Marblestone Mansion, Book 7

by Marti Talbott

  It was of Jedidiah she was thinking all the way through dinner in yet another out-of-the-way restaurant. Now that she was in America, she was not all that far from the foothills of Colorado, where she was certain he had hidden the money gained from his many bank robberies. It was just lying there, somewhere, awaiting his return. She was even closer to where the love of her life was gunned down and lay bleeding in the streets of Kansas City. She felt a slight pang of guilt, for it was she who turned him into the authorities, but her regret did not last long. After all, he was her only ticket out of a Colorado prison.

  Come to think of it, Jedidiah did not even propose. He merely slipped an engagement ring on her finger. What woman could resist an exciting bank robber, with thrilling eyes and a touch that set her skin on fire? She was so in love, the wedding was a blur and…What did Bernie just say?

  “You know her?” the duchess asked. The woman in question was well dressed and looked as out of place as the duchess felt. The woman sat properly straight, held her head high and wore a feather decorated, wide brimmed hat that exactly matched her red dress. Suddenly, the duchess felt Bernie’s hand on hers.

  “She is the wife of James E. Barnes, the owner of the several of New York’s finest clothiers.”

  “I see.”

  Bernie leaned a little closer. “The gentleman with her is not her husband.”

  The duchess shrugged as if it did not matter, which of course, it did not. Her reaction caused Bernie to smile. He was an odd one, all right. She finished her meal, endured yet another story of his youthful adventures, and wondered if he would ever get around to popping the question.

  Not but a few minutes later, the duchess sealed her own fate in a way she could never have imagined.

  As she was leaving the restaurant, the wife of James E. Barnes passed their table, at which time a very valuable ring accidentally slipped off her finger. The duchess saw it, pretended her shoe needed adjusting, bent over, recovered the ring and secretly slipped it into her purse. She pretended to adjust her shoe a bit longer, and then sat up and smiled. “There, that is better.” Not once did she suspect he knew exactly what she had done.

  Bernie was quiet for a time, enjoying a second glass of wine before he finally said, “My dear, I’ve a proposal to make.”

  At last, she thought. The duchess needed a bit of fortification and picked up her wine glass.

  “It is a business proposal that shall be quite beneficial to us both.”

  She nearly spit out her drink. “A business proposal?” It took a moment for her to recover her composure. “What sort of business?”

  “Nothing you shall not completely enjoy, I assure you. You see, I own an auction house.”

  “A what?”

  “An auction house. Surely, you have heard of them.”

  “Of course I have, but…”

  “The auctions are held every Wednesday and Saturday.” He withdrew a printed brochure from inside his jacket pocket and handed it across the table to her.

  “Oh…I see.” At least now, she could see why he ignored her on those two days. It was not a mistress after all, and his was not a marriage proposal. Business had to do with work; even she knew that. Yet, the brochure was quite impressive, and detailed descriptions of the items to be sold. There were sets of dishes dating as far back as the American Revolution, famous paintings, silver candelabra, gold ornamentals, and all sorts of oak furniture that was constantly coveted, she knew, by the wealthy. Finished looking at it, she passed the brochure back. “But they call you Colonel. I thought…”

  Bernie chuckled. “I am afraid my sort of title has nothing to do with the military. After the Civil War, when the colonels sold off all the goods they seized, the name just somehow stuck to the auctioneers.”

  “You are the auctioneer?”

  “I am, and I quite enjoy myself. However…” He stared into her eyes for a long moment before he continued. “You see, I also enjoy my success, as do the people who work for me. I have several in my employ whom I pay handsomely for their services.”

  The duchess did not like the word services at all and frowned.

  “It is not what you think. The ladies and gentlemen simply do a little bidding at the auctions to make certain the items bring a…a necessary profit.”

  “They are shills?” she asked.

  “Ah, you know more about auctions than you let on. Some call them potted plants, but I call them employees and necessary ones at that.”

  At last, the duchess began to smile. It was clear he wanted her to know precisely what she was getting into before he married her. “I see no real harm in it.” It was the truth; she saw nothing wrong with it at all.

  “I was hoping you would see it that way. Dena will be more than happy to explain everything to you, and then we can get started.”

  Her stare was completely blank. “Get started?”

  “Indeed. You can hardly work for me without proper instruction.”

  “Are you asking me to make false bids?”

  “You are perfect for it. You dress as if you have money, thanks to me I might add, and you pass yourself off as upper class quite splendidly.”

  Her ire was beginning to rise. “Pass myself off? Mr. Hathaway, I…” She stopped herself just in time.

  “You are offended, I see. Forgive me, but let us not fool ourselves. You enjoy money as much as I do.”

  The duchess paused while a waiter came to serve their dessert, and did not speak again until he was gone. “Precisely how much are my services worth to you?”

  “On hundred dollars per night.”

  Her mouth dropped. “One hundred…” The idea was suddenly beginning to grow on her, and it was all finally making sense. He mostly took her to out of the way places where the wealthy would not see them together. She sifted her eyes back and forth a few times and then asked, “Suppose I am not outbid?”

