Marblestone Mansion, Book 5

by Marti Talbott

  “I did, I truly did, once she shoved all that wet hair out her eyes.”

  By now, some of the servants were laughing so hard, they had tears in their eyes.

  “As I was tellin’,” Leesil said, “‘twas James what taught us to read, but your darlin’, Cathleen dinna want to learn. She threw a tizzy nearly every day.”

  “A tizzy, do you call it?” Cathleen gasped.

  “You stomped your feet and refused to sit with us, until James threatened to blister your bottom.”

  “I outrun him thrice, I’ll have you know. Besides, you laughed at me when I dinna say things right.”

  Leesil frowned. “You said them wrong just to vex us. Do not deny it.”

  Cathleen winked at housekeeper, Seedy, seated across from her. “Perhaps I did, but at the time, I saw no need to read. I supposed we were never getting’ out of the place.”

  “How did you get out?” Seedy asked.

  “Leesil went over the wall one night. Later, I was rescued and put on a ship with a lad I dinna think too highly of at the time. His name was Egan MacGreagor, and he said I was to see my sister. I dinna believe him, not for one single moment. And, I dinna trust him at all. When Leesil went over the wall, she said she was goin’ to find us a new home, not a new country.”

  “I would have been terrified of him too,” Ruth teased, sitting next to Egan.

  “Me too,” said Paul, making all of them laugh again.

  Hiding just outside the door, a woman stood listening to every word and found the whole affair disgusting. At length, she went up to bed, fully intending to have her say in the village the next morning, and she knew just who to tell.

  *

  That night, when Hannish finally took his wife up to bed, he said, “That should do it.”

  Leesil climbed into beside him and snuggled close. “I hope so. Poor Cathleen; these servants are laced tighter than a girdle. Some only smiled a few times.”

  “Sweetheart, we must brace ourselves.”

  “Why?”

  “Because our beloved Egan has his eye on Malveen, and might not go home with us.”

  Leesil grinned. “I noticed. She fancies him too.”

  “Good for the both of them. Egan needs a wife and there is nothing lacking about Malveen…nothing in the least.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “A call for you, Mistress Leesil,” Alistair announced. He walked across the room, picked up the earpiece, and held it out to her.

  “Mistress?” Leesil muttered as she got up from the sofa in Cathleen’s sitting room. “I shant ever get used to being called that.”

  “‘Tis Mrs. Abigail Whitfield.”

  Alistair knew Abigail’s propensity to talk nonstop and when he grinned ear to ear, Leesil rolled her eye as she took the earpiece out of his hand. “Abigail? I wondered when you would call.”

  “Dreadful news,” said Abigail, calling all the way from the other side of the world always caused a bit of a delay, making their voices collide occasionally. As she always did when she was excited, she put her hand over her heart.

  “What is it, what is wrong?”

  “Our dear Loretta Collins has been taken in by that contemptible Mr. Swinton, you know, the one with an eternal smirk on his face – the one who carries the cane gun we most assuredly do not approve of. Oh, dear me, I hardly can say it. He…well, he convinced her and now – he has married our poor, dear Loretta.”

  “What?” Leesil managed to ask before Abigail continued. She glanced around, found a nearby chair and sat down.

  “What is she saying?” Cathleen whispered.

  Leesil covered the mouthpiece with her hand, “Mr. Swinton has married Loretta Collins?” She confirmed it with a nod when her sister’s jaw dropped.

  “…it is so very disheartening, I can hardly speak,” Abigail was saying. “We cannot avoid his company now. He still has that appalling cane gun, but I’ll not have it in my house, I assure you, not after it went off at Marblestone and nearly shot our poor little Wade. But Leesil, what are we to do now that he is Loretta’s husband?”

  “Is Loretta happy, though?”

  “She seems to be, but it will not last. She has been taken in just as my poor Charles was, only I doubt Mr. Swinton shall run off. It was a surprise wedding, of all things, and I’d not have gone but Loretta implored me. I hadn’t the heart to say no. They had but two guests, myself included, and I have no idea who the gentleman was. But oh how I hated being there. To witness such an act…”

  “I dinna know Loretta was even seeing Mr. Swinton.”

  “Nor did I, my dear, nor did I. You must come home directly, I cannot suffer this alone.”

  Leesil giggled. “We only just arrived, Abigail. Is all else well?”

  “Not at all, we are all in shock. Mr. Swinton has taken Loretta off somewhere for a honeymoon while his men begin to build cheap houses, just as Claymore said he would. Our lumber has not yet arrived, but Mr. Swinton’s men have plenty. Claymore fears Mr. Swinton somehow got his hands on our order.”

  “Has he any proof?” Leesil asked.

  “No, but that is what Claymore thinks. We are all a flutter here. Pearl is even more upset, seeing as how they are the best of friends and thought the pharmacist would soon propose. Loretta goes to the soda shop daily to see him, you know, but still he said not a word of marriage. Now it is too late. I best go. Give Cathleen my love and do come home at your earliest opportunity.”

  “Our love to you all.” Leesil slowly hung up the phone and looked her sister in the eye. “Do you believe it?”

  Cathleen shook her head. “Why? Why does an enormously wealthy and handsome lad, marry a plain Jane like Loretta, with little to recommend her?”

  “She has plenty to recommend her. She is respectable, which a lad in Swinton’s position needs if he is to become prominent. Not only that, Loretta has all the right connections – us.”

  “You mean, being connected to you makes him connected to the Duke of Glenartair?”

  “Did he not try to marry into the family? He attempted to court you and when that failed, he paid his attentions to Cousin Paulette. Had Hannish not interfered, he would be family by now.”

