*
It was almost time for dinner when Hannish asked Alistair to have Prescot, Cameron, Cathleen and Leesil meet him in the front yard. While he waited, he stood at the window in the white marble foyer and watched the younger children play on the grass. Two servants were keeping an eye on them, and the boys were chasing the girls, as usual. The little ones couldn’t keep up, and the dog was racing around them all. Any other day, he would have loved nothing better than to stay and watch. Instead, he went outside and sent them all to the backyard. The older girls in the backyard would not be happy to see them, but he could not help that.
He walked around the statue of the Scottish lass situated on a pedestal in the circular flower planter, and went to the edge of the lawn where he was certain no one could overhear what he had to say. Bright green leaves were beginning to sprout on trees that had been resting through winter, and flowers were starting to bud, but he was too troubled to notice.
“He has a surprise for us,” Leesil guessed. She waited for Alistair to open the foyer door, and then stepped out into the sunshine. “A surprise way to the other side of the yard?”
“‘Tis beautiful out here,” Cathleen said to her husband as they followed Leesil across the grass.
“Indeed it is,” Cameron answered. He knew by the look on his brother’s face something was wrong. He glanced back at Alistair and Prescot, but neither of them seemed to know what was going on either.
Leesil happily went into her husband’s arms. “What are you up to, my love?” When he did not quickly answer, she drew back to look at the worried expression on his face. “What has happened?”
Hannish kissed her on the forehead and then looked at his brother. “I thought it best to discuss this where the others cannae hear.”
“Hear what?” Cameron asked.
“Dr. Morris telephoned.”
Cathleen caught her breath. “Has she died?”
“Unfortunately not, she has escaped.”
“What?” Leesil gasped.
“Oh no,” Cathleen moaned, “I thought us rid of her forever.”
“So did I.” Cameron put his arm around his wife. “How did she get out?”
“Dr. Morris thinks the gardener helped her. He has notified the authorities, but he dinna hold out hope of recoverin’ her.”
Leesil drew away and put her hands on her hips. “She would not dare come here.”
“I know not what she will do,” said Hannish, “but she knows very well who put her in the asylum.”
“With my help,” Butler Prescot muttered.
“Are you saying we are in danger?” Cathleen asked. “Surely, she is not that violent.”
“I pray you are right,” said Hannish.
Cameron shook his head. “Violent or not, she knows we have her daughter.”
For a long moment, no one spoke as they tried to best assess the situation. Finally, Hannish broke the silence. “Should we not warn Blair?”
“And tell her what?” an irritated Cameron asked. He let go of his wife and folded his arms. “That her mother is a lyin’, schemin’, money hungry lunatic, and that we had her put in an asylum?”
“I had her put in an asylum,” Hannish argued. “You had nothin’ to do with it.”
“It will matter not to Blair,” Cameron pointed out. “I knew about it – we all did, yet none of us did anythin’ to stop you.”
“You could not have stopped me,” Hannish said. “I did what needed to be done for all our sakes.”
Cameron took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “I feared this day would come.”
“So did I,” Cathleen admitted. “Blair has called me mother for years, and not once has she asked about the duchess. I know not what I would have told her, nor do I know what to tell her now, but we must not frighten her.”
“Yet, we must prevent her from willingly going off with her mother,” Leesil added. “Do we not all know how persuasive the duchess can be?”
“Aye, when she wants somethin’,” Hannish admitted. “What if she tells Blair she has our permission to take her?”
Leesil wrinkled her brow. “Blair would never believe that…would she?”
“I pray not, but we cannae be certain. We should tell her,” Cathleen suggested.
Cameron glanced back at the house and then shook his head. “I disagree. Suppose we forewarn Blair and the duchess does not come? I’ll not have her lookin’ over her shoulder constantly.”
Leesil said, “Blair is rarely without one of us, save when she is at school. We could have Prescot watch over her.”
Ex-prizefighter, Butler Prescot nodded. “I am more than willing.”
“But first, we must tell her,” said Cathleen. “If Blair knows she is being watched, she will think we dinna trust her.”
Cameron puffed his cheeks. “She will think that.”
They seemed to be at an impasse and everyone paused to silently consider all the possibilities.
At length Leesil muttered, “I wonder who Blair’s real father is.”
“I have always thought it was Lord Bayington,” Cameron answered. “He thinks so too, although he pretends to think otherwise. We’ve nearly a year unaccounted for after he threw the Duchess out. Furthermore, we know not Blair’s true birthday. I chose April 8th, just to have a day of celebration for her. She could be months younger or older than we know.”
Hannish nodded. “Older would be my guess.”
“Mine too,” Leesil agreed.
Cathleen also agreed, “Which is why we must not dress her in lady’s clothin’. ‘Twill be hard enough to keep the lads away once they know for certain she is older.”
“We cannae keep her a child forever,” said Cameron.
Hannish held up his hand. “We have gotten off the subject. Have we agreed not to tell Blair?”
Leesil slipped her hand into her husband’s. “I cannae believe the duchess would truly come, not after what happened the last time.”
