“Not everyone, possibly, but if she has not, my mother has.”
“Oh dear, now there are two of them.” For once, the backyard was void of screaming children, no automobiles roared up the road, and Gloria felt at peace. “Do you suppose Mr. Prescot remembered to get my yo-yo?”
“Your yo-yo?”
“Yes, it was given to me by a very good man, whom I adore. I am hoping someday he will ask me to marry him.”
Ben did not look at her, but he couldn’t help but grin. “I have heard, he intends to do just that.”
Gloria reached for his hand. “Mr. O’Connell, I find I am again in need of your assistance.”
“According to my mother, your wish is my command.”
“On the train, Mr. Blake kindly gave up his Pullman compartment, and took very good care of me all the way to Denver. I promised someone would call and let him know I am safe. I would ask Father, but he would likely go all the way to California, just to shake his hand. Will you call him? I have his number in my purse upstairs.”
“I shall be honored.”
“Thank you.” She kept his hand in hers as she continued, “Please invite him to come see me someday, and tell him how very grateful I am.” The memory made an involuntary tear roll down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away.
“I shall. Perhaps we might invite him to the wedding.”
“He might just come.”
“I hope so. When will the wedding be?”
Gloria narrowed her eyes. “Oh, no you don’t. I demand a proper proposal on bended knee, and you must ask my father for my hand before we set the date.”
“I was afraid of that.” Ben tipped his head to one side. “Asking your father, who has recently hinted his reply shall be favorable, will require every ounce of my courage…but if that is what you want.”
She smiled and laid her head against his arm. “I have missed your sense of humor.”
“I have missed yours too. Our mothers were right.”
“Yes, but we must not ever let them know.”
He laid his head against the top of hers. “Agreed.”
CHAPTER 13
With a bank draft in the amount of twenty thousand dollars in her purse, together with what she had left of Bernie’s money, the duchess packed her bags and set out to begin a new, much more luxurious life. It would have been a fatter amount, but the lawyer took a disgusting five thousand off the top. Oh well, she was more than satisfied, not just with the money, but with how easy it was to get it.
Real American wealth, she heard, was not in New York City, Chicago, or in the gold mines of Colorado – it was in Cleveland. The Forest City was not her first choice of high societies, but by train, it was one city closer to a voyage back to her beloved England. Besides, who would think to look for her in Cleveland, the home of car builders, ironworkers, coalmine owners, railroad shipping magnets, factories of every kind…and glorious steel mills?
Once in town, the duchess chose the very best hotel to live in. The downtown Hollenden Hotel was eight stories in height, and had 1,000 rooms, electric lighting, and the best rooms had private baths. To the duchess that was luxury, indeed. The excellent interior exhibited redwood paneled walls, mahogany staircases and crystal chandeliers. It boasted of a restaurant, a theater, a barbershop, and a gentlemen’s club. More importantly, the hotel welcomed permanent residents.
She paid a month in advance for a room with a bath, approved of the two room accommodations and settled in. Her only objection came later, when she left to go shopping, only to find several people taking pictures in the lobby. She hid her face, skirted the crowd and went on her way. Apparently, the hotel often entertained people of prominence who welcomed notoriety. Notoriety was something she wanted to avoid at all costs.
The duchess did find the hotel’s one claim to fame fascinating. The son of a Pennsylvania attorney was kidnapped, ransomed for $10,000 and released at the Hollenden Hotel unharmed.
Naturally, that did not fascinate her nearly as much as Cleveland’s Millionaire's Row, on the elm-lined, Euclid Avenue where John D. Rockefeller lived. She remembered reading about the mansions while in the asylum, and her first day there, she rented a carriage to tour the avenue for herself.
The carriage driver was full of all sorts of stories concerning Cleveland’s citizens, including Cassie Chadwick, who pretended to be the daughter of Andrew Carnegie. It was said she swindled the banks out of millions before she got caught. The duchess was tempted to tell the driver that Cassie Chadwick had nothing on her, but she resisted the temptation.
