Marblestone Mansion, Book 6

by Marti Talbott

  “I hope not. Life is far more pleasant when she is not a constant worry.”

  *

  “At least, I was able to spend abundant time with my wife and son, but I’d not relish another voyage across that endless ocean again anytime soon,” said Hannish, taking another swallow from his glass of wine. In the heat of the day, all four of the men had shed their jackets and sat in his study in pants and white shirts. Each fashionably wore garters around their biceps to hold up the excess sleeve material.

  “How goes the house buildin’ business?” Hannish asked.

  “We are behind schedule, but it cannot be helped,” Claymore answered.

  “We canceled our lumber order as you instructed,” Moan answered, “and got what we needed from Denver. The Pikes Peak yards were none too pleased, but the lads fancy havin’ enough work, finally.”

  “Have we any houses complete?” Hannish asked.

  “Two…nearly,” Claymore answered, “and a third well on the way.”

  “I cannae wait to see them. Are you pleased with the work, Claymore?”

  “I and several others who have come to see inside the rooms. We have an offer on the first already and possibly another on the second. I had the banker come take a look, hoping he might be more willing to loan the money, once he saw the quality of the place. Our workmanship is far better than…Swinton’s.”

  Hannish chuckled. “I wondered when that name would come up. How is our opponent doin’?”

  “He has five finished, at last report, and all of them sold…or so he claims.”

  “You dinna believe him?” Hannish asked.

  “Do you?” Claymore asked.

  “We have not actually caught him in a lie, I remind you,” said the judge.

  Claymore rolled his eyes, “Of course we have. He swore he was not the father of Miss Green’s child, and even his wife didn’t believe him.”

  “Miss Green might have been the one who lied,” Moan added.

  “Why would she?” Claymore asked. He waited for an answer, but none of the other men had one, so he went back to the subject of selling houses. “I suppose if we truly cared, we could ask Banker Goodwin. He would know if people were borrowing to buy Swinton’s houses.”

  “Yet, do we truly care to know?” Hannish asked. “Perhaps we would do well to mind our own affairs. What about the lads who left us and went to work for Swinton?”

  “We dinna let them come back, just as you said,” Moan answered, “and they are sorry they left. Swinton is makin’ them work long, hot hours with little rest.”

  “Coalminers have it better than Swinton’s men,” Claymore mumbled.

  Hannish grabbed the bottle of wine, stood up, and began to pour another round. “Have we any proof Swinton got his hands on our lumber?”

  “Not yet,” Claymore answered, “but he has plenty to spare, and plenty of money to pay his men. What I would give to find out where he got all that money.”

  “He sold the goldmines you sold him, and at a handsome profit, remember?” the judge asked.

  “That he did, that he did indeed,” Claymore admitted, “but where did he get the money to buy the goldmines from me in the first place?”

  Hannish poured the last drop of wine in his glass and returned to his seat. “Shall we not dwell on the past and think of the future instead? Now that I am home, what say you we hire all his lads away?”

  Claymore smiled. “I was hoping you might think of that.”

  “For the same wages as before or do we mean to match what Swinton is payin’ them?” Moan asked.

  “Our wages are more than fair,” Hannish answered.

  “I agree,” said Claymore. He was about to continue when someone knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Hannish said. “Ah, Tom, you are back. What have you to report?”

  “Not much. I didn’t see Mr. Swinton, and Miss Foster hasn’t seen him this morning either. We did see the sheriff, though.”

  “The sheriff?” Claymore asked.

  “Yes, Sir, he went to Mr. Swinton’s house, only stayed a moment and then rode off. I couldn’t tell who he talked to.”

  “Very well,” said Hannish. “When are you goin’ back?”

  “Tomorrow. Miss Foster might know something by then.”

  “Take care not to let Miss Foster be discovered and if she is, or even if you suspect he has found her out, bring her back with you.”

  “You think he would hurt her?” the judge asked.