  “That sort of family we can do without,” said Cathleen.

  “Indeed we can.” Leesil suddenly caught her breath. “Suppose he entertains and invites us? How do we turn down his invitations without hurting Loretta?”

  The door opened and Hannish walked in. “Alistair said Abigail called.”

  Leesil repeated all that Abigail said and then watched her husband slump in his chair. “Can he do that? Can Mr. Swinton get his hands on our lumber?”

  “He can, if he is willing to pay a higher price. ‘Tis not worth fretting over, however, all will be well.”

  “Not for Loretta,” Cathleen muttered. “Where might my husband be?”

  “He has gone off to town. It seems there is to be a celebration tomorrow to mark our return. A fair of some sort. It should be great fun.”

  “Just what we need,” Leesil said.

  *

  In England, Private Detective, Fletcher Garrott, asked for a table in the back, and was soon seated in one of London’s best restaurants. The hour was late, but London’s upper class preferred to dine fashionably late, and the wealthy past client he asked to meet him there, was certainly considered upper class. In the dimly lit room, dishes clinked, people talked and waiters hurried to keep their customers happy. The pleasant aroma of an Italian dish hung in the air, and made him realize how hungry he was.

  In his search for the duchess, Garrott came away from the hotel with very little to go on, save a mysterious carriage that took her away. Had the woman, with many names and many ‘flirtations,’ as Solicitor Crisp called them, finally enraged someone? If so, it would make her even harder to find. At least, the dead woman found on the bank of the river was not Alexandra, not unless she managed to change her hair from black to blonde somehow.

  “Lord Landon, it is good of you
to join me.” Garrott said, quickly standing up.

  Landon plopped down in a chair opposite Fletcher, and could hardly wait for the waiter to finish pouring him a drink before he downed it. “Fortunately, my wife does not care who I dine with, so long as it is not her.”

  “Still not the paradise you hoped your marriage would be?”

  “No, and she is my second wife. I have no confounded idea how to keep a woman content. She finds her pleasure in other beds, spends hours with her insufferable friends, and…oh do forgive me for carrying on so.”

  “I quite understand. Is there anything I can do to help?” Garrott asked.

  “Not unless you have a divorce in your pocket. A most discrete divorce would do handsomely.”

  “I might be able to arrange it. I have heard, if the wife does not make a fuss, a gentleman can get a discrete divorce in France or perhaps Germany. I have an acquaintance who is a solicitor. Shall I ask his advice?”

  “Can you do it without mentioning my name?”

  “Of course,” Garrott answered. “All he need do is make the arrangements. I doubt he even needs to know your name.”

  “Jolly good then, inquire and let me know.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Familiar with what was on the menu, both men ordered their dinner and then another round of drinks.

  Lord Landon frowned. “It is highly unlikely my wife will go quietly. I sent my daughter to America on holiday and her three daughters to France, just to see if this marriage was workable. It is truly hopeless, and we both know it. My daughter has come back, I am happy to say, and at least she can be counted on to be friendly. Twice divorced, what will they think of me? Now, why did you wish to see me?”

  Garrott acknowledged a man across the room with a nod, before he answered, “I have been employed to find someone.”

  “Who?”

  “She goes by the name of Alexandra Sinclair, have you heard of her?”

  He tried hard to recall the name. “I do not believe I have. Who is she?”

  “Just someone of interest to a certain gentleman. It seems she was invited to a ball and disappeared before she could arrive.”

  Lord Landon wrinkled his brow. “Disappeared?” He took a sip of his second brandy and thought about it a little more. “I believe I did hear something similar, but her name is not Alexandra. I’d remember that name.”

  “Yet, it could be the same woman. Do you know who discovered that one missing?”

  “Lord Stockton. I can’t say he looked disappointed when he arrived without her. I believe he finds her quite distasteful. Would you like me to inquire?”

  “I thank you, Lord Landon, but I can manage. You have been most helpful.”

  For the rest of the evening, Lord Landon lamented about his unhappy marriage, and when he proposed a hand of poker, Fletcher Garrott was wise enough to make his excuses and leave.

  *

  The next night, Lord Landon happened to mention that a private detective was looking for Lord Stockton’s missing companion. His wife promptly called her best friend, who called another friend, who then called several others. On and on it went, until someone had the presence of mind to call Maude Okerman.

  “My dear,” said Maude, “Lord Stockton’s intended company is not someone named Alexandra. She is Olivia MacGreagor, wife of Hannish MacGreagor, who refuses to say how he managed to undo his marriage to her. Hannish has taken a new wife, is here in the Kingdom, and I’d not be surprised if he had Olivia abducted. He does so extremely hate Olivia.”

  Maude’s reply sent a new round of calls across the Kingdom. London society had not seen such a magnificent scandal in a decade.

  *

  Lady Maude Okerman never did anything that was not exceedingly expensive or without ulterior motives. Therefore, her last minute afternoon tea invitations, embossed in gold leaf, were still the best money could buy. They were hand delivered by an Okerman footman, sent out in their second most luxurious carriage. More importantly, a small, yet select group of women received the invitations, and none dare turn her down, not if they wished to remain in her good graces. The RSVPs began to come in immediately, even though other invitations to the season’s events had to be voided in a hurry to accommodate her. The most important guest was to be none other than Lady Laura Bayington, friend to the Duke and Duchess of Glenartair, and who expressly told Maude to expel Olivia should she attempt to attend a ball.

  Maude’s smallest sitting room, in a mansion that had four, could easily accommodate twenty. It held the necessary tables, green velvet sofas, matching chairