“Nay, I missed the ship in Bristol.”
“I told you he dinna die,” said Cathleen. She welcomed her husband’s arm around her as both of them watched from the bottom of the stairs.
“Aye, you did.” Recovered finally, Leesil soundly smacked James in the stomach. “Dinna ever scare us like that again!”
He chuckled and stood up. “I promise. I’ve quite a tale to tell, but I am hopin’ Cook Jessie made pie. You canna know how often I have dreamed of a slice of Jessie’s pie.”
“Very well,” Leesil said as she let James help her up. “But this better be a good tale. We have waited years to hear it.”
“I have waited years to tell it,” said James.
*
“Prison?” Leesil asked. “Whatever for?”
Over tea and pie in the kitchen, James explained how he got into trouble, and then told them how Hardy and Mave helped him recover his health after he got out. He left out all the gruesome details of his imprisonment.
“We must do somethin’ for them. What do they need?” Cameron asked.
He was on his second piece of pie when James answered. “A telephone.”
“I shall have one put in and pay the bill for a year.”
“Thank you, but only if I am allowed to pay you back once I am employed,” said James.
“Agreed,” said Cameron.
“You mean to stay, do you not?” Cathleen asked.
“I doubt I shall every go back. I am a convict now.”
Not once did James mention Jillian. It was still too painful, and there was time to tell them about her later…much later. They talked for nearly two hours before Leesil took pity on him and ordered a bath. Not long after that, Hannish came home, and James answered still more questions.
“You are welcome to work for us,” said Hannish in the downstairs sitting room. “We can use a lad like you.”
“I had hoped to work in an automobile factory, but…” James said.
“What we need,” Cameron interrupted, “is a lad who can fix whatever is wrong with our automobiles.”
“Indeed we do,” said Hannish. “If you are willin’, we shall build him a garage next to the warehouse, send off for the latest manuals, and…”
Cathleen touched the back of her sister’s hand. “You best tell him.”
Leesil let her eyes roll to the top of her head. “Must I?”
“Tell me what?” James asked.
“Well…” Leesil hesitated.
“We planted a tree,” Cathleen volunteered. “‘Tis what some people do when the ones they love have passed away.”
“Aye, so I have heard,” James said.
“We plated a tree for you,” Leesil finally got up the courage to confess. She expected to be scolded, but James was delighted.
“What sort of tree?”
“‘Tis a cherry tree with a red rock in front of it. ‘Tis in the backyard next to a tree for Lord Bayington, and…”
James suddenly frowned. “That reminds me, which of you has my red rock?” He laughed when both of his beloved older sisters innocently shrugged. “You’ve not changed a bit.”
*
And so it was that the family was all together again. The disastrous book about a scandalous duchess came to Colorado Springs, was widely read, and then for the most part, forgotten. The town, those that loved their gossip, moved on to a new scandal – one involving Mr. Lloyd at the stables and how his wife caught him cavorting with Miss Susan Wayne, the proprietor of the hat shop. Word was, his wife threw him out and promised to shoot him if he ever came home again. It was absolutely delicious.
Save the one Hannish confided to Ben about Provost MacGreagor, all the MacGreagor secrets were out and not one person demanded that Hannish be charged with bigamy. The construction company suffered no loss of business, the children would not likely be teased at school, and no one thought less of Blair because of her mother. Some of the servants decided to move on, but the most loyal of them stayed. All was well…at least for now. Yet, they still had no idea where the duchess was.
*
That the duchess had not left her room since she discovered her picture was in every newspaper in America was not exactly true. In fact, she timed it to just after strangers arrived by train each day, and went out to try a few disguises. Although people looked at her oddly, none seemed to recognize who she truly was. Nevertheless, it was only a matter of time until someone did, and making other accommodations in a foreign land seemed her best choice. Fortunately, she had not yet put her money in the bank. Therefore, all she truly needed was a train ticket and a way to get rid of the pesky Fifer brothers, who sat across the street each and every day, and watched for her to come out.
Alexandra Sinclair, also known as Mrs. Rebecca Lyons, got dressed, strapped her gun to her leg and took the elevator down to the lobby. She walked to the front door of the hotel and just as she hoped, the brothers were sitting on the barrels across the street. She stepped out and motioned for them to come to her.
The brothers didn’t believe she was talking to them at first, but when she nodded and motioned for them a second time, they barely missed a carriage and two wagons trying to get across the street. “What?” Matt asked as soon as he was close enough.
She kept her voice conspiratorially low. “I am in need.”
“In need of what?” Dale asked.
“You know,” said she. When they were obviously too dense to figure it out, she continued. “Go to the river, wash your clothing and take a bath. When your clothes are clean and dry, come to the back of the hotel where I can see you. Then I shall come down.”
Dale still wasn’t sure what she wanted. “Come down for what?”
“To satisfy my needs,” she whispered.
Both of Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean…”
“Precisely,” she said. “Make certain your clothing are completely dry, although that should not take long in this heat. And hurry before I change my mind.”
In the twinkling of an eye, both brothers ran around the hotel and raced toward the river. Neither had run so fast in their lives, nor did they say a word as they jumped in the river, clothes and all. Dale began to drift down river, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting clean enough to…he wasn’t completely sure what he was to do, but it was the most excitement he’d had since…he couldn’t remember when. By the time Matt turned around, Dale was gone. Afraid his brother had drowned, he began to swim down river too.
“Simpletons,” she whispered as she watched out the window. She turned away from the window and started to pack her things. She filled one bag full of her valuables, and the other with as many clothes as she could get in it. The duchess chose a blonde wig, and then tucked her own hair underneath it. She checked to make certain all her money was in her hatbox, and then put on the thick glasses with one broken lens. With less than ten minutes to spare, she got to the train station, bought a ticket, and boarded the train bound for New York City.
When she looked back, Marcus Reginald Jolly, Reggie for short, was watching her. He tipped his hat as her passenger car slowly picked up speed and the last thing she saw of him was his drooping mustache. It never ceased to make her smile.
Sheriff Jolly watched the train go out of sight and laughed his hilarious brand of laughter. “Wait until Mrs. Jolly hears this,” he muttered as he hoisted his bulk into his automobile. “The notorious Alexandra Sinclair was right here, and had tea with Mrs. Jolly in our very own parlor. What a tale she shall have to tell her reading club.”
*
Nearly three hours later, Matt and Dale stood behind the hotel looking up at the windows. The brothers were clean and completely dry, although Dale still couldn’t get the water out of his left ear. He leaned left and pounded on the right side of his head a few times, but it didn’t help.
First, they argued over which window was Mrs. Lyons’, and when she didn’t show herself to settle it, they fought over who would be first. Since Matt wa
s the one who had to explain it, he chose to be first. Dale wasn’t about to let that happen.
They made such a ruckus, the hotel manager called Sheriff Jolly, and when the sheriff arrived, Dale was still trying to get the water out of his ear. “What’s that I smell? Have you taken a bath?”
“Mrs. Lyon’s told us to,” Dale admitted.
“I see. Well, at least some good has come of her. Go along home, boys, you are bothering the guests at the hotel.”
“We cannot,” said Matt. “We promised to wait for Mrs. Lyons.”
“Then you’ll be waiting a very long time. Mrs. Lyons took the train east.”
Stupefied, Matt gulped, “But she said…she promised if we cleaned up, she would…”
“Would what?” Sheriff Jolly asked.
With a flushed face, Dale took off his hat, held it in front of him with both hands, and stammered, “You…you know.”
Sheriff Jolly had a pretty good idea what they were talking about. “You’ve been tricked, it seems. Go home now and be quiet about it.”
Dale smacked his brother with his hat. “I told you it was a lie.”
“When?” Matt demanded to know as he started for home.