  “Until we are certain he did not do harm to Miss Green, I care not to take the chance. Thank you, Tom.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The judge waited until the footman closed the door before he said, “If you think the man is dangerous, perhaps you shouldn’t abruptly hire all his workmen away. He might start another fire.”

  Claymore stared at the floor for a moment. “The judge has a point, we must bring them back slowly, but how do we decide who to bring back and who to leave?”

  “I shall know,” Hannish said. “I shall bring back the best; the ones I know to be steady workers.”

  “Just a few then?” Moan asked.

  Hannish nodded. “A few now and more later as we need them.”

  “You think he killed Miss Green?” the judge asked Claymore.

  “I do,” admitted Claymore. “If you had seen his rage at the wedding reception, you would agree. He’s a man who clearly does not like to lose.”

  *

  Tom was disappointed when he found he had to wait until after she finished bathing to greet Leesil. When he worked for the Whitfields, he only met her a few times, but everyone knew how she was raised in an orphanage, became a stowaway aboard a ship, and ended up in Colorado. At that time, everyone called her, Sassy, but once she married, she preferred Miss Leesil. He admired her courage, her tenacity, and even the deep dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. It didn’t take long after his arrival for them to become friends, and he doubted she ever knew a stranger. Having been a servant before she married the master of the house, she treated everyone with particular kindness and often struck up a conversation about this and that with him. She valued his opinion and he valued being asked for it.

  Unable to welcome her home just yet, Tom headed off to the kitchen to help prepare the evening meal. Everyone helped in the kitchen, setting the servant’s table in the adjacent dining hall, and preparing the platters to take to the family. “How does she look?” he asked Cook Jessie as he snatched a raisin off the cutting table, and quickly put it in his mouth before she could catch him.

  “The poor darlin’ looks all wrung out.”

  Cook Halen shook her head. “They have all been invited to stay for dinner, even the Whitfields. Our little Sassy will likely fall asleep in her plate.”

  “I’ll stay close to her, just in case,” Tom promised. He grinned at seamstress Gretchen and watched her set the plates on the table. “They found the mummy of a giant buried in a farm in Wisconsin.”

  “A giant?” Gretchen asked.

  “Ten feet tall, they say,” Tom answered.

  “Who says?” Dugan asked as he came through the door. He reached for Tom’s black serving jacket and helped him put it on.

  “I don’t recall who said it.”

  “Where does he hear all these wild stories?” Cook Halen asked. “Last week, it was a robber who got caught robbing a robber, and the week before that, he told of a man-eating tree. I go to town and I never hear these things.”

  “He makes them up,” said Dugan.

  Tom stuck out his lower lip and looked at Dugan with sad, pitiful eyes. “You do not believe me?”

  “I believe if you do not hurry, the family will sit down to dinner and we will not be there.”

  Tom shrugged, picked up the covered platter of creamed potatoes and followed Dugan out the door. A second later, he stuck his head back through the door. “It might have been in Pennsylvania instead.”

  “Or it might be all in his head,” Jessie muttered.<
br />
  Halen put the lid back on the rest of the potatoes to keep them hot until time for the servants to eat. “You must admit, he entertains us very well.”

  “He is not that difficult to look at either,” Gretchen admitted, going to the drawer for silverware.

  “You fancy him?” Cook Jessie asked.

  “I do not need to fancy a man, as you Scots put it, to find pleasure in looking at one.”

  “I wonder why he has not yet married,” Margaret Ann asked, as she helped Gretchen set the table. “He is very likable, a little shy perhaps at first, but he is a good man.”

  “Have you not heard?” Cook Jessie asked. As soon as Dugan returned, she pointed to the platter of rolls she had just taken out of the oven and wrapped in a cloth, and then watched him disappear out the door.

  “Heard what?” Margaret Ann asked.

  “He has his eye on a lass in Palmer Lake.”

  “Oh, so that is where he gets off to all the time. I wondered,” said Gretchen.

