. Expect to be telephoned about a cablegram, but have it delivered to the office. See that they dinna read it aloud on the telephone, and dinna tell the wives. I’ll not have them upset if ‘tis a false sightin’.”

  “I understand.” Alistair stood on the steps and watched Cameron get in his automobile and start the engine. Before he went back inside and closed the door, he heaved a huge sigh of relief. “‘Tis just what we need around here. A bit of good news for a change.”

  *

  James was peacefully sleeping when an urgent knock on the door woke him. His eyes shot wide open. “What is it?”

  The door opened inward and a first officer stepped in. “Get up lad, the Captain wants to see you.”

  “Now? What time is it?”

  “You’ll be up in an hour anyway. Make haste, lad. The Captain is waitin’.”

  The first officer closed the door just as James swung his legs over the side of the cot. He ran his fingers through his hair and reached for his breeches. A shiver ran down his spine. Had the captain found out about his prison term and if so, would he be arrested for signing on under false pretenses? Are men still made to walk the plank these days, he wondered. Not quite awake yet, he put on his shirt and boots, grabbed his jacket and headed for the elevator.

  *

  The captain’s day cabin was located on the top deck and when James arrived, he softly knocked on the door.

  “Come,” came a loud voice from inside.

  Nervous, James opened the door and peeked in. The captain’s accommodations looked a good deal like a hotel room, with Victorian furnishings that included a green velvet settee and three comfortable chairs. It also held a private table and chairs, and at the end of the long room was a desk, behind which the captain of the HMS Celtic was seated.

  “Come in, close the door and take a seat.”

  Dressed in his dark uniform with a white trimmed cap, the Irish captain looked none too pleased as James pulled a chair away from the front of the desk and sat down. “Have I done somethin’?”

  “Not that I know of.” One at a time, the captain spread seven cablegrams out on his desk. “Seems you have been found.”

  “Found?” a puzzled James asked.

  The captain picked up one of the cablegrams. “Read this one first.”

  Slowly, James took it out of the captain’s hand.

  Thank God you are alive STOP

  Believed you lost at sea STOP

  Duke of Glenartair STOP

  Perplexed, James finally looked at the Captain again. “How could he possibly know…”

  “The rest of them are from the White Star Line,” the captain interrupted. “It seems you are to be relieved of your duties and given all the benefits due the son of a duke. Are you the son of a duke?”

  “Not by birth, but he claims me as part of the family right enough. I have not seen him in many years.”

  “I see. Well, we happen to have an empty compartment in second class. ‘Tis the best we can do.”

  “Captain, I would rather work.”

  “Be that as it may, the owner of the White Star line will hang me if I allow it.”

  “Even if I insist? I prefer to stay busy.”

  “I’ll ask, but I do not expect a positive answer. The duke is a regular customer who pays on time, and the White Star Line wants you treated just as the duke’s station in Scotland requires.”

  “Captain, I fell on hard times and have nothin’ to wear in second class. The duke shall not think highly of the White Star line, if I am embarrassed by my appearance.”

  The captain thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “That might convince them to let you remain at your duties…and in the crew’s quarters as well. If I can arrange it, will you not speak ill of me?”

  James couldn’t help but chuckle. He had gone from fearing he’d been found out, to the son of a duke with the power to endanger a ship captain’s position. “I assure you, I have no reason to speak ill of anyone.”

  “Very well. You must first go to the cable room and let the duke know ‘tis truly you. If you need anythin’, anythin’ at all…an extra meal perhaps?”

  James shook his head. “I assure you, I am well fed. I only ask for my pay when we arrive, so that I may buy proper clothes to wear on the train.”

  “Pay you shall have. Just now, I am reminded. I am to tell you there shall be a ticket to Colorado waitin’ for you when we dock.” The captain stood up and offered his hand. “I take it you’ve seen a good part of the world.”

  “More than I cared to,” James confessed as he was walked to the door.

  “Go with haste to the cable room. The duke is likely pacing a hole in his carpet waitin’ to hear from you.”

  “I shall.”

  As he left the captain’s quarters – as he walked down the hallway – and as he found his way to the cable room, James felt joyful for a change. He was going home, and home with the MacGreagors was where he now belonged. He had but one regret. Jillia
n would not be there to witness his happy reunion with a family that would surely love her…just the way he did.

