Marblestone Mansion, Book 8

by Marti Talbott

  Ben took her hand and led her out of the storage room. He opened the door, glanced around to make certain no one was there, and then took her outside. While Mr. Merth held the horse, Ben lifted her up so she could sit sideways in his saddle, and then mounted behind her. After she lifted his hat off his head and used it to hide her face, he quickly ran his fingers through his hair, accepted the reins from Mr. Merth and started them through town toward the road up the hill.

  The journey to Marblestone seemed to take forever, but he was afraid of going faster. Gloria held on to his arm and never made a sound, but he knew jarring her head had to be causing great pain. As soon as they were near enough to Marblestone, he halted, swung down, took her in his arms and carried her to the front door. She was so tired, she let his hat slip out of her hand and fall to the ground.

  Before he could ring the bell, a shocked Alistair opened the door. “Good heavens, Miss Whitfield?”

  “Which way?” Ben asked.

  “The…the green room was cleaned this morning,” Alistair managed to say. He rushed up the marble steps ahead of Ben, and then down the hall to open the bedroom door. “Shall I call the doctor?”

  “He is on his way,” Ben answered. He eased Gloria through the doorway, and then carefully laid her on the bed, while Alistair rang the bell on the wall.

  “Is my mother here?” Gloria asked.

  “Nay, she is not due for an hour or so,” Alistair answered.

  Gloria took a relieved breath. “Good.”

  Head housekeeper, Julia, knocked on the door and then opened it, “The bell rang, and…” at the sight of Gloria, she covered her mouth.

  “Julia,” said Alistair, “find a clean nightgown for Miss Gloria, and bring water and towels for the wash bowl.” Julia nodded and was about to leave when he thought of something else. “Find a lady’s maid to help her undress.”

  “Yes, Mr. Alistair,” the housekeeper said.

  Alistair watched Julia disappear and then turned to Ben. “I shall notify Miss Leesil, and then await the doctor downstairs.” He didn’t bother to close the door.

  After he was gone, Ben tried to think of something else he could do for Gloria. “A little wine for your pain?”

  She tried to smile. “A lot of wine.”

  Ben didn’t feel like smiling, but he did anyway. “Hopefully, the doctor will have something stronger than wine.”

  Her one good eye was beginning to droop, and in the daylight, he could see how tired she was. “Rest, you are safe here.”

  Just then, Leesil suddenly burst into the room, rushed to the bed and stared at Gloria’s face. “I cannae believe it! Who has done this?”

  Ben put his arm around Leesil. “Sister, it hurts her to talk. I shall explain it later. Just now, I am off to fetch Hannish and Mr. Whitfield.”

  “I must call Abigail,” said Leesil.

  “Nay,” said Ben, letting go of her. “Gloria does not want anyone to know just yet, especially her mother. The doctor is on his way.” He leaned forward and gently put his hand in Gloria’s. “I shall return shortly.” He waited for her nod, and then quietly walked out.

  Just as he was leaving, Butler Prescot came down the hall carrying a pile of towels. “How bad is it?”

  “‘Tis very bad. She is terrified he shall find her and kill her.”

  Prescot’s teeth were clenched when he said, “Not while I am around.” He took the towels into the room and tried not to look too shocked, but it was the worst he had seen since his prizefighting days. A moment later, Julia brought in two pitchers of water, and an equally horrified Cathleen followed her in. Lady’s maid, Adrian, brought a sleeping gown and laid it across the back of a chair.

  “We must get her out of that dress before her mother sees it,” said Cathleen. “Prescott, fetch a bottle of wine. If Gloria doesn’t need it, her mother will.”

  “Yes, Miss Cathleen.” Prescot closed the door behind him and went back downstairs. He brought two bottles of wine up from the cellar, gathered several glasses, put them on a tray and took them to the parlor.

  Word of what happened quickly spread from servant to servant at Marblestone. Thankfully, the older children were away at school and most of the younger ones were napping. Julia took the soiled clothes Gloria had lived in for four days downstairs to be washed before Abigail saw them. The rest of the servants went about their duties, although they tried to do it quietly, while listening to every word that was said, if they could.