Indeed, Cleveland was her kind of town. She had to be careful, however, for someone might want to know how she came by her newfound wealth. A little checking might divulge that Rebecca Lyons had no background before she hit Chicago. Therefore, the duchess made no friends and few acquaintances.
Each week, she went to three different bookshops to see if her book was there yet, bought other books to read, went to an occasional movie, and stayed in her room with little to do, but wait for Blair to grow older.
The duchess was comfortably situated with all she could possibly want or need – but she was not happy.
The London papers were full of weddings she had not been invited to, polo matches, and rides in Hyde Park. More than the usual number of balls were planned for the season, where ladies would arrive in fine carriages pulled by high-stepping horses. They would wear glorious Paris gowns and dazzling jewels, flirt wildly and enjoy every kind of delectable treat. Yet, she would not be there. To her amazement, the newspapers began to print more and more pictures than ever before, including a gathering of debutants preparing to be presented to the King.
She even missed the King.
Indeed, she had the clothes she always wanted, jewels, pleasing accommodations, plenty to eat and drink, and yet, she was miserable. How could she not be? She was no longer part of London’s magnificent society and might not ever be again, unless she could finally think of a way. So far, the answer eluded her.
*
In Marblestone’s sitting room, Leesil opened a letter that had just arrived from Scotland, and began to read:
Duchess of Glenartair
Colorado Springs, Colorado, America.
Your Grace,
I regret to inform you that the tall ship Loch Vennachar was lost at sea in September, 1905…
Leesil closed her eyes and let the letter fall to the floor.
“Sister,” said Cathleen, “please read the rest of it. Perhaps all is not bad news.”
Leesil got up, retrieved the letter and handed it to her sister. “You read it, I cannae.”
Cathleen turned the letter right side up and read it out loud:
I regret to inform you that the tall ship Loch Vennachar was lost at sea in September, 1905, off the shores of Kangaroo Island, Australia. Unfortunately, no survivors were found.
I assure you, the waters were repeatedly searched for well into the middle of October. Nothing was recovered but a few scraps of blue printing paper, identified as having been loaded on the Loch Vennachar before she sailed.
Nevertheless, we do not find your friend’s name on the ship’s list of crew and passengers. Perhaps he sailed under another name, or transferred to a different ship. The only lads named James aboard the Loch Vennachar were James Priest of Glasgow and James Reid of Dumbarton.
Forgive me for not being of more help,
Sincerely,
Horrace J. Tripold
The Glasgow Shipping Company
Leesil sighed and picked up her embroidery. “Somewhere in the world, I forget where, they plant a tree when someone dies.”
“Did you not hear? His name is not on the list.”
“I know, but why have we not heard from him, then? My heart says he went down with the ship.”
Cathleen shook her head. “My heart says he did not. Sister, I cannae believe you have given up so easily. There must be a hundred reasons we have not heard from him.”
“Di
d he not say he was sailin’ next to America, and does America not have telephones? Cathleen, if he were able, he would have known how we worry, and called us by now.”
“And if he comes and finds we have given up on him, what will he think of us?”
“He will think we loved him enough to have somethin’ to remember him by.” She set her sewing aside and folded her arms. “‘Tis just like Carl.”
“Carl?”
“Aye, he was the driver who died in the tornado, and we have yet to notify his family.”
“We know not who his family is.”
“Precisely. James neglected to name us as his family. Therefore, we have not been notified of his death.”
“James would not do that.”
“Well, then, the records are lost.”
Leesil had clearly made up her mind, and Cathleen did not want to argue. Her heart was breaking too and if it eased her sister’s pain, she would do as Leesil wanted – only it seemed so final. “Do you wish to plant a tree?”
Leesil nodded. “And a red rock. He truly had the red rock first.”
“I know, I remember. Have you a red rock to put beside the tree?”