“Right before you pulled me out of the river.”
“Now who is lying? I should have let you drown.”
Marcus Reginald Jolly, Reggie for short, watched them walk down the alley and listened to their banter until he could hear them no more. He held his comical laughter for as long as he could and then let loose. His belly jiggled, his smile widened and his newly waxed mustache shook until it threatened to turn from up to down again. “Wait until Mrs. Jolly hears this!”
*
It was early morning at Marblestone when Prescot softly knocked on the office door, waited a moment and then opened it. “Mr. Hannish, there is a Sheriff Jolly on the line.”
“Thank you,” Hannish said. Before he picked up the extension in his office, he stared at his brother. “She has been captured?”
Cameron hung his head. “I pray not.”
Hesitantly, Hannish picked up the telephone. “Sheriff Jolly?”
“Mr. MacGreagor, I have here the body of a woman whom I believe is your first wife.”
“A body?” As he always did when he was distressed, Hannish began to rub the back of his neck.
“Yes, Sir. She looks like the picture and has a pear-shaped scar on the inside of her left arm.”
“I see. Where is she?”
“She is at the undertakers in Salina, Kansas. Mr. MacGreagor, we best bury her soon. She won’t keep much longer. When can you get here?”
“I shall come directly.” Hannish hung up the telephone and shook his head. “I wager she has done it again.” He stood up and grabbed his jacket.
“Escaped?”
“Aye, and what better way than to die?”
*
In Salina, Kansas, Sheriff Jolly was waiting for them at the train station. He took Hannish and Cameron to a house just outside of town where the undertakers did their business. Before he entered, he respectfully took off his hat, and then led the way to a room that was once a bedroom. “She is in there,” he said pointing to a gray casket.
“Open it,” said Hannish.
“It is sealed. You would not want me to do that anyway. She’s been dead several days,” said the sheriff.
Hannish finally took his hat off too. “I see.”
“I did not find her body for a day and perhaps two after she died.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out two black and white pictures, and handed the first one to Hannish. “Is this Alexandra Sinclair?”
The bloodied duchess lay in the dirt with a hole in the side of her head. Her eyes were open a bit, but there was no way to tell what color they were. It looked like a pool of blood had soaked into the left shoulder of her jacket, and her skirt was wrapped around her, as though she had rolled. At length, Hannish said, “Her hair ‘twas not light.” He passed the picture to Cameron.
“It is a wig, Mr. MacGreagor. She was wearing it when I saw her get on the train.” Sheriff Jolly handed the next picture to Hannish. “Do you recognize the scar on her arm?”
“Aye.” Hannish handed that picture to Cameron too.
“Did she kill herself?” Cameron asked, giving both pictures back to the sheriff.
“I found her body a couple of miles up the line near the railroad tracks. She boasted of having money, so I suspect she told one too many and got robbed. I called the railroad, and they report no unclaimed luggage from that day, so whoever killed her has her money.”
“Was she in Salina long?” Hannish asked.
“Long enough to make a few folks look a bit foolish,” Sheriff Jolly answered.
“That sounds like her,” Cameron said.
“Oh,” said the sheriff, “I nearly forgot.” He reached for a bag that sat on a chair beside the casket. “The hotel found these in her room.” Sheriff Jolly pulled out one of the letters addressed to Blair, and handed it to Hannish. “Do you recognize the writing, Mr. MacGreagor?”
“I do. Tis her handwriting.”
“Well then, we best get her in the ground. Mr. MacGreagor, the reward poster says unharmed, but…”
“You need money?” Hannish asked.
Sheriff Jolly nodded. “Just for expenses, if you would be so kind.”
“How much?”
“Well, there’s the casket, the batting, the velvet and the hearse to carry her to the church. It’s a dandy glass-sided hearse with tassels, fringed draperies, and...”
“Sheriff Jolly, she was not the believin’ kind. Somethin’ said at the graveside should be sufficient.”