  Not long after the women got Gloria washed and into a nightgown, Alistair opened the door for young Doctor McCormick, who came instead of the elder Doc Parker. He followed Alistair up the stairs, went into Gloria’s room, shooed everyone out except Julia, and closed the door.

  *

  At the warehouse, Ben dismounted and hurried down the rows of building supplies to Hannish’ office. “‘Tis Gloria,” he breathlessly said. “You best come. She is badly hurt.”

  Startled, Hannish took his jacket off the hook and started to put it on, “What happened?”

  “Her intended beat her, and I promised you could keep Mr. Whitfield from killing him.”

  “Beat her?” Hannish could feel his rage beginning to build. He grabbed his hat and took giant strides back through the warehouse. “Claymore shall not kill him…I shall.” Outside, he yanked open the door to his automobile. “Get in.” He barely gave Ben enough time before he started the engine and sped off toward town to find Claymore.

  *

  At Marblestone, the doctor still had not come downstairs.

  Claymore was beside himself with worry, and he feared the worst. Each time Prescot offered more wine, he finished his glass and held it out. Leesil and Cathleen tried to convince him Gloria’s life was in no danger, but Claymore wasn’t ready to believe them. Hannish paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists, and was glad when his brother arrived.

  “Is she all right?” Cameron worriedly asked.

  “We dinna know yet,” Hannish answered. “If the lad was in the clan, I would be honor bound to kill him.”

  “And I would gladly help you,” said Cameron.

  “And go to prison,” Leesil pointed out. “I hardly think that would help Gloria.”

  “Nor do I,” said Cathleen. She watched as Hannish continued to pace, and Claymore continued to drink. Ben sat on the edge of his seat, and Cameron chose to sit beside Cathleen, while the butlers quietly stood by waiting. The look on Alistair’s face was as stern as the one on Prescot’s.

  Finally, the doctor came down the stairs and everyone stood up to hear what he had to say. “I see no permanent damage,” he began as he reached Claymore.

  “Thank God,” Claymore breathed.

  “She thinks she might have a broken tooth. She cannot open her mouth wide enough for me to see, but we will have the dentist look at it when she is better.” He shook the hand Claymore reached out to him, and then set his black bag on a table. “Her arms are not broken.”

  “Her arms?” Ben asked.

  The doctor held his arms up in front of his face to exhibit a defensive position. “She is bruised to the bone on the underside of each arm. The injuries to her head would have been much worse if she had not protected herself.”

  Claymore asked, “You mean he might have killed her?”

  The doctor removed his stethoscope, put it inside his bag, and closed the latch. “Possibly. She is very lucky, Mr. Whitfield. She has no internal injuries. Her jaw is not broken, but her cheekbone might be. There is little I can do about that if it is. Nor can I fix her cut lip. It is too late for stitches. Hopefully, it will not leave a scar.” He picked up his bag and turned to face Claymore again. “We must wait for the swelling to go down, before I can tell if her nose is broken. Perhaps in a week or two.”

  Claymore buried his head in his hands. “What kind of man does this to a woman?”

  “The kind I hope never to meet,” the doctor said. There was fury in his eyes too. “I have left pain medication and instru
ctions with Julia. She once worked as a nurse, she tells me. Let Gloria sleep as much as she will. Give her bread soaked in warm broth. She has a hard time opening her mouth and she has eaten little these last four days.”

  “Aye,” said Hannish. He nodded for Alistair to alert the cooks.

  “May I see her now?” Claymore asked.

  The doctor nodded. “Do not let her see your revulsion. She will think it is worse than it is. I shall be back tomorrow to check on her.”