  *

  Dinner that evening was an all-out affair and everyone was excited to catch up on all the news. The dining room décor had changed to curtains the color of peaches, tied back on each side of three large windows, and a much more subdued wallpaper pattern than most houses had. Large enough to seat fifty, if necessary, the length of the polished oak table could be changed to accommodate fewer and for this meal, the total number of matching tall back chairs placed comfortably around the table was fourteen. A gold-rimmed mantle clock sat on one of the sideboards, two electric floor lamps gave the room plenty of soft light, and Dugan and Tom stood ready to serve a meal of beef pot roast, creamed potatoes, coleslaw, corn on the cob, and rolls. Each course was served on silver trays, and eaten on fine china with the best silverware money could buy.

  Although she was enveloped in conversation with Mrs. Whitfield, Tom was not disappointed when Leesil nodded and grinned a special greeting just for him.

  Young Mr. Wade had to be encouraged to take off his cowboy hat before he was allowed to sit, and he only agreed after footman Dugan offered him a silver tray on which to set it. Afraid the subject of their rowdiness and the damage they caused would come up, Moan’s three daughters were careful not to draw attention to themselves, and were told by their anxious parents not to say a word the entire evening.

  As they ate, Leesil and Hannish told them all about their visit to Scotland, although they left out a few details suitable only for the adults to hear, and at last, the conversation turned to what was happening on the home front.

  “Young Mr. Wade,” said Hannish, “how many outlaws did you manage to capture while we were away?”

  “Only five,” Wade answered.

  Moan chuckled. “Four of which were found not guilty.”

  “And the fifth?” Hannish asked.

  “The postman was caught red-handed sneakin’ up on the doorbell,” Elizabeth answered. Seated next to him, she patted her youngest son on the head. “I was forced to beg the postman not to stop his deliveries, and he relented once Wade took a vow not to capture him again. Is that not so, Wade?”

  Wade lowered his head. “Aye, Mother.”

  While Tom and Dugan served the fried apple and raisin dessert, Hannish turned his attention to Moan’s eldest son, Lenox. “How does our favorite baseball team do?”

  “Not well, I regret to say. The Colorado Springs Millionaires need a great deal more practice.”

  “They have joined the Western League and play a team in Denver, this week,” Moan added. “Lenox and I have not yet missed a home game.”

  Claymore wiped his mouth and cleared his throat, “I should like to go with you the next time they play in town.”

  “Good,” Moan said, “they can use the patronage.”

  “Then we shall all go,” said Leesil. She paused to look at her husband, “if someone would kindly explain the game to me more fully.”

  “I think we might manage it,” Claymore said. “Sit next to me at the game, my dear, and I shall tell you all about it.”

  “There, you see, my husband to the rescue,” said Abigail.

  “Have you seen the electric vehicles yet, Uncle Hannish?” Lenox asked.

  “Not yet, but I hope to buy one once the Studebakers make them available.”

  “What’s this?” asked Claymore. “You have not set your heart on the petro vehicles put out by the Olds brothers? I wager we shall see those in Colorado before we see the electric.”

  Hannish quickly swallowed. “Either way, I mean to be the first to buy one.”

  Elizabeth giggled. “How happy the horses shall be to see that.”

  “It will be a good long while before we put our horses out to pasture for good,” Moan said. “I remind you, we must build better roads or we shall be forever pullin’ those fancy automobiles out of the ditch.”

  Claymore pondered that for a moment. “Sounds like a business we might find very profitable in the future.”

  Finished with his dessert, Hannish let Tom take his plate away. “How goes the trial, Judge?”

  “Done, I am happy to report. The defendant was found guilty.”

  “Was he truly guilty?” Leesil asked.

  “My dear sister-in-law, as a judge, I am not allowed to have an opinion.”

  “He was guilty as sin,” Claymore put in. “With little else to do, I attended the trial occasionally, and he looked completely unremorseful to me.”

  The judge chuckled. “As I recall, you missed all three days of the defense, Claymore. You might have been swayed otherwise, had you been there.”

