Marblestone Mansion, Book 8

by Marti Talbott

  “It is you,” Gloria happily exclaimed. “How on earth did you find me? I mean, what…have you done to your hair?”

  The duchess giggled appropriately. “Red hair is the fashion these days.”

  “Is it? I had not heard. Tell me, why have you come?”

  “I wish to ask a favor. Is there a place where we might speak in private?”

  “Of course, do come in. Fredrick, send tea to the sitting room.” Gloria took her guest through the parlor and down the hall to a sitting room that faced north. “I cannot imagine how I might help, but I am most willing. Do sit down, Miss…”

  “Alexandra Sinclair.”

  Gloria’s smile was wide. “Of course.” She made herself comfortable on a sofa opposite the one her guest sat on, and waited to hear the request.

  The duchess might have known the sitting room would face north and already she was too cold. She causally took off her spectacles and put them in her small cloth purse. “Are you acquainted with Blair MacGreagor?”

  “Of course, the MacGreagors are our dearest friends.”

  “I wonder if you might call and ask her to join us.”

  “I have a better idea. It is but a short walk and I shall take…”

  “That will not do,” the duchess interrupted. She paused to find just the right words. “I am an old friend of the family, at least I used to be, but we parted on less than friendly terms. I assure you, I would not be welcome at Marblestone.”

  Gloria wrinkled her brow. “How curious, I have never known the MacGreagors to be unfriendly to anyone.”

  “Be that as it may, I would like to see Blair again, and I am certain she shall be happy to see me. If you could arrange a rather secretive meeting between the two of us, I would be most thankful.”

  “Well…I.” Gloria stared at the floor a moment. “I would not wish to do anything the MacGreagors might disapprove of. They are…”

  “Good friends, yes, so you have already said.” The duchess quieted while a footman brought tea, served each a cup, and then left the room.

  The footman had barely gotten the door closed, when it abruptly opened and Abigail, in her usual flair, burst into the room. “I heard we have a guest.”

  “Mother, I would like you to meet Alexandra Sinclair.”

  In mid stride, Abigail stopped to stare at the woman with red hair. “Alexandra…”

  “We met on the train from New York,” Gloria continued. “Mother, what is it? Why do you stare at her?”

  For the duchess, it was the worst that could happen, but she was too deeply committed to turn back now. “Sit down, Mrs. Whitfield.”

  “How dare you come here?” Abigail admonished.

  “Mother, do you know her?” Gloria asked. Both she and Abigail watched, as the duchess raised the hem of her black taffeta skirt high enough to expose the gun she had strapped to her leg.

  Abigail gasped, and then slowly sat down on the sofa next to her daughter. “What do you mean to do?”

  “I mean to see my daughter,” the duchess answered.

  “Your daughter?” Gloria asked. “Blair…Blair is your daughter?”

  Abigail took a deep breath, but before she could speak again, the duchess interrupted. “I doubt we need go into the history of it all. I assure you, I mean her no harm. I merely want to talk to her without the MacGreagors making a fuss.”

  “What do you want with us, then?” Abigail asked. “Oh, I see, you know very well the MacGreagors will not let you near Blair, and with good reason.”

  “What reason?” Gloria asked.

  “Gloria, perhaps you might make that call now,” said the duchess.

  Gloria raised her voice. “I shall not…not until you tell me what is going on here.”

  The duchess set her cup of tea aside, folded her hands in her lap, and took the first of the many exasperated deep breaths she would take before the day was done. Yet, it was amazing how powerful she felt, now that she let them know she was armed. She kept her voice calm and her eyes held fast to Gloria’s. “Do as you are told. Call Blair and ask her to come.”

  “And you mean to shoot us if Gloria does not?” Abigail asked.

  The duchess shrugged. “I thought you a wiser woman than that. It need not go that far, unless you insist. I wish only to talk to Blair and then I shall leave.”

  “Perhaps I should do as she says, Mother.”

  “Gloria, you have no idea what you are saying. This woman abandoned Blair, has caused considerable harm to everyone else, and…”

  “And I have a gun?” the duchess reminded.