“Nay, but we shall find one. Colorado has many red rocks to choose from.”
“What kind of tree?”
“The kind that bears fruit.”
Cathleen tried to smile. “I like that idea. Perhaps we might plant one for Carl as well.”
“Two trees then, one cherry and one apricot.” Leesil set her sewing aside, abruptly got up and headed for the door. “I shall tell Prescot.”
After she was gone, Cathleen slowly shook her head. “He is not dead. He cannae be. I will not allow it.”
*
In Cleveland, the duchess couldn’t get over what she read in the London Newspaper. Lord Edward Bayington was dead. Everyone who was anyone attended his funeral, even the king. She should have been there, but then, Laura probably would have run her off. On the other hand, Laura was too much of a lady to do that in public. Lady Laura Bayington was never as socially articulate as she believed herself to be, but she was a lady just the same.
For a long time, the duchess studied the three pictures accompanying Edward’s biography, one of which was quite perplexing. It was of Laura and the King, and they looked to be deep in conversation. No doubt, they were discussing her.
Even more staggering was the thought that the duchess had outlived four husbands. She never once suspected that would happen. First was Mr. Sinclair, then the train robber, Jedediah Tanner, then her first husband, George Graham, and now, Edward. She loved them all…at least a little. Why, oh why, could Hannish MacGreagor not have the good sense to die? After all, it was his fortune she was truly entitled to, now that her three previous husbands had passed. To her way of thinking, the Irishman didn’t count.
*
In London, Lady Laura Bayington had everything packed, and was ready to go out the door and board the automobile that would take them to the ship. She could not wait to be with her beloved friends in America. Laura hugged each of the servants, and had just headed for the door when the telephone rang.
“Oh, dear,” she sighed, “I do hope our passage has not been canceled.” She anxiously waited until the butler entered the room. “Who is it?”
“She says her name is Gormelia, my lady.”
Laura’s eyes instantly narrowed. She spun around, walked to a small table in the foyer and grabbed the telephone. “How dare you call here!”
“Laura, I just read about Edward in the paper. I called to say how sorry I am?”
“Sorry you made his life miserable, or sorry you shall not inherit?”
“Laura, please, we are the oldest and dearest friends. I know how much you loved him, and I…well, I wanted to convey my deepest sympathy.”
“What do you truly want, Gormelia?”
“My, how suspicious you have become.”
“With good cause, I remind you. Good bye, Gormelia. Do not call again.” Laura hung up and turned to the butler. “If she calls, do not tell her where I have gone. Tell her I refuse to take her calls.”
“Yes, Milady.”
“And find out where that call came from, and cable me on the ship.”
“What do you mean to do?” the elderly butler asked.
“Something I should have done years ago.” Laura kissed the butler on the cheek, and then left the house she lovingly shared with Lord Edward Bayington.
*
Three times, the women from Colorado Springs passed New York City bookshops where The Scandalous Affairs of Alexandra Sinclair was prominently displayed in the window, but not once did any of them notice. They had come to shop and to meet Laura’s ship, not to read books.
Infatuated with all things fashionable, Abigail simply could not get enough of the latest in clothing, jewelry and furniture, although Claymore begged her not to buy more furniture. She shopped and shopped, until she finally collapsed each night on the bed in her hotel room.
The gang of six, which included Abigail, Leesil, Cathleen, Mother O’Connell, McKenna and Blair, rode the cable cars, and marveled at the many statues, the automobiles, and the overwhelming number of the people.
At fourteen, there was no end to what Blair wanted to do, including ride in an elevator to the top of tall buildings, where she could stand on the roof and look out over the massive city. The jaunt in a tour boat all the way around the Statue of Liberty was excellent, but nothing matched the possibility of going to a Broadway play.
