Marblestone Mansion, Book 6

by Marti Talbott

  “You want me to seduce your nephew and that is all?”

  “Seduce him? I do not ask that of you, but if you are willing and if it becomes necessary…” She paused to examine the narrowing of Kate’s eyes. “I shall make it worth your while, naturally. You shall stay here with us where you shall have the best of everything, beginning with plenty of good meals. We must fatten you up, my dearest, so you will fill out the ball gowns just as marvelously as you once did. I recall the night…”

  The duchess’ eyes were beginning to brighten. It was true, she would be excellent at doing what Lady Husher wanted, for no one knew better how to tempt a man than she. The phrase ‘ball gowns’ had such a radiant sound to it, that the duchess already had stars in her eyes. Ball gowns meant balls, which meant meeting wealthy men, which meant…all sorts of possibilities could arise. Perhaps her plans were not completely dashed after all. Suddenly, she heard herself shout, “America!”

  “Well, yes. The lady in question is an American, so naturally that is where you must go to do the deed.”

  “Lady Husher, have you any idea how tedious a voyage to America is?”

  “I have been several times, but never have I found it tedious. Quite the contrary, I find it quite delightful.”

  “Can you not just summon your nephew here?”

  “That would never do, surely you see that. You are quite well known in London society; everyone would recognize you and therefore warn Yannick. No, you must do the deed in New York City.”

  The duchess’ shoulders drooped. “Is there no other place in the world to accomplish it?”

  Lady Husher stood up and walked to the window. Clouds were beginning to gather, but there was nothing new in that, not in London. “Well, there is always his home in Luxembourg. I believe Yannick is to attend my brother’s birthday celebration there in October. Do you happen to speak French, German, or Luxembourgish?”

  The duchess didn’t bother to hide her giant sigh of relief. “I am somewhat familiar with French.”

  “Excellent. The Grand Duke and his wife are against the marriage as well, and shall be forever in your debt if you managed to separate Yannick from the American.”

  To the duchess, the mention of a Grand Duke was more enticing than ball gowns. Her mind was already swirling with the prospects of meeting a Grand Duke and all his available, unmarried, male friends. Best of all, Luxembourg was on the right side of the Atlantic Ocean. She was saved…saved from having to steal, lie, and cheat, to put her own plan into action. At last, she was back on the road to glory, thanks to Lord and Lady Husher, and she couldn’t have been happier. That is, until she remembered Hannish MacGreagor had let all of London society know she was a bigamist. Disgusted by the thought, the duchess began to shake her head.

  “Are you saying you will not do it?” Lady Husher asked. “What will it take to convince you, my dear? What is it you want most in the world?”

  Now there was a question the duchess was happy to answer. She studied the pattern on the carpet for a moment, so she could choose just the right words. “I very much wish to have back my rightful place in society.”

  “I see.” Lady Husher looked out the window for a while longer before she went back to sitting on the sofa. “Not without a great deal of work, mind you, but I suppose it could be arranged.”

  The duchess had her doubts. “How? I am clearly ruined.”

  “First, we must let it be known that Hannish MacGreagor lied.”

  “They shall never believe it. If I heard it once, I heard it a thousand times; Hannish MacGreagor is a saint.”

  “Some will believe it. I grant you, it will not be easy for you when you return from Luxembourg, for there shall be much gossip and speculation. However, with a good word of you to the king, I believe it can be done.”

  “Well, if anyone can accomplish it, it is you Lady Husher.”

  “Have we a bargain?”

  The duchess tried not to grin so completely, but it was not easy to keep the excitement out of her composure. “I believe we do.”

  “Excellent, my dear. You shall stay here until everything is arranged. I am afraid you have lost all the color in your cheeks, but a month or two shall vastly improve your complexion. There are all sorts of new merchandises for the face these days, and we shall try them all. We can best use the time to have the seamstress make the necessary clothing and you must get as much rest as possible.”