  Abigail stopped talking and lowered her gaze.

  “Whatever else I am,” the duchess continued, “I am Blair’s mother and she will want to meet me.”

  “I agree,” said Gloria.

  “I do not agree,” Abigail strongly said. “No mother is better than…”

  “Come now, Mrs. Whitfield, we need not exchange insults. After all, I could say a word or two about your talents as a mother. How is our dearest Charles?”

  “You know my brother?” Gloria asked.

  Abigail narrowed her eyes. “Happy…finally.”

  Gloria’s eyes widened. “Is she the Alexandra that married Charles?”

  “Unfortunately,” Abigail answered. “We thought her gone for good, but to the detriment of us all, here she is once more.”

  Gloria gawked at the duchess. “How old are you?”

  The duchess ignored Gloria’s insolence and raised her voice a little. “Again, Mrs. Whitfield, we need not go into the particulars. Gloria, make the call – now!”

  “No,” Abigail demanded.

  Gloria disregarded her mother, went to the handset on the table and picked up the telephone. “Mable, connect me with 4701, please.” She waited until Alistair answered. “It is Gloria Whitfield, may I speak to Blair?” Again, she waited. “Blair, can you come to the house. There is something I want to show you.” As soon as she hung up the telephone, Gloria went back to her chair. “She is coming.”

  The duchess was relieved. “Good.”

  “You should not have done that,” said Abigail. “You know not what we are dealing with.”

  “Mother, I’ll not let her shoot you. She…Alexandra promised to go away after she talks to Blair, and I believe her.”

  Abigail was incredulous. “You believe her? Very well, you shall see for yourself what kind of woman she is.”

  The Whitfield sitting room was as over-decorated as the parlor, but the display of gold ore drew the duchess’ attention. She got up, walked to the table and picked up a sizable chunk. She turned it back and forth, and watched as the gold glistened in the light.

  While her back was turned, Abigail mouthed the word, “run” to Gloria, but her daughter shook her head.

  “Charles said you own several gold mines,” said the duchess. “Is it true?”

  “Not anymore.” Abigail answered.

  “You sold them?” the duchess put the rock back down and turned to face her captives.

  “Several years ago, if you must know,” Abigail answered. “Not that it is any business of yours. What did you mean to do, kill my husband and I so Charles would inherit?”

  The duchess scoffed. “I see having an intelligent conversation with you is quite impossible. I warn you, do not agitate me further.”

  “Mother, please do as she says,” Gloria begged.

  Abigail heeded her daughter’s words and for once, kept her mouth shut, though it was the hardest thing she had ever done.

  While they waited, the duchess examined other items in the room and considered the circumstances. Charles was so simple minded, she expected all the Whitfields to be the same. Clearly, Abigail was not. At least, she had the good sense to remain quiet when she was threatened.

  *

  After several days with still no sign of the duchess, the MacGreagor household eased a bit. Some speculated that she hoped they would relax, and others thought she had probably sailed back to England afte
r all. Whichever it was, no one paid particular attention to the phone call from Gloria, or that Blair hurried out the back door.

  No one, that is, except Lillie Mae, who quickly followed her. “Where are you off to?”

  Blair stopped and turned around. “I am wanted at the Whitfields. Come with me, they have something to show me and it sounds exciting.” Just then, she spotted Justin coming around the side of the house. “Justin, tell Father I am at the Whitfields.”

  “Aye,” Justin said, and then he was off trying to find the dog. “Traitor?” he shouted. “Here Traitor!”

  The girls ignored him and started up the path. Lillie Mae said, “I have never been to the Whitfield mansion.”

  “You will love it, it is very handsome.” Blair paused to let the servant catch up and looked at the sky. Scattered and darkening clouds meant a chance of rain, but she was certain to be home before it started. As soon as Lillie Mae caught up, Blair continued up the path.

  “Mrs. Whitfield gossips, I have heard,” said Lillie Mae.

  “You best not let her hear you say that.”