Not wanting to be away from Ben, and not wanting to see the city again anytime soon, Gloria stayed home to take care of her father. Claymore did not need taking care of, but he and Gloria thoroughly enjoyed talking without Abigail dominating every conversation. Yet, Claymore was lost without his wife, and made no secret of it. On the other hand, Hannish and Cameron were more relaxed with Blair away. They hoped the duchess would make the mistake of coming back while she was gone, but so far, there was no sign of her.
When it was time, the ladies of Colorado Springs watched as Laura’s ship slowly sailed up the river toward them. Leesil looked and looked until, at last, she spotted Laura and began to wildly wave. “There they are. Look how the twins have grown, sister.”
“Indeed they have,” Cathleen agreed, reaching out her hand to wave as well.
Blair looped her arm through Cathleen’s. “I wonder that Lady Bayington named her daughter Blair too?”
Cathleen rolled her eyes. “It appears there is much I have not yet explained. We were trying to keep the duchess from finding you, so Laura and Edward adopted twins and named the girl Blair.”
“Oh, I see. If my name had not been in the article when the castle burned down, the duchess would be tricked still?” Blair asked.
“That she would,” Cathleen said, waving again when she finally caught Laura’s eye. “Laura looks so tired, but then everyone does after a long voyage, and Laura especially having just lost her husband. It is good we are staying the night in the hotel.”
“Mother,” asked Blair, “can the twins and I not see a Broadway play tonight?”
“I have yet to see one myself,” said Mother O’Connell. “All those years living here, and not one Broadway play have I seen. I would be pleased to take them.”
“I think that a very fine idea,” said Leesil. “It will give Laura time to relax before we catch the train in the mornin’.”
“Abigail, would you like to go?” Mother O’Connell asked.
“I thank you, but I am exhausted,” Abigail answered. “Besides, I am excited to make the acquaintance of the famous Lady Laura Bayington. From what I have heard, I am certain to like her.”
McKenna moved up beside Mother O’Connell. “I will go too.”
Blair clapped her hands. “It is settled then. Which show shall we see.”
Mother O’Connell reached in her purse, pulled out a brochure and handed it to Blair. “The choice is yours.”
*
In t
heir hotel suite after a fine meal, and the departure of all those who wanted to attend the play, Leesil, Cathleen, Abigail and Laura settled into comfortable chairs to relax. Laura Bayington looked as though she had aged twenty years instead of just six. She had a slender figure, a little too slender, her hair was turning gray, and her eyes lacked their usual luster.
“We each suffered a little seasickness at first,” Laura admitted. “But it was nothing compared to the discomfort we were to face in the dining room.”
Leesil asked, “What discomfort? Who dared mistreat you, Laura?”
Laura rubbed her forehead. “I was afraid of this. You have not yet heard, have you?”
“Heard what?” Cathleen asked.
Laura took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Maude Okerman published a novel, and it is all anyone in London talks about.”
“Lady Maude Okerman?” Cathleen muttered.
“The same. She somehow got hold of a manuscript that…oh dear, I dread saying it.” Laura puffed her cheeks. “The title is, The Scandalous Affairs of…Alexandra Sinclair.”
Leesil caught her breath, Cathleen wrinkled her brow, and Abigail put her hand on her palpitating heart. “Alex…” she stammered. “Is my son…does it say…”
“I am afraid none of us were left unscathed, Edward included,” Laura answered.
Cathleen was shocked. “This is what you meant, when you told Cameron London was not a good place to be just now?”
“Yes. Naturally, I did not tell Edward about the book. I thought to let him die in peace, but the telephone rang constantly, and newspaper reporters were everywhere, even at the graveyard when we buried him. People I had not heard from in years called, offering their sympathy…and wanting more details.”
“Dear me, what do we do now?” Abigail asked in a panic. “We must close every bookshop in Colorado!” She stood up, couldn’t think where to go, and sat back down again. “My poor Charles.” Suddenly, she folded her arms in a huff. “Why has he not told us?”
Marblestone Mansion, Book 8 Page 21