  “You are very kind.” The duchess didn’t think there was a thing wrong with her complexion, but she could use more guidance when it came to making up her face.

  Lady Husher suddenly narrowed her eyes and glared at her guest. “And, Kate, I strongly suggest you do not marry my nephew. If you do, I shall bury you in a rose garden of my own.”

  *

  Sheriff Thompson’s office was located on the street level of the courthouse, and included two jail cells, one of which he hoped would not be empty for long. Besides a good-sized desk, it held a small table, several chairs, and a small coal stove in the corner with once chamber lit to keep his coffee warm, even on hot days.

  Occasionally, when he wasn’t busy with a court case, Judge Nicholas Mitchel came down from his office on the second floor, to share good conversation and a cup of strong coffee. If there was anyone in the world the Sheriff could confide in without worry, it was the judge.

  On a desk piled high with wanted posters, Sheriff Thompson strummed the fingers of his right hand. “Not much I can do unless Doc Parker says Patella Green died from unnatural causes.”

  “Will he?” asked the judge.

  “I doubt it. As far as he’s concerned, his work is done.”

  “Then there is no case. It will remain unsolvable unless you somehow get a confession.”

  “As if Swinton would ever confess. That man is a master at avoiding every question put to him. I ask pointed questions and his answers are aloof.”

  “Such as?”

  “I asked where he was on the night the warehouse burned down, and he said he sleeps in a bed the same as other men. I asked in whose bed he slept that particular night and he said he had not slept in any bed but his own since he arrived in Colorado.”

  “I find that doubtful,” said the judge.

  “So do I.” Sheriff Thompson finally stopped strumming his fingers on the desk, picked up his coffee cup, and then set it back down. “He is a master at evasion, the best I have ever seen.”

  “Did you ask where he came from?”

  “I stopped him one day as he passed by and asked that very question. He is from back east. When I asked where back east, he said he doubted I had ever heard of the place and walked away.”

  “Sounds like a man with something to hide to me.”

  “Me too. It’s not natural for a man to keep his past hidden, but for the life of me, I cannot find any trace of him.”

  The judge glanced at the pile of wanted posters. “Nothing in any of those?”

  “None with a picture of Swinton on it. Most do not have pictures, and I’ve set the ones aside that accuse a man of starting a fire. Must be a dozen of them so far, but none fit Swinton’s description.”

  “I hear you went to see Mrs. Swinton yesterday.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Word gets round, Sheriff, you know that.”

  “Mrs. Abigail Whitefield gets around, you mean.”

  The judge chuckled. He drank the last of his coffee, got up and put the cup back on the small table where he always kept it. “What did Loretta say?”

  “I tell you, Judge, the woman looked down right wounded when I told her about Patella Green. She asked about the baby, and was further pained when I said neither had survived. I always did like Loretta, and no one was more surprised when Swinton up and married her than I. Pardon my saying so, but handsome men marry beautiful women, not someone ordinary like Loretta.”

  He walked back to the chair in front of the sheriff’s desk and sat down. “It is odd how he married her so quickl
y. My wife says no one even knew he was courting her.”

  “You mean Mrs. Whitfield didn’t know? If she didn’t know, the world is surely coming to an end.”

  Again, the judge chuckled. “I wonder if he married a plain woman, as you say, because she is less likely to be unfaithful.”

  “You mean, one adulterer in the family is enough?”

  “Marriage doesn’t keep that kind of man faithful for long.”

  “I agree, though I still have not figured out why he chose Loretta Collins? Any one of a dozen young women would have jumped at the chance to become his wife.”

  “I have a theory about that,” the judge said.

  “What might that be?”

  “Wealth does not always get a man invited to the best parties and balls. What better way to become part of Colorado Spring’s upper society than to marry a member of Mrs. Whitfield’s sewing circle. Loretta Collins is not wealthy, but she is always invited to every occasion, because she is a special friend to both Mrs. Whitfield and Mrs. MacGreagor.”