“I am inclined to think that is exactly what she will do.” Cameron closed his eyes and bowed his head. “The last time we heard from the duchess, she demanded to have Blair back, and I told her to come get her. I doubt she has forgotten.”
“But surely she…” Cathleen started.
“What better way to make us suffer than to take Blair from us?” Cameron interrupted.
“Can we not try to find the duchess before she gets here?” Leesil asked.
“In New York City?” Prescot asked. “She could be anywhere.”
“Let us not think the worst,” Cathleen said. “She likely cannae afford a train ticket.”
“That is true,” Cameron admitted.
“Unless…” Hannish started. He abruptly walked across the lawn and went back in the house.
*
Bernie was still sitting behind his desk with his head in his hands. The duchess had taken all the ready cash he had, and he had little left in the bank. Times were hard and not many could afford antiques. In fact, he was forced to lower his prices, sometimes just to above cost.
When the phone rang, he was happy for the interruption. He was not happy, however, to learn who was calling. “Mr. MacGreagor?”
“Dr. Morris called to say Mrs. Graham has escaped. Have you seen her?”
“Indeed I have.”
“What did she want?”
“My help, naturally, and quite easily convinced me to do as she asked.”
“How?” Hannish asked.
Bernie closed his eyes. “I would rather not say.”
“Did you give her any money?”
“I did. I gave her clothes, jewels, and money,” Bernie admitted.
In his study, Hannish started to rub the back of his neck. “How much money?”
“As much as I had on hand, which comes to around two thousand dollars. I am nearly wiped out.”
Hannish took a deep breath and slowly released it. “Have you any idea where she has gone?”
“Back to England, or so she said
.”
“Did you believe her?”
“I have no reason not to.”
“Have you alerted the authorities?” Hannish asked.
“My gracious no. She has…a thing to hold against me, and…”
“You need not explain. I am quite familiar with her ways. Tell me this, was she malicious?”
“Not to me. She guessed it was I who told you where to find her, and when I confessed, she glared, but she did not seem overly spiteful.”
“Did you happen to give her a gun?”
“That, I did not do.” Bernie firmly answered. “She did not ask for one, and I did not offer, for fear she might shoot me.”
“Aye, I fear she might shoot me as well. If you hear from her again, will you let me know?”
“Of course.”
Hannish gave Bernie his number and then hung up the telephone. He felt anything but calm when he went back outside, but tried not to let it show. “She has money and she is on her way here.”
“How do you know?” Leesil asked.
“I talked to Mr. Hathaway, the lad who helped us capture her in New York. The duchess demanded clothing, jewels and money.”
“I see,” said Cameron. “But how do you know she is comin’ here?”
“She told him she was going back to London.”
“Oh, dear,” Cathleen moaned, “Hannish is right. She knows very well she cannae go back to London.”
“Just in case, we best call Laura and Edward,” Leesil suggested. “We cannae chance her showin’ up on their doorstep without alertin’ them.”
“Especially now that Edward is so very ill,” Cathleen agreed.
“Yet, what can be said on the telephone without someone listenin’ in?” Leesil asked.
“Laura speaks Gaelic,” Cathleen reminded them.
“Aye, but so do the scots that live here now,” said Cameron. “We dare not chance it.”
Cathleen sighed. “If the duchess has not already booked passage on a ship, a letter might reach London before she does. I shall send a post immediately.”
Hannish glanced at the mansion windows. Two servants were watching, but he ignored them. “We still have not agreed on which is the best course for Blair.”
“We truly should tell her,” Cathleen repeated.
“The clan,” Cameron thoughtfully mumbled.
“What about the clan?” Hannish asked.
“Most of them know the duchess and can help us keep watch. The more eyes looking for her, the better.”
“And Blair will not suspect she is bein’ watched?” Leesil asked.
“Precisely,” said Cameron.
At last, Hannish smiled. “Brother, you are right dead brilliant. I shall call a clan meetin’.”
“But not on the telephone,” Leesil reminded him. “Abigail will likely have heart tremors if she fears runnin’ into Charles’ first wife.”
Hannish turned to Alistair, “See to it, will you? Have the clansmen meet me in the warehouse yard tomorrow morning at nine.”
“Aye,” Alistair answered.
Cameron added, “Dugan knows the duchess well. Perhaps he might drive the children to school from now on.”
Hannish nodded to Alistair. “See to that as well.”
“What do I tell Tristin?” asked Alistair. “He is fond of drivin’ the children.”
Hannish answered, “I am hoping you can think of somethin’.”
“Aye,” Alistair said.
“Prescot, ask the servants who know about the duchess to be on guard,” Hannish said. “She may be brazen enough to walk right in the front door.”
“‘Tis what she did to Laura and Edward,” Cathleen reminded them.
Hannish took another deep breath. “See that the doors are locked at night, and bring Traitor inside. He may be troublesome, but he can be counted on to bark at strangers.”
“Aye,” said Prescot.
Frustrated, Hannish clenched his fists. “‘Tis not knowin’ where she is I find most disturbin’.” He abruptly turned, walked across the lawn, and disappeared around the side of the mansion.
“Where is he goin’?” Cathleen asked.
