Marblestone Mansion, Book 6

by Marti Talbott

  He wrinkled his brow. “How do you think she got all those children?”

  Madeline laughed and then turned down a path between two houses that led to her boarding house. “I live there,” she said, pointing at the newly painted, three-story structure with yet another picket fence.

  He sped up to open the gate for her and then held it while she went in. “What book are you reading these days?”

  “I just finished one and I liked it very much,” she said turning around as he closed the gate. “Why is it, when you truly love a book, it takes forever to find another you love as much?”

  “I have that same problem. When next I come, I shall bring you one of my favorites.”

  “When will that be?”

  “Mr. Hannish is worried about your safety and wishes me to come every day…unless you object.”

  “Why would I object, you are my most generous tipper. Good night, Mr. Boland.”

  It was not the answer he hoped for, but it would have to do. He watched her walk up the steps and nodded when she glanced back. Tom stayed long enough to make certain she was inside safely and then went back to the avenue. Just as he was about to turn toward the café, he spotted Loretta Swinton.

  She stood on her second floor balcony watching him, so he stopped and waited to see what she would do. It was obvious she knew who he was, and the look on her face truly betrayed her unhappiness. If she was in need of help, surely she knew she could trust him enough to motion for him to come to her.

  Instead, she went back inside and closed her door.

  *

  It was early morning when the smell of rain filled the Colorado air. Dark storm clouds quickly moved in from the east and brought with it what most had come to call a cloudburst. The water was a welcome sight to everyone but the Whitfield and MacGreagor builders, who had not yet finished the roof on their newest house. Hannish rode off early to help the men, while Moan braved the downpour and headed to the office in Colorado Springs.

  Bookkeeper and secretary for the construction company, Cousin Moan was anxious to match the new inventory to the supplies that had been delivered. He was a stickler about such things, and keeping it all in order was his pride and joy. He rode his horse to the livery stable where he normally left if for the day, hurried across the street, and opened the door to the building. He removed his hat, dumped the water off the top, and then went up the stairs.

  It was not until he found the office door unlocked and ajar, that he suspected something was amiss. “Claymore?” he asked as he pushed the door open. Claymore did not answer and there was no one in the outer office, so he opened the door to Claymore’s office. It too was empty. As near as he could tell, Mr. Whitfield had not yet arrived and nothing had been disturbed. Still, he was certain he had locked the front door the night before.

  Moan shrugged, hung his wet jacket on the coat rack, and then took up his usual position in the chair behind his desk. He opened the drawer on his left, pulled out the list of on-hand supplies from the inventory Hannish had taken, and then opened the top drawer on his right. To his astonishment, the list of deliveries he had so carefully put there the night before was gone.

  Diligently and to no avail, he searched the two offices from top to bottom. It was perhaps a small thing, for the list could be reconstructed by pulling out all the invoices and starting over. It was, however, an annoyance and he suspected he knew exactly who had broken into the office – Mr. Douglas Swinton. What could Swinton possibly want with a list of suppliers?

  The answer came sooner than he expected.

  “Mr. MacGreagor?” the man on the other end of the telephone asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Samuel at C&D Lumber in Denver. We got a call this morning from a Mr. Whitfield cancelling your order. Mr. MacGreagor, we have gone to great lengths to…”

  Moan brought his hand up to his brow. “I assure you, Mr. Whitfield did not place that call. He has not even arrived yet this morning.”

  “Then you do not wish to cancel your order?”

  “That is the last thing we want. We are in desperate need of it.”

  “I am greatly relieved, Mr. MacGreagor.”

  Moan heard the caller on the other end of the telephone hang up, and then went to work calling all their other suppliers. Cancelling their orders was the most underhanded thing Moan had ever heard of, but then, they were dealing with a man these days that few thought of as reputable.

  CHAPTER 7

  It rained for most of two whole days in Colorado Springs. Puddles filled wheel ruts in the roads; horse’s legs became caked with mud, and shoes of every size, from one end of town to the other, were in need of a good cleaning. Children were forced to stay inside to the chagrin of their mothers, and farmers worried their crops would not be harvested in time.

  When the rain stopped, the clouds moved away, and the ground hardened again, the townspeople happily went about their business as usual. Main Street filled with shoppers, the general store had more than its usual number of customers to wait on at one time, the drugstore did its best to quickly serve sodas to the people who were lined up, and everyone renewed their complaints about the heat.

  Therefore, no one noticed when Sharon Green opened the door to the Sheriff’s office and went in. She was dressed in what appeared to be her Sunday best, complete with white gloves that once belonged to her older sister, a faded blue dress, and a plain gray hat.

  Both Sheriff Thompson and the judge quickly stood up. “Miss Green, what brings you here?” the sheriff asked.

  “Judge Mitchel, if you please, I…” Sharon began, looking the judge in the eye.

  “You wish to talk to the sheriff alone?” the judge asked.

  “If you please.”

  “Of course.” The Judge picked up his hat, nodded, and walked out the door.

  “Now then, sit down, Miss Green, sit down and tell me what is on your mind.” Sheriff Thompson waited for her to sit before he retook his seat.

  “Sheriff, I…” she paused and shifted her eyes from side to side.

  “Yes, go on.”

  “Everyone thinks Mr. Swinton did something to Patella, but he did not. I should have said something earlier, but Father will be even more upset if he knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  “Before she passed, Patella talked of killing herself. I didn’t think she truly would do it. You won’t tell my father, will you? It would break his heart…his already broken heart. Mother could take it, and I sometimes think she suspects, but father would…”

  “I give you my word, I will not tell him. You are saying she committed suicide?”

  “She said if she could get some poison, it would be easy.”

  “What kind of poison…where did she get it?”

  “I do not know. Everyone has poison for the rats and such.” Tears gathered in the lower rims of the teenager’s eyes. “I begged her not to, and she promised she wouldn’t…and then she did.”

  The sheriff glanced at the broken teacup he had sitting on his shelf. “You wouldn’t happen to know how the cup got broken, would you?”

  “We had worked very hard all day and I was bone tired. I went to sleep, you see, and I heard the cup break, but I didn’t make myself wake up. If only I had...” Sharon’s tears began to stream down her cheeks.

  Sheriff Thompson got up, walked around his desk, and put his hand on her shoulder. “By then, it was likely too late.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I do. Some poisons can kill a man in the time it takes to snap a finger.”

  “I see. Thank you, Sheriff.”

  When she didn’t get up to leave, he sat on the edge of his desk and waited.

  She dried her eyes with her kerchief and took in two heavy breaths before she said, “I suppose I should tell you the rest.”

  “The rest of what?”

  “It was not Mr. Swinton’s baby.”

  The sheriff’s mouth dropped. “What?”

  “She
said it is…was another man’s child, but he is already married.”

  “Did she tell you who it was?”

  “She never would say. I’ve got my suspicions, but that’s all they are, suspicions. I never saw her with anyone, but she did sneak out of the house at night sometimes.”

  “Down those creaky stairs?”

  Sharon nodded. “How else are we to get to the outhouse?”

  He considered that for a moment. If the children could come and go without waking their parents, Mr. and Mrs. Green would not have heard Swinton either. On the other hand, Patella’s sister was in the very same room, and he doubted Swinton could have kept Patella quiet while he suffocated her. Poison was a much more likely cause of death – he could see that now. “Why would she say it was Mr. Swinton’s baby, if it was not?”

  Sharon carefully folded her kerchief and put it back in her pocket. “She needed money so she could go away and have her baby somewhere other than here. Her condition was…it made Father…sad, I suppose is the best way to put it.”

  “I can see how it would. Miss Green, would you like some coffee?”

  “No thank you, Sheriff.”