“I am disturbed to hear that. Nevertheless,” the Sheriff continued, “there is still the headstone, the plot and…”
“How much all told, Sheriff?” Hannish asked.
Sheriff Jolly thoughtfully twirled one side of his mustache tip. “Five hundred?”
“Five hundred dollars?” Cameron gasped. “I had no idea.”
Hannish reached in his inside jacket pocket, opened his wallet and counted out five one hundred dollar bills. “While we dinna get on well, I dinna wish her harm. Payin’ for her last restin’ place is all I can do for her now.”
*
An hour later, with practically the whole town in attendance, the local minster stood next to the open grave and said kind things about the dearly departed. He said little about Alexandra Sinclair personally. Hannish and Cameron watched the casket being lowered into the ground, and remained reverent, as those who claimed to have known…and loved her, tossed handfuls of dirt in the hole. When all was said and done, the Sheriff took the MacGreagor brothers to the station, where they caught the train back to Colorado Springs.
Seated in the back of a passenger car, Hannish handed the bag of letters to Cameron. “I suppose these belong to Blair.”
“Aye, but she shall not see them until she is much older.”
“I would burn them and not say a word.”
“Have we not tried that approach before?” Cameron asked. “Brother, we are not sly enough to keep secrets.”
“True.” Hannish looked out the window and watched as the train raced past the landscape.
“Did you believe Sheriff Jolly?”
“Did you?”
“‘Tis possible he is tellin’ the truth,” said Cameron.
“Aye, ‘tis possible.” Hannish smiled finally. “Remind me to thank her when next she shows up. She just saved Claymore and I five thousand dollars.”
“Minus five hundred,” Cameron reminded him.
“‘Tis a small price to pay.”
*
A week later, the Denver newspaper reporter had his second big Alexandria Sinclair scoop. Just to make certain, he too boarded a train and by the time he got to Salina, the townspeople had put a white picket fence around her spacious plot. A large marble tombstone, with a cherub on top, marked the head of her grave. It was oddly missing the year of her birth.
Convinced after he saw the pictures, the reporter wrote his article and just as before, it spread from coast to coast.
Alexandra Sinclair was dead.
Soon, people came to visit her grave, to leave flowers, and to hear all the stories about her the townspeople had to tell. The residence of Salina made copies of the poster and sold them as mementos for a nickel each. Business picked up all over town, most especially at the hotel and they charged top dollar for the room the duchess stayed in. Yet, it would be quite some time before Matt and Dale admitted they knew her.
The notorious bigamist was gone – but as long as there was a book about her and a gravesite to see, she would never be forgotten.
*
In August of that year, the mayor of Tokyo presented President Taft with 2,000 cherry trees to be planted near the Potomac River. Construction of the US navy base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, began and Madison Square Garden in New York City demonstrated the first color moving pictures.
In late September, Jillian Eldridge stepped off the train in Colorado Springs with no idea of how to find James. A man at her father’s funeral bought the house that very day, so Jillian packed a bag and immediately set out to see America. She considered calling or sending a cablegram to the MacGreagors, but somehow that didn’t seem like the right thing to do. The right thing was to run into his arms the moment she saw him, and that was exactly what she intended.
An elderly man sitting in a chair in front of the station seemed to be paying attention to her, so she made her way through the people until she stood in front of him.
“You lost, lass?”
“I believe I am?”
“English, are ye?”
Jillian smiled. “And you are Scottish?”
He stood up and removed his hat. “Aye, Provost MacGreagor is the name.”
“A good sounding name,” she said. “I am looking for a particular MacGreagor myself.”
“Well, we’ve plenty to choose from. Have you a first name?”
“His name is James.”
“The laddie back from the dead?”
Jillian’s heart leapt for joy. “That be the one.”
The provost scratched the back of his neck. “I suppose ye can find him up at Marblestone.” Just then, he spotted Abigail. “Mrs. Whitfield?”
Marblestone Mansion, Book 9 Page 19