“He goes to chop wood,” Alistair guessed.
Leesil sighed. “Aye, ‘tis what he always does when the duchess troubles him, though he has not had the need in years.”
“He blames himself too severely,” said Cameron. “He could not have foreseen the trouble she would cause. Can you not talk to him, Leesil?”
“I have tried, but to no avail. I shall try again.” She kissed Cameron on the cheek and headed back to the house. Alistair hurried to open the door for her and Prescot followed.
When the others were gone, Cathleen turned to her husband. “Is it settled? Have we decided to pretend life goes on as usual?”
He took her in his arms. “You are the mother of all my children, especially Blair. You are beautiful, wise beyond your years and to you alone, I confess. I truly know not what to do, but my heart tells me it is not yet time to tell Blair about her mother. She is young, happy, and too full of life to lie awake nights fearin’ her mother will try to take her.”
“Then I shall honor your decision.”
He brushed a strand of loose hair off her forehead, and then kissed her lips. “We best go in before someone guesses somethin’ is amiss.”
Cameron and Cathleen were about to go back inside when Blair and her friends came flooding out the front door. A moment later, Tristin brought the carriage around to take her classmates home. Blair bid all her friends goodbye, and then went to hug her father.
“My darling Blair, how was school today?” Cameron asked.
“Today we learned about the birds and the bees,” Blair answered.
“What?” Cameron asked.
“Not those birds and bees, Mother already explained that to me.”
Cameron put his other arm around his wife and walked them toward the steps. “Oh. Daughter, I have been wondering.”
“What, Father?”
“If someone said you were to go with them…that I had given my permission but did not mention it to you, would you go?”
Blair stopped walking and turned to look in his eyes. “Who would lie to me in such a way?”
“What your father means,” Cathleen said, “is that someone might take you and demand money for your return.”
“Kidnap me? Oh, I see.” Blair giggled. “Have I your permission to kick them in the shins, Father?”
“You do, as long as you promise you will not believe a lie, even if ‘tis a lass and not a lad that tries to take you.”
Blair winked at her mother. “‘Tis the lasses who are the most dangerous.”
“Promise?” Cameron insisted.
“I promise, but you need not fret. I am rarely alone, even when I want to be.” As soon as Alistair opened it, Blair dashed through the door, hurried across the foyer, up the marble stairs, and went out of sight.
“Thank you,” said Cameron, releasing her and letting his wife go in first. “I knew not what to say.”
“She is right, she is rarely alone. When her friends are not here, she prefers the company of our delightful Lillie May.”
Cameron nodded. “Lillie Mae is delightful. Perhaps ‘tis time for Blair to have a Lady’s maid of her own.”
“Past time, if you ask me. Shall I see to it?”
“Please.” Cameron lightly kissed Cathleen again and went to the study. Through the window, he could see his brother chopping wood. Beads of sweat were already glistening on Hannish’s brow, and it reminded Cameron of the day they learned their parents had been killed in a train wreck. That day, Hannish worked long into the night. Chopping wood was always how Hannish coped.
CHAPTER 3
“What do you suggest?” Butler Prescot asked after he closed the door to their shared office on the first floor. The room held a desk, four chairs, two lamps and a magazine rack. A long, narrow table against the wall held a pitcher of fresh water, two glasses,
a washbasin and clean towels. On the walls hung paintings of Scotland, one of which depicted a Scottish carpenter at work. It reminded Butler Alistair of his father.
It was Alistair’s week to keep the mansion running smoothly while Prescot manned the busy front door. Therefore, Alistair took a seat behind the desk while Prescot made himself comfortable opposite him. They wore matching black suits over white shirts with stiff collars, black vests and thin black ties. Nevertheless, they were distinctly different. A Scot through and through, and sometimes proper to a fault, Alistair was tall with a slender build, brown hair and blue eyes. The American ex-prizefighter, Prescot, had a stout build, dark wavy hair, and brown eyes. Yet, he was the more easygoing of the two.
“If we summon all those who know about the duchess, the others will think somethin’ is awry,” said Alistair.
“Especially Lillie Mae.”
Alistair could not help but smile. “She must have a touch of Irish blood, for she does enjoy her blarney?”
“Do not tell Millie, but I enjoy it as well. Lillie Mae can even make Brookton blush.” Prescot paused to think about the problem at hand. “Perhaps we could pretend to talk to each of them about their positions.”
“Let them make suggestions for improvements?”
“Or voice complaints?”
“Complaints?” Alistair asked. “Not at Marblestone.”
Prescot chuckled. “Certainly not. We have a few days before the duchess can possibly arrive, and that should be sufficient to interview each of them.”
Alistair wrinkled his brow. “Tristin shall be disappointed not to drive the children.”
“I have considered that. Why not let Tristin drive the younger children and have Dugan… no, that will not do.”
“Blair would know somethin’ is up,” said Alistair.
“She would, indeed. I have seen Tristin watching the horses. Perhaps he might like caring for them more than he enjoys driving the children. Paul could use the help.”
“And if Tristin says he would not?”
Marblestone Mansion, Book 8 Page 3