  “Oh, so you do not think him guilty?” McKenna asked. “My husband says he has no opinion, but he does, he simply will not say what it is.”

  Judge Nicholas Mitchel rolled his eyes. “My darling wife, I have plenty of opinions. For example, my compliments to the cooks; the creamed potatoes were magnificent.”

  McKenna teased, “As evidenced by his third helpin’.”

  “I hope to be a lawyer someday,” David muttered after the laughter died down. The second from the eldest, he was rewarded with a smile from both his father and his uncle Hannish.

  “A fine endeavor,” said Hannish, “one I hope you shall pursue with vigor.”

  “I mean to, Uncle Hannish.”

  “That reminds me,” the judge said, “the London newspaper reports authorities have convicted a man based on fingerprint evidence. It is the first, they say.”

  “Fingerprints?” Leesil asked.

  The judge nodded. “Indeed. It seems no two people have the same prints.”

  David’s eyes widened. “How do they do it? Take pictures of the finger, I mean?”

  “I believe they put ink on the finger and then make an impression of it on paper,” the judge answered.

  “Father, may I be excused? I wish to see that for myself.”

  Moan smiled and nodded. “You must first promise not to spill the ink.”

  “I shall take it outside, if uncle will let me have a bottle from his study.”

  “You have my permission,” said Hannish. No sooner had he gotten the words out, than five of Moan’s children and Gloria Whitfield excused themselves, and rushed off to see about making fingerprints. Interested in grownup talk, Paulette remained at the table.

  Moan chuckled. “Peace and quiet, at last.”

  “What else did the London paper have to say while we were away?” Hannish asked. “I’ve not managed to read one in more than a fortnight.”

  “Mostly they talked of the King’s coronation, but you might find this interesting,” the judge answered. “The Greenwich foot tunnel under the River Thames has opened.”

  “How frightenin’,” said Elizabeth, “I’d not like walkin’ under all that water. What is to keep it from collapsin’?”

  “I do not care for tunnels, either under land or water,” said Abigail.

  “Aye,” Hannish agreed, “but the London streets become crowded with so many buggies goin’ to and fro, and there
are never enough watermen and boats to ferry them from one side of the river to the other. I see it as a great improvement.”

  “I am not partial to being underground either,” said Claymore.

  Abigail’s mouth dropped. “Darling husband, I am surprised to hear that. After years in gold mining, I did not think it bothered you.”

  “My being underground bothered you, or so you often said,” Claymore returned.

  “And why would it not? Just last month, the Rolling Mill Mine caved in and killed 112 miners,” Abigail pointed out. “I was positively petrified each time you rode off to Cripple Creek.”

  “One hundred and twelve lads lost?” Hannish asked. “I had not heard that.”

  Claymore nodded. “Another collapsed in Australia killing nearly as many. I tell you, the miners won’t put up with much more absurdity from the mine owners. There shall be hell to pay if…”

  Abigail gasped. “Claymore please, your language.”

  “My dear, if they have not heard it before, they shall not know what it means anyway. As I was saying, the Anthracite Coal Strike in Pennsylvania is just the beginning. When they went on strike, they had the power to stop the flow of coal to every home in America this winter, and they knew it. The country does not need gold, but they want it, and when the goldminers strike, the public will stand behind them. We…”

  Leesil touched the back of Abigail’s hand. “We need not worry about strikes or collapses, now that our husbands have occupations above ground.”

  “I thank you for reminding me, my dear.”

  Just then, David burst through the door holding up a paper with six ink blotches on it. “It dinnae work!”

  “Perhaps not quite so much ink,” the judge suggested. He chuckled when David immediately turned and sprinted back out the door.

  Returning to the subject at hand, Claymore said, “We call building houses a profession, yet we do so without enough confounded lumber!”

  “My love, do not upset yourself,” Abigail pleaded.

  “Swinton,” Leesil softly breathed.

  “Yes, yes,” said Abigail, “I think about him constantly. Loretta will not come to the telephone when I call, and I dare not go to Palmer Lake without an appointment.”