  “If Patella knew Swinton was not the father of her child, why would she claim he was?”

  “I guess she threatened to say it was his, unless he paid her not to.”

  “Blackmail?”

  “It might have worked for a while, but I have not found any money hidden away, and I’ve looked everywhere I can think of. She might have buried it somewhere.”

  “If he was paying her off, wouldn’t she have already left town.”

  “Sheriff, Patella was…God forgive me for saying such a thing about the dead, but she could be deceitful at times. Maybe she thought there was a lot more where that came from.”

  The sheriff stroked the stubble of his beard for a moment. “If she thought she could get more money, then why did she say it was his baby at the wedding reception?”

  “Father said terrible things to her that day. He said she brought shame on the family, even we children. He kept demanding to know who the father was and she couldn’t tell him the truth, so she said it was Mr. Swinton.”

  “Go on.”

  “Father was going to force Mr. Swinton to marry her, and went for his gun. That’s when Patella took the horse and went to the wedding reception at Mr. Whitfield’s house.”

  “To warn him?”

  “Perhaps at first, but I know my sister. By the time she got there, she was probably mad as…I mean, if he had paid her what she wanted, she would have been long gone by then.”

  “She did it out of spite.”

  “Most likely.”

  Sheriff Thompson stared at the floor, trying to take it all in.

  “By the time she got home,” Sharon continued, “Father had calmed down. She told him how Mr. Swinton already married Miss Collins and how she had accused him publicly. She said the shame was Mr. Swinton’s now too, and that was good enough.”

  “But it wasn’t his baby.”

  “It was not. Mr. Swinton never laid a hand on Patella, not a hand.”

  “And you do not know who the real father was?”

  “Even if I did, it no longer matters, does it, Sheriff?”

  “I suppose not.” As soon as she stood up, he opened the door, let her out, and then watched her walk down the busy street.

  If what Sharon Green said was true, and he had no real reason to doubt her, a grave injustice had been done to Douglas Swinton, and he knew just what to do to set things right. He looked across the street, saw Claymore sitting in his upstairs office, went back inside, and picked up his telephone.

  *

  “Mrs. Whitfield, this is Sheriff Thompson.”

  In the Whitfield mansion parlor, Abigail put her hand over her heart, as she was prone to do when she was taken aback. “Is it Claymore, is he…”

  “Nothing like that, Mrs. Whitfield. I was hoping to speak to your husband, but your butler said he is not home. Will you be so kind as to give him a message?”

  “Of course, Sheriff, what is it?”

  “Tell him I have given it careful consideration, and I doubt there will ever be a way to prove who burned down his warehouse.”

  “Sheriff, you know very well Mr. Douglas Swinton did it. Who else had reason to do such damage to the Whitfields and the MacGreagors?”

  “I think we might have been wrong about Mr. Swinton.”

  “How so?”

  “I hesitate to say, Mrs. Whitfield, but I have heard Mr. Swinton was not the father of Miss Green’s baby.”

  “What?”

  “I best not say anymore. Please…”

  “Not the father? How do you know?”

  “Let us just say I have it from a very reliable source.”

  “What reliable source?”

  “Mrs. Whitfield, you would not want me telling something you said in confidence, would you?”

  “I certainly would not. Did the real father confess?”

  “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

  “You have my word, Sheriff, I’ll not tell another living soul. Did the real father confess?”

  “Well, I won’t say yes…but I won’t say no either.”

  “Then it was the father.”

  “Will you tell Mr. Whitfield I…” The sheriff smiled when he heard her hang up. Out of curiosity, he stayed on the line and waited until Abigail picked the telephone back up, and cranked the operator ringer. “Mable,” he heard her say, “connect me with Pearl this very instant…You know Pearl who!”

  Stifling his laughter, the sheriff carefully hung up the telephone.