  The sheriff rubbed the stubble of a beard he just that morning decided to grow. “I see your point. All the others were married except Loretta and Pearl.”

  “Precisely. If I am right, he had only two choices and he chose Loretta.”

  “And he married her quickly because he knew he couldn’t keep Miss Green quiet much longer.”

  “That would be my guess. Marriage to Miss Green was never an option, not if he wanted to climb the social ladder. I wonder how he kept her quiet as long as he did. Miss Green’s father must have demanded she tell him.”

  “I would, if it were my daughter.”

  “So would I. Did Loretta say where her husband was the night Miss Green died?”

  “He was at home with her, she said, but what wife wouldn’t lie for her husband?”

  “I have known her for years and I’ve never known Loretta to lie. She’s a bit of a busy body, but I doubt lying is in her nature. Did she look sincere?”

  The sheriff dropped his gaze. “She did look sincere.”

  “Perhaps we are wrong. Swinton may have done other things, but murder is not one of them.”

  “What killed her then? A young woman doesn’t die in her bed for no reason.”

  “My sister-in-law did. She had a stroke in the night and both she and the baby were gone before anyone discovered her.”

  “Is that right…that’s a new one on me.”

  Judge Mitchel stood up and was about to leave when he thought of something. “I hear Mr. Crestwood went to help Mr. Green milk his cows as soon as he heard the news.”

  “Mr. Crestwood? They’ve been fighting over the creek that runs between their two properties for years.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they become the best of friends now. It only takes one act of kindness, you know.”

  Sheriff Thompson nodded and then watched the judge walk out and close the door. Maybe they were wrong, but Miss Green’s death and the death of her child, was still very helpful for Mr. Douglas Swinton, very helpful indeed.

  *

  It was sure to make Swinton furious, but the next morning, Hannish and Claymore rode down the newly constructed street to take a look at the quality of the houses their competition was building. Fortunately, Swinton was not there, so they entered a house that was nearing completion. After walking through the parlor and the bedrooms upstairs, Hannish went to the kitchen and opened a poorly hung cupboard door. He closed it and shook his head in disgust.

  “Observe the hinges,” said Claymore. “He has used the least measure of good materials.”

  “Yet, ‘tis a prime location,” Hannish said, promptly walking back through the parlor and out the door. “Are they not plannin’ to build a college nearby?”

  “So I have heard.”

  “Have you come to hire us back?” one of the carpenters asked.

  Hannish recognized him as one of the first to leave his company, and had already decided this particular man would be the last one he hired back. “Steal you away from Mr. Swinton? I cannae do that.”

  “But Mr. MacGreagor, we…”

  “I am aware of your workin’ conditions,” Hannish interrupted. “Perhaps in time.”

  At the second house they inspected, Hannish offered to hire back two of the best carpenters, who quickly gathered their tools and mounted their horses.

  “Have you seen enough?” Claymore asked.

  “More than enough,” Hannish answered.

  Next, they went to see the houses they were building. He added the two new men to the ones already working in the first house and carefully inspected the workmanship. “I see nothin’ amiss,” he announced to the pleased workers. “How soon will this one be completed?”

  “Another week or two is all,” Claymore answered. “We must plant the grass and put up the fence still, although this heat will likely kill the grass right away.”

  “Then we should wait and promise to plant it after the house is sold.”

  “Agreed.”

  Claymore and Hannish got back on their horses and rode to the warehouse they rebuilt after it burned to the ground. They arrived just in time to watch two wagon loads of fresh lumber arrive from Denver.

  “We need to take inventory of what we have,” Claymore said staying on his horse while Hannish dismounted. “Moan asked that we do it last week for his record keeping, but I put it off until you came back. You should know what is on hand and what isn’t, other than just looking at the books.”

  “Are you suggestin’ a shortage?”

  “Possibly. It has been my experience that parts get broken, misplaced, and even stolen. Moan is right, we should keep better count.”