  Before the doctor made it out the door, Claymore followed Prescot up the stairs. In the hallway, he slowed and then paused for a moment before he lightly knocked on the door Prescot pointed out. When Julia opened it and stood aside, Claymore pursed his lips together and tried to hold his emotions back as he went to her side, but a tear rolled down his cheek just the same. The words he so desperately wanted to say simply would not come out, and when she reached for his hand, he sat beside her on the bed, raised her hand to his lips and kissed it long and lovingly.

  With tears in her eyes, Gloria said, “Father, I could not honor my pledge. I have shamed myself.”

  Claymore was shocked. “Shamed…? Daughter, I have never been more proud of you, than I am at this moment.”

  “But you said…”

  “Forget what I said.” When she tried to speak again, he put a finger to his lips. “You must rest and do not speak. It pains me to see you suffer so. Your mother will be here shortly, and she shall talk enough for us both– not that we could stop her.” Claymore kissed the back of her hand again. “They shall bring you something to eat soon, are you hungry?”

  With her other hand, Gloria rubbed her stomach.

  He smiled finally. “That’s my girl. I shall stay and feed you myself. Perhaps Julia will send someone to fetch more pillows to put behind your head.” When he glanced back, Julia went to the wall and rang the bell.

  *

  Downstairs, Hannish was still fuming. He ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly as he continued to pace the parlor floor.

  “Let me have a go at him,” said Prescott.

  “You,” Hannish asked, “and deny myself the pleasure?”

  Ben cleared his throat. “Hannish, Gloria would only agree to come to Marblestone, because I promised you could keep Claymore from killing him. If you leave…”

  “You are right,” Hannish agreed. “We shall have our hands full keepin’ him from settin’ out.”

  “However,” Ben continued, “she left all her belongings behind.”

  Prescot quickly stepped forward. “I would be more than happy to fetch them for her.”

  “You would be more than happy to half kill the lad, but…” Hannish paused to consider what he would say next. “Perhaps you might deliver a letter for me.”

  “A letter?” Ben asked.

  Prescot wrinkled his brow. “You wish to threaten him in a letter?”

  “Nay, I have somethin’ better in mind.”

  *

  Abigail spent the morning doing what she usually did – listening in on other people’s telephone conversations. She especially wanted to know if anyone had heard about the Duchess’ sudden appearance. So far, there was nothing. She fixed her hair, put on her hat, and went outside where the carriage waited to take her down the hill to Marblestone. She had a new idea for Gloria’s wedding, and wanted to see if Leesil and Cathleen thought it was a good one.

  However, when she arrived, automobiles belonging to Cameron, Hannish, and Claymore were haphazardly parked in front of the house. She marched up to the door, and before she could burst in, Alistair opened it. He oddly appeared to be waiting for her.

  “What is going on?” she demanded.

  Alistair did not answer as she brushed past him, and by the time she got to the parlor and saw the look on everyone’s face, she abruptly stopped. “Hannish, what are you doing home, and is that not Claymore’s auto…”

  “Abigail,” Hannish started. “Will you not sit down?”

  “No, I will not. Why must I sit down?”

  Leesil got up and went to Abigail. “‘Tis Gloria.”

  “Gloria?” Abigail asked. “Has she run off and gotten married without us? I have been calling for days, but she does not answer.”

  Hannish took Abigail’s arm, tugged her to the sofa, waited until she sat, and then sat down beside her. “She has been hurt.”

  Abigail caught her breath. “Is…is she dead?”

  “Nay, but her injuries are quite serious. The doctor says…”

  “What doctor?” Abigail interrupted.

  “Doctor McCormick was just here, and he said…”

  “Gloria is here?”

  “Aye, she is upstairs,” Hannish answered.

  Abigail tried to get up, but Hannish put his arm out to prevent her. “Let go of me!”

  “She has been beaten.”

  Abigail pushed his arm away, stood up in spite of him, and started for the stairs. “Which room? She is my baby and I demand to know where she is.”

  Hannish hurried to get in front of her. “Abigail, she needs…”

  “I know what she needs, she needs her mother. Stand aside, Hannish MacGreagor, or I shall plow right through you.”