  “No harm is done. I lose only the fee I would otherwise have made, and I put the item up for sale again sometime later.”

  “Is it not illegal?”

  “Illegal is such an ugly word, do you not agree?”

  It occurred to her she knew exactly what prison was like, and she cared not to go back. At length, she sighed. “I thank you for the offer, but I cannot.”

  “I think you might change your mind.”

  “Why would I?”

  “Because you are nearly out of money. Am I right?”

  “I can manage.”

  “Not for long. Naturally, you could sell me the ring you just picked up off the floor. I noticed you did not offer to return it the rightful the owner, although you knew precisely to whom it belonged.”

  Truly amazed, her mouth dropped. “I did not…”

  “Do not bother denying it.”

  She scratched a spot on her neck that had been itching for the past few minutes. He was right, there was no point in arguing – she was caught. He was right about her financial situation too. The duchess hardly had enough to pay the rent for one more month. After that, she had no idea how she would manage. “You wish to buy the ring from me?”

  “I offer enough to pay your room and board for another three months.”

  She was hesitant, but at length, she withdrew the ring from her purse and set it on the table. He quickly laid three fifty dollar bills beside it and picked up the ring. As soon as she put the money in her purse and looked at him, his grin was wide and sinister. “My dear, I now have proof of your thievery. It would be sad indeed, if you forced me to inform the authorities. I greatly suspect the necklace and ring you wear constantly are stolen as well, unless you can explain where you got them.”

  The duchess felt the blood drain out of her face. She lost her breath so completely, she was certain she would die right there on the spot. Unfortunately, she did not die. Was Lady Husher claiming she had stolen the jewelry, and word of it had reached all the way to America? That thought had never occurred to her before.

  “Now, as I was saying,” Berni
e continued, “Dena shall give you full instructions and answer all your questions. I expect you to arrive at Central Park at precisely ten o’clock, and take up a position on the first bench on 5th Avenue. Do not pretend you are unfamiliar with the location, for I have seen you walk past my home nearly every day. You are not the first to hope to be discovered by a man of means by strolling down the avenue, and I doubt you shall be the last.”

  First, she was caught stealing, then pressed into his service, and now thoroughly embarrassed. What more could go wrong? The duchess dreaded the answer, but she asked the question anyway, “Precisely how long am I to be in your employ?”

  “For as long as you are needed.”

  *

  It was still unbearably hot and humid, but that was the least of her troubles when the duchess entered the hotel elevator and went to her room. She stripped down, sat at her table and covered her face with her hands. What was she to do now? She openly moaned a few times, rubbed her temples and tried to examine her lack of a marriage proposal objectively. It occurred to her that she made two grievous mistakes. First, she should not have said she was a bigamist, for even if he laughed, he might have taken her seriously. Second, she let him see her steal the ring, and then sold it to him, giving him proof of her thievery.

  She was outsmarted and trapped, so truly trapped she was nearly in tears. For two hours, she bemoaned her predicament, tried to think of a way out of it, and even considered running away. Unfortunately, a hundred and fifty dollars wouldn’t go far in a new place where she would have to start all over.

  At length, however, it occurred to her that men who were able to buy expensive items at auctions spelled money – far more money than Bernie could boast of. Indeed, in a room full of wealthy men, she was certain to attract the attention of one or more. Perhaps being in Bernie’s employment not only solved her temporary impoverishment, but had other benefits as well. If she still could not find a husband, she might at least manage to save enough for a new start somewhere else.

  The next morning, she did precisely as she was told. In fact, she arrived in Central Park early, opened her borrowed parasol to shade herself from the sun, and eagerly waited for someone named Dena to approach her. She was tempted, but did not look at the mansions directly behind her on 5th Avenue. It wasn’t hard to guess Bernie was standing in the window of one of them watching to make certain she showed up.

  Dena was late and out of breath when she plopped down on the bench beside the duchess. She was an older woman, perhaps in her forties, but well dressed. She too held a parasol above her head.

  “Forgive my tardiness, Mrs. Dell. Bernie called but an hour ago and I missed the first cable car.”

  “I understand.” The duchess was determined to be pleasant, for at this point, she had a lot of questions. “Does he truly pay as well as he says?”

  “Indeed he does, and without fail. We meet him in a Brooklyn hotel room where no one knows him, and he pays us then.”

  “A hotel room?”

  Dena giggled, “I assure you, we are perfectly safe.”

  “How many of us are there?”

  “Three women and two men, so far. We do not work constantly. He rotates us, so as not to draw suspicion.”

  “I see. Then I cannot expect to become wealthy.”

  Dena smiled. “Not anytime soon, but it is better than working the streets, if you get my meaning.”

  The duchess couldn’t think of a lower occupation, and certainly had no respect for those who did, but she was beginning to see how it could happen. “I understand completely. What precisely do I have to do?”

  “It is simple really. The lowest prices acceptable will be listed on the brochure he sends you in the mail. You are to memorize them and let those that bid carry on, unless their bid is lower than the price you have memorized. In that case, you make a bid.”

  “And if the others drop out?”

  “Then there is no harm done. The item goes back to the warehouse and is sold later.”