  Hannish tied his horse to the post and looked at the new sign hanging over the door. “MacGreagor and Whitfield Construction Company? I thought it was to be Whitfield and MacGreagor.”

  Claymore leaned forward and patted his horse’s neck to steady him. “Why, because I am older? My dear boy, I need not be reminded of it constantly.”

  Hannish chuckled. “Nay, because you are wiser.”

  “Oh, well in that case, I shall have a new sign made directly.”

  “Are you not comin’ in?”

  “Me? I think not, I can’t count.”

  Hannish laughed and watched his friend ride back toward town. After Claymore was out of sight, he immediately went to the small room he used as an office in the warehouse and picked up the telephone. “Mable, connect me with 1473…Moan, Claymore is on his way back. Call if he does not arrive shortly.”

  “Is he ill?” Moan asked.

  “Nay, but we hired back two lads this mornin’.”

  “You fear Mr. Swinton will cause trouble?”

  “Aye.”

  “I understand. I shall call you if he does not soon arrive.”

  “Thank you.” Hannish hung up the telephone and took a seat behind his desk. Hopefully, Swinton had enough trouble and wouldn’t cause more, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

  *

  Feeling rested, Leesil asked Tom to drive her and Abigail to Palmer Lake that afternoon. He was more than delighted at the prospects of seeing Madeline, and had the carriage ready by half past two o’clock in the afternoon. They were nearly to Abigail’s when Leesil said, “Stop the carriage.”

  Alarmed, Tom pulled the team of horses to a halt and quickly turned around in the driver’s seat to see what the matter was. “Are you ill?”

  “I wish to learn to drive the carriage.”

  Tom was caught completely off guard. “Have you asked Mr. Hannish’s permission?”

  She stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Ask his permission?” she nearly shouted. “I need not ask his permission to do what I wish to do.”

  He realized his mistake and tried to recover as best he could. “Miss Leesil, driving a team is…women do not normally...”

  “Why do women not normally?”

  “Because most are not strong enough. Should the ho
rses bolt and run away with the carriage, she might be injured, or worse, thrown to her death.”

  “I have learned to ride well and I am strong enough to manage that horse.”

  “A team is twice as strong, you see.”

  “What I see is, you are not goin’ to teach me.”

  “Miss. Leesil, please, your husband would have my hide if I did.”

  “Then we shall not tell him.”

  “We shall not, but Miss Abigail will.”

  Leesil sat back down and slumped. He had a point. “Another time, then.”

  Relieved, Tom turned back around and got the team going again. He was not an overly religious man, but he glanced up at the sky and mouthed the words thank you anyway.

  “I am forced to ask my husband, I suppose, for I do not like keepin’ secrets from him, but he will no doubt have your same excuses. ‘Tis too dangerous and you are not strong enough, he will say. If I were a lad…”

  Tom listened to her go on and on about it, but he dare not say a word. He adored her, but Scotland had changed Marblestone Mansion’s mistress, and he had no idea why. At least he was headed to Palmer Lake to see Madeline again, and that would lift his spirits. He halted the horses in front of the Whitfield mansion and waited while her footman helped Abigail get in. As soon as she was seated and gave her nod, he turned the carriage around and started down the hill to Colorado Springs.

  “Are you feeling better, my dearest friend?” Abigail asked.

  “Much better.”

  “Claymore and I were quite concerned. Are you truly upset about women having the right to vote? We saved the pieces of your vase, but alas, we could not repair it. Did you call your sister? I am certain she is…”

  Leesil was only half listening, nodded occasionally and just let Abigail talk. It was always best that way until her friend managed to run down. It normally only took a half hour or so, and she didn’t feel like talking just now anyway. That is, until Abigail got her full attention. “Deny him what?”

  “His husbandly pleasures, of course. If Claymore fathered another woman’s child, I would make his life just as miserable as Loretta is making that reprehensible Mr. Swinton’s.”