  He had no doubt she would, so he moved aside and then watched her climb the stairs. “She is in the green room. Claymore is with her,” Hannish managed to say before she went out of sight.

  A few seconds later, Abigail’s horrified scream could be heard throughout the entire mansion.

  Hannish bowed his head and Leesil started to cry. Ben could take no more, walked through the foyer, opened the front door, and went outside.

  *

  It was the worst news the duchess could have imagined. It had never happened before, and she knew exactly who was to blame. Just when she thought things were finally going her way, the rug was pulled out from under her again. For a full day, she raged on and on, screaming and throwing things, including a framed picture with glass, which shattered when it hit the wall.

  The ruckus caused the hotel manager to ask her to move, which she did as soon as she packed her belongings. The next thing she knew, she was sitting in a restaurant and people were staring at her.

  “Miss, are you all right?” the waiter asked.

  The duchess slowly nodded. It had happened again. She neglected to prevent her catatonia, and now she had no idea where she was. The dishes in front of her had apparently been eaten off of, and she did feel full, but when she looked, her traveling bag and hatboxes were not beside the table.

  “Mrs. Lyons,” said a tall, thin man with curly hair and a worn-out suit of clothing.

  ”Yes.”

  “Your room is ready now. If you will just follow me?”

  Although she had no idea what sort of room she had rented, she was relieved to learn she was not completely without clothing again. “Yes, thank you.”

  “You fell asleep sitting up,” said the manager. “I have seen it before when people travel. What you need is a good rest.”

  “Thank you.”

  He took her to a comfortable room with the heat on, and when she went to the window, she had a view of the Chicago River. At least, she was still in Chicago and her luggage was in the room.

  She hardly noticed when the manager closed the door. She simply stared out the window, considered her latest disaster and tried to think what to do next. At length, a sign across the street caught her attention and brightened her mood considerably.

  Yes, indeed, that was exactly what she would do.

  *

  The next day, the duchess wove her way across the busy street, dodging riders on bicycles, automobiles with constantly honking horns, and weary looking horses pulling wagons and carriages. When she reached the other side, she straightened her dress, squared her shoulders and opened the door. The sign said the office she was looking for was on the third floor, so she trudged up the first flight, turned the corner and made it up the second. Chicago had turned cold overnight and her feet felt oddly
heavier than usual, but she dismissed it as having traveled to a higher altitude and back again in a very short time.

  The outer office seemed pleasant, with a colorful carpet that covered most of the hardwood floor, and enough chairs to make several people comfortable. As well, there was a fireplace giving off a warm glow. She announced herself to the male secretary, and then went to stand next to the fire. Through the window, she could see two tall ships and several steam vessels coming and going on Lake Michigan.

  Before she could warm her feet sufficiently, the duchess was invited into the lawyer’s office. The inner office reminded her of the Denver courtroom she once saw, with wood panel walls. The room was not cluttered, yet something interesting filled every available space, including a cast iron figure of a horse, a mantle clock and two small gas lanterns. His was an extra-large desk, with books neatly piled on each side, and a handy pen, inkwell, and writing paper in the middle. Glass enclosed bookcases stood against the wall and behind the attorney was a large cupboard with taller than normal drawers.

  Alors Manchester stood up and greeted her with a smile. He wore a dark suit, with a gray vest, and a matching gray tie. One side of his collar was turned up, when it should have been down, but the duchess let that slide. At least his dark hair was neatly trimmed, yet he was much younger than she expected. He was certainly younger than Solicitor Crisp had been. The duchess forced herself not to think of the fraud John Crisp had pulled, by outright robbing her of her share of the book’s revenue.

  No indeed, she was in a law office for a completely different reason.

  “Mrs. Lyons, do come in and be seated.”

  She was dressed as innocently as possible, yet she did not give the impression of destitution. Her manner was intentionally reserved and sophisticated, for convincing the attorney to take her case was her first concern. “I thank you for seeing me so soon.” She sat up straight and folded her gloved hands in her lap.

  “How may I assist you?” he asked, returning to his seat.