  “That way, Bernie is assured of a profit?” the duchess asked.

  “It is brilliant, is it not?”

  “As long as we do not get caught.”

  “I worry about that too,” Dena admitted. “Who are you? I mean you have a British accent. Are you from England?”

  “London, originally.”

  “London? How wonderful. Everyone in America is from somewhere else, you know, except the Indians. My ancestors were Scottish…or maybe it was Irish, or both. My grandmother used to call them, Island Hoppers.”

  At last, the duchess had something to smile about. “That is the first I have heard them called that, but I suppose it is true. Where are you from?”

  “I was born right here and have not seen any other place. My family could never afford to go west like so many others. Anyway, I do not mind living here, although I do hope to travel someday.”

  “Travel can be a bit tedious.”

  “I could endure tedious if I had to.” Dena smiled and then stood up. “Shall we not get out of the hot sun and take a walk in the shade of the trees?”

  “I would like that.”

  Both women folded their parasols and headed for the trees. The street vendors were already at work offering Italian breads, lemonade, baked potatoes and a large assortment of candies.

  “This is the most beautiful spot in the world,” said Dena, “when the trees begin to turn colors in autumn, and the most treacherous in winter when it is iced over. The children love it in winter, and bring their sleds.”

  “Have you any children?” the duchess asked.

  “Two boys, but they are grown now. They work in deplorable factories, unfortunately, but there is little other work to be had.” She paused to buy an Italian bun from a vendor, and then walked on. “You are not hungry?”

  “Not yet,” the duchess answered.

  “Mrs. Dell, are you married?”

  “I am widowed,” the duchess answered, without knowing it was actually true, and had been since her first husband died the year before.

  “So am I. Husbands can be a bit troublesome anyway, do you not agree?”

  “You have no idea,” the duchess muttered.

  “I can do without another husband and thanks to Bernie, I support myself well enough.”

  The duchess had a lot to say on that subject, but she decided not to. Soon, they were standing in front of the most beautiful fountain she had seen since leaving London. The Bethesda Fountain with a bronze angel on the top sat at the edge of a lake, and she found the water spilling over the rim of the upper base very soothing.

  “Forgive me,” the duchess said at length, “but may I ask if you came to be in the service of Mr. Hathaway, willingly, or…”

  “You mean, did he trick me? Let me guess, a woman just happened to drop her ring and you picked it up.” She could tell by the expression on her new friend’s face that she had hit the nail on the head. “How much did he pay you for it?”

  “One hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “That much? He got me for only a hundred. The woman who dropped the ring is one of us.”

  The duchess sneered, “How very clever of him.”

  “I think so.”

  Together, they began to stroll around the lake, opening their parasols when the shade no longer covered them. “If he uses the same ring, then he does not intend to follow through with his threat?”

  “I do not see how he can. What a silly man he is for thinking he had to trick me, and I told him so. I would have accepted right away.”

  “You do not fear prison?”

  “Of course I do, but they won’t catch us, as long as no one tells and we are paid in secret.”

  “He has thought of everything, I see.”

  “Everything I can think of,” said Dena. She took another bite of her Italian bun and savored the taste. “This is delicious.”

  Bernie had not thought of everything, but the duchess had no desire to point that out just yet. “If I hav
e questions, how may I reach you?”

  “Here, I shall write my number.” Dena reached in the cloth purse that dangled from her wrist, withdrew a paper and pencil, wrote down the number and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” The duchess tucked the scrap of paper inside her purse and headed for a street vendor. “I believe I am hungry after all.”

  CHAPTER 7

  It was not often the duchess came across a London paper she did not have to pay for, but occasionally, someone would leave a copy in the hotel lobby. Excited to see one she had not read, the duchess quickly picked it up and took it to her room. She eagerly devoured the society news, which always fascinated her, and often mentioned people she knew personally. This time, she didn’t see but one name she recognized. When she read that Lady Mott married a French Count she’d never heard of, she once more considered going back to Europe. Counts were just as good as dukes, in her opinion, for all of them were wealthy and were admired. Still, it was perhaps too soon and there was no harm in waiting for the revolting gossip about her to go away before she attempted it.

  There was never any mention of her. Whatever her esteemed society was saying about her, they were shrewd enough not to let it get in the newspapers. Alas, the London season was about to end, and she profoundly regretted no longer being a part of it, but just now, she had other things on her mind. The duchess was about to fold the paper and put it aside when she noticed the picture of a burned out castle. It looked oddly familiar and soon she realized why.

  Fire destroys Glenartair Castle

  “How thrilling!” she nearly shouted. “Oh, my poor Hannish,” she mocked, “your castle has crumbled to the ground, but then, who deserves it more than you?” She was so excited she had to force herself to read on.

  According to Provost MacGreagor, on Thursday last, a townsman up past all proper bedtimes, smelled smoke and rang the alarm. Straight away, the fire wagon was hitched up and sent to see what ‘twas ablaze. “Never seen nothin’ like the sight of it meself,” said Provost MacGreagor. “Flames shot up higher than a mountain, and we tried, but we cannae get close enough to put water on it.”