  Near the cable room, he paused, closed his eyes, and tried to think what he should tell Cameron. He knew what to say face-to-face, but what could he say in a short cablegram? At length, he opened the door and dictated his reply to the cablegram operator.

  Missed the ship STOP

  Coming home STOP

  James STOP

  *

  The confirmation cable arrived that afternoon just before Cameron left work to return home. As soon as he walked in the door at Marblestone, he showed it to Alistair and watched the butler’s eyes light up.

  “Where the devil has he been all these years?” Cameron whispered as they walked through the house and out the back door.

  “He likely has quite a tale to tell.”

  “It better be worth tellin’, for he has broken Leesil and Cathleen’s heart. He might have called or at least, written.”

  “Are you going to tell them? ‘Twill be quite a shock for the sisters to abruptly see him.”

  “Aye, but if I tell them now, they’ll be off to New York to meet his ship.”

  “Does his ship not arrive in three days?”

  “True, ‘tis not enough time for them to meet him.” Justin’s’ baseball rolled toward his feet, so Cameron leaned down, picked it up and tossed it back to the children. “Suppose it is not truly James? I’d not like to break their hearts a second time.”

  Alistair nodded and again read the simple words on the cablegram that anyone could have sent. “A point well taken.”

  “I shall make arrangements for a room in a hotel in New York, and then call when he has arrived. Hopefully, I shall know ‘tis him when I hear his voice.”

  *

  In a busy New York City newspaper office, reporter Jerry Smith was well aware of the wanted poster and the article the Denver reporter wrote concerning Alexandra Sinclair. In fact, he rushed right out, bought a copy of the book, and bet three other reporters that she would be captured before the end of the month. Therefore, when he received an anonymous letter that contained a copy of the article and a picture of the mysterious woman, he was thrilled. Oddly, he could swear he had seen her somewhere and most likely right there in New York City. He just couldn’t remember precisely where.

  Mr. Smith took the picture to his editor, got approval, and hurried back to his desk to write the article. It was possible the picture wasn’t truly of Alexandra Sinclair, but if it was and it helped capture her, he could add another excellent credit to his growing reputation and popularity. He wrote:

  Meet Alexandra Sinclair.

  It is unlikely there are many in America who have not heard about the book entitled, “The Scandalous Affairs of Alexandra Sinclair.” According to the book, she is quite possibly the most notorious bigamist ever to grace this side of the Atlantic Ocean. She began her nefarious endeavors in Great Britain, marrying men of wealth, and at one point, even gaining the title of Duchess. Yet, her true husband…

  *

  Progress came to the railroad companies in the form of more business, which prompted them to build more tracks and run their trains more often. Furthermore, some of the trains opted out of making dozens of stops in small town, and the time it took to get newspapers from one major city to another was shortened considerably. In less than two days, reporter Jerry Smith’s article began to spread from east to west, and north and south. From there, it would take another day or two to reach smaller town newsstands all over the country.

  *

  “What are you doing here?” Abigail demanded as soon as Provost MacGreagor was let into her sitting room.

  He slowly removed his hat and looked her in the eye. “I have come to see yer daughter.”

  “Well, she is not here. She has gone off with Ben to the park, I suppose. Perhaps, you can find them there.”

  “And perhaps I cannae.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you want to talk to Gloria or not?”

  “Not.”

  “Then why have you come?”

  “In Scotland, when invited to a weddin’, albeit begrudgingly by the mother, a lad is called upon to give a gift.”

  She laid her book down, stood up and put her hands on her hips. “I thought you said there was to be no wedding.”

  “‘Tis true, unless ye swallow your pride and ask my permission.”

  “Pride is it?” Abigail smirked. “It is not my pride that is in doubt, but your haughtiness.”

  “How so?”

  “You think to interfere in a wedding that is none of your affair.”

  “‘Tis my affair, I am the elder of the clan.”

  “Yes, and the most unreasonable man I have ever beheld. Tell me, are they to ask your permission before they have children?”

  “Mrs. Whitfield, I have not come to argue with ye. I have come to give a gift…should there be a weddin’.”

  “Well, give it here then and I shall see that my daughter gets it.”

  “That will not do.”

  Abigail raised her voice. “Why not?”

  “‘Tis a piece of advice, you see.”

  “Good heavens, is that what you call an appropriate wedding gift in Scotland?”

  “‘Tis more than fittin’ in Scotland, and anywhere else in the world. Clan elders have much to teach and the children would do well to learn.”