  *

  When Tom came to the café the next day, Madeline was too busy to say much until her customers had been served. At last, she went to his table, refilled his cup with coffee and whispered, “Word of Mr. Swinton’s innocence has spread faster than last year’s wildfire. The cook already knew before I got here this morning.”

  “Have you seen Mrs. Swinton?”

  “Not yet, but I expect to see her soon. Their housekeeper said Mr. Swinton had just gotten off the train from Denver, and was on his way home when the call came.”

  “Who called?”

  “I didn’t ask.” Madeline turned to check on her customers, noticed a man motioning her over, and left for a moment. When she came back, she picked up the conversation right where she left off. “The housekeeper went upstairs to tell Mrs. Swinton and later, she heard Mrs. Swinton beg her husband’s forgiveness for not believing him.”

  “Did he forgive her?”

  Madeline looked up when the door opened and watched a happy Loretta Swinton enter, walk to her usual table and sit down. “Apparently so.” Madeline whispered. She hurried off to get Mrs. Swinton’s usual cup of tea, came back and sat down at Tom’s table. “I am so relieved to see her smiling again. It is the difference between night and day.” She paused for a long moment before she said, “I have enjoyed our conversations, but I doubt Mr. MacGreagor will want a daily report now. Will you return from time to time, just to say hello.”

  “I hope to return tomorrow, if you agree.”

  “Agree to what?”

  “The family has decided to go to the baseball game, and I would be honored if you would go with us…I mean me.” Tom felt like he was falling over his words, but she eased his nervousness with a smile.

  “Baseball? I confess I have never been. Do you promise to explain everything to me?”

  “I promise. Will the cook let you come?”

  Madeline turned her back to the kitchen and whispered her reply, “She’ll complain for at least a month, but I dare her to try and stop me.”

  Tom chuckled. “Will one o’clock do?”

  “I’ll be ready. Should I bring anything?”

  “The MacGreagors will see to all we need and never do they have a shortage of food. We shall eat in the park before the game, so bring a hearty appetite.”

  “A hearty appetite it is.”
She smiled, watched him go and spent the rest of the day floating on air. At last, she was assured Tom was truly interested in her. She had heard so much about the rest of the MacGreagor clan, she was also excited to see if what she’d heard was true. They had a reputation for being fun loving, and she could use a giant dose of fun just now.

  *

  Just for the occasion, Tom rode his horse to town and rented a two-seater pleasure carriage, with four very large, fourteen spoke wheels, polished black exterior, gray upholstered seats, and a matching black canopy to shield them from the sun.

  Twice, he pulled to the side of the road to let a wagonload of freshly cut hay go in the opposite direction, and savored the smell. Nothing reminded him of home more than freshly cut hay.

  On the main street of Palmer Lake, more than one person stopped to stare at the grand exhibition his arrival made. Renting a carriage like that cost more than most men could afford. Wearing brown, baggy knee, knickerbockers, a brown shirt, and a straw boater hat, Tom halted the horse, went into the café and waited while Madeline got her cloth clutch bag and joined him. Finally, she had some place special to wear her blue skirt and frilly white blouse. Even her shoes were new, bought and paid for with the money Tom tipped her. Her hair was fashionably piled on top of her head, a necessity in such heat, and her rosy cheeks betrayed her excitement.

  “My word,” she said, hesitating before she got in to admire the expensive vehicle. “Have you struck gold?”

  “Hasn’t everyone?” Tom answered.

  She laughed, took his hand, let him help her aboard, and then waited until he sat beside her. Madeline had a reputation of turning down all other offers, and there would be gossip about her now, but she didn’t care.

  Tom got the carriage turned around and headed back up the road toward Colorado Springs before he said, “Lest you think I am wealthy, this lowly buggy was the only one left.”

  “Lowly, this is the nicest rig I have ever seen. We came to Colorado in a covered wagon, and that’s what I consider lowly. Thank heavens we have trains now. Of course, I was not yet born and remember nothing of it.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Illinois. Papa said it was too cold there.”