  “She does not know?” Lillie Mae asked.

  “She knows, she just dinna think anyone else does.” Blair giggled, led her lady’s maid across the grass, climbed the steps of the Whitfield porch, and rang the bell. When the butler answered, she announced, “We have come to see Gloria?”

  “She is in the sitting room. Will you be wanting tea, Miss Blair?”

  “No, thank you.” Blair answered. With Lillie Mae right behind her, she hurried across the parlor, went down the hall, and opened the sitting room door.

  At first, Blair smiled when she saw the stranger and then her forehead wrinkled. “Who…”

  Abigail sneered, “This woman claims to be your mother.”

  Lillie Mae gasped. “No.” Her mouth dropped as she looked from the duchess to Blair and back again. Dumbfounded, she reached for a chair at the table, pulled it out and sat down. “They do look a little alike, save for the red hair.”

  The duchess was not pleased to be intruded upon by an obvious servant, but she disregarded her for the moment. Cautiously and slowly, she approached her daughter. They were the same height and the likeness was remarkable. “Do you not remember me?”

  Blair closely examined the woman’s face. “I do not precisely remember, yet you are familiar.”

  “I left you with Mr. Sinclair.”

  Blair lowered her gaze. “I have not thought of him in a very long time. He passed quite suddenly.”

  “Yes, I know,” the duchess said.

  “I loved Mr. Sinclair dearly. I remember seeing him in a burial box.”

  The duchess gently touched her daughter’s long, black hair. “He loved you very much, he told me so.”

  Blair nodded, looked at Abigail and then at Gloria. Both looked oddly worried and Abigail had her hand over her heart, which always meant something was amiss. Lillie Mae just looked puzzled. “I am adopted,” she thought she should explain to the servant.

  “Oh,” Lillie Mae said.

  Blair turned back to face the duchess. “Where have you come from? I mean, why do you come now?”

  “Sit beside me and I shall tell you all about it.” The duchess waited while Blair slowly took a seat on the sofa, and then sat beside her. Both of them sat up straight, and laid their hands in their laps the same way. “What has Cameron told you about me?”

  “Father has told me nothing, for he does not know about you.”

  “Nothing?” the surprised duchess repeated. “You are mistaken. Cameron and I have known each other for years.”

  “You have?” Blair asked.

  “I cannot think why he would, but I fear he has lied to you.”

  Blair looked at her mother, and then searched the expression on Abigail’s face. As soon as Abigail bowed her head, Blair knew her mother was telling the truth. Still, she could not believe it. “Father lied to me?”

  The duchess answered, “Some men are prone to lie when it suits them.”

  “So are some women,” Abigail muttered.

  “I have never known him to lie to me,” Blair argued.

  “You mean, you have not yet caught him,” said the duchess.

  Abigail shook her head. “Do not listen to her, Blair.”

  The duchess ignored Abigail for now. “What does Hannish say about his first wife?”

  “His first wife?” Blair blankly asked.

  “Yes, he married twice, although his second marriage is quite illegal.”

  “Stop,” Abigail demanded. “You fill her head with nonsense.”

  “Surely, you already knew, Mrs. Whitfield,” the duchess shot back, “or has he lied to you as well?”

  “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,” Abigail argued. “You’ve not told the truth in your entire life.”

  “Answer the question, Mrs. Whitfield,” the duchess demanded. “Do you know Hannish has two wives or not?”

  “Aye, Miss Abigail, please answer the question,” Blair said.

  Gloria watched her mother slowly slump. “You knew, and you kept it a secret, even from me?”

  “Gloria, do you not see what she is doing? This woman…this Alexandra Sinclair…means to turn Blair against the very family that took her in, and loved her without reservation.”

  The duchess scoffed. “I did not come here to turn Blair against anyone. Not telling her the truth was their decision, not mine. From me, she shall hear only the truth.”

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “The truth according to you.”

  “Do you deny Hannish is married to me, Mrs. Whitfield?”

  Abigail refused to answer. “No good shall come from anything you have to say, true or not.”