  “Well, if you cannot leave it with me, and you cannot go find her at the park, what keeps you here?”

  “Not one blessed thing.” He plopped his hat back on his head, turned, and walked out.

  “Miserable old man,” Abagail said.

  “I heard that, Mrs. Whitfield,” he shouted from down the hallway.

  Abigail plopped back down and retrieved her book. Before she began to read in peace again, she looked up to heaven. “What have I done to deserve this?”

  She got no answer.

  *

  Her squabble with the Provost aside, Abigail continued to give descriptions of the wedding details to the newspaper, including the bows on Gloria’s shoes. It had taken three weeks for the Colorado Spring’s seamstress to make Gloria’s wedding gown and adorn it with pearls and French lace. As Abigail described it for the paper, it was made of white satin. The full skirt was floor-length, and gracefully flowed from a fashionable empire waist. It had wide, puffy sleeves that narrowed at the wrist, and the veil was also made of Chantilly lace.

  Of course, no wedding gown was complete without the S-shaped corset all brides wore to flatter the figure, and emphasize the bodice. Fortunately, the painful and often hurtful corsets fashioned after Queen Victoria’s reign, were made to be firm and rust resistant, but not nearly as torturous.

  *

  Never in the history of the world had men scrutinized women with black hair as carefully as they were all over America. Now, they had a picture of Alexandra Sinclair too. Five thousand dollars was a lot of money, even for those who managed to make a sufficient living. Men in gambling houses placed bets on which state she was in, what kind of man would find her, and if MacGreagor and Whitfield would actually pay up when she was captured.

  North of San Francisco, the duchess’ sixth husband, Mr. Nelson, read the article and looked at the picture with great interest. He had lost the home he shared with her in the devastating 1906 earthquake, and because most of the city needed to be rebuilt, he moved his shipping business up the coast. Curious, he went to a bookshop and found a copy of the book. Sure enough, his name was in it. Fortunately, Nelson was common enough that few would suspect he was that Nelson. He decided not to bother, burned the book in his hearth, and went about his business as usual.

  In Denver, the man who had wined and dined the duchess just a few days earlier now had a story to tell all his friends. In Chicago, Mr. Douglas Roth discovered he too was a victim of Alexandra Sinclair, and had been swindled out of twenty-thousand dollars. He tried to reach the attorney who represented the woman he knew as Rebecca Ly
ons, but the attorney would not take his calls. In New York City, Dr. Morris regretted sending the picture to the newspaper, and became even more paranoid. She was out there and possibly lying in wait for him somewhere. Likewise, Bernie Hathaway, the corrupt auctioneer the duchess was once forced to work for, decided it was time to move his business and his home to another city.

  *

  Although she had not discussed it with anyone, not even Lillie Mae, what Blair read in the book disturbed her. Therefore, she took comfort in playing the Victor V. phonograph machine Cameron bought for her. She only had three songs to play: By the Light of the Silvery Moon, Meet Me in St. Louis, Louis, and Nearer My God to Thee, but she hoped to expand her collection come Christmas.

  When she tired of the music, she could often be found in the corral training the black colt to come on command. She used grain to tempt him, which seemed unnecessary to Tristin. The colt always came to her anyway. When Blair tired of trying to train him and started to leave, the colt followed her like a shadow. So, that’s what she named him – Black Shadow.

  Watching Blair with Shadow was a thing of beauty. Try as he might, Tristin could never get near the colt, even when he offered a handful of grain. It was a skittish sort of horse and he had seen plenty of those before. The thing was, someone had to break Shadow in so Blair could ride him, and Tristin supposed it would be up to him…if he could ever get close enough to put a halter on Shadow. Thankfully, the colt still needed time to grow up. He had his hands full caring for all the other MacGreagor horses.

  As he was about to go in for lunch, Tristin spotted Shadow outside the corral. “How the devil did you get out?” The horse just stared at him. “And how the devil am I going to get you back in?” Tristin took a step closer and the colt didn’t move. “Steady, boy, steady.” He took another step, and when he did, the colt jerked his head, turned around and took two paces away from him.

  Shadow stopped, and looked back as if to taunt Tristin.

  “I’ll not harm you,” Tristin muttered. Again, he tried to approach, and again, the horse moved just out of reach. “What is it? Is this some sort of game?” The horse looked him in the eye, moved into the trees and went out of sight.