  “You do not deny it. Therefore, you admit I speak the truth,” the duchess sneered.

  “You are uncle’s wife?” a very confused Blair asked.

  “That’s right, darling, I am his one and only true wife.”

  “You are?” a wide-eyed Lillie Mae muttered.

  The duchess turned her glare on Lillie Mae. “Who are you?”

  “She is my lady’s maid,” Blair answered.

  “Then she should know her place and keep quiet.”

  In the maid’s defense, Blair pointed out, “She is also my friend.”

  “Yes, I see.” So far, the duchess had been able to control herself, but servants who did not know their place had always gotten under her skin. She glanced at the ring on her finger, took a deep breath and smiled at her daughter. “I…”

  “What happened was your fault and yours alone,” Abigail interrupted.

  “I disagree,” said the duchess. “Hannish vowed to forsake all others when he married me, yet he lives and sleeps with that…another wife.”

  “And we both know why,” said Abigail. “You are not truly his wife.”

  It was a discussion the duchess found repugnant, and therefore simply declined to continue the argument. Instead, she turned her attention back to Blair. “Now that you are grown, I wish to take you home with me.”

  “Why?” Blair asked.

  “Yes, why after all these years?” Abigail insisted. “What are you up to this time?”

  The duchess was finding it more and more difficult to be civil to Abigail, but she forced herself rather than chance upsetting Blair. “I assure you I am up to nothing, nothing at all.”

  “Lillie Mae,” said Blair, “fetch Father for me.”

  The maid quickly stood up.

  “No,” the duchess sharply said without thinking. “I mean, I was hoping we could talk for a time, before we let the MacGreagors know I am here.” She smiled again and motioned for the servant to sit back down.

  Confused, Lillie Mae glanced at all the eyes watching her, and when she saw Abigail nod, she did as she was told. Something was very wrong, and she was worried, even though she did not understand why. Just in case, she eyed the door and got ready to run.

  “There, that is better,” said the duchess. “We s
hall just have a lovely little chat, you and I. Hopefully, without further interruption.”

  Blair asked, “How could my father know about you?”

  “He has known me since I married his brother.”

  “Why are you not still married…” Another question quickly came to mind. “Is Uncle Hannish my true father?”

  The duchess chuckled. “Hardly, you were born before I married him. How they found out about you is beyond me. You see, when I went to get you from the Sinclairs, Cameron had already taken you.”

  “Mrs. Sinclair dinna want me,” Blair confessed.

  “I know, darling. I know, but I wanted you. I just arrived too late.”

  “Five years too late,” Abigail couldn’t help but mutter.

  Blair shook her head. “I still cannae believe Father lied to me. ‘Tis not like him at all.”

  “I fear it is exactly like he and his brother both,” said the duchess. “They are hard pressed to know what truth is.”

  “Did you know about this, Gloria?” Blair asked.

  “Not until just now,” Gloria answered.

  Blair turned her attention back to Abigail. “Why has no one told me?”

  “Go on,” said the duchess, “why has no one told her?”

  “You know why as well as I do,” Abigail bitterly returned.

  The duchess smirked, “Do I?” She turned once more to Blair. “Mrs. Whitfield wishes to say something shockingly ugly about me. No doubt, it is little more than what Hannish told her, and sadly she believes him.”

  “I would sooner believe Hannish than you,” Abigail argued.

  “Would you? What proof have you?” the duchess asked.

  “Proof of what?” Blair wanted to know.

  The duchess patted her daughter’s arm. “Of anything she might say against me.”

  “Charles said,” Abigail began, “that…”

  “Ah yes, we are back to Charles once more. Mrs. Whitfield believes I was married to her son, Charles.” She ignored the look of surprise on Blair’s face. “Charles and I were lovers in Paris.”

  Just when Lillie Mae thought her eyes could not get any bigger, they did. “Lovers?” she whispered.

  “Lovers?” Abigail gasped. “He married you!”

  Again, the duchess scoffed, “Is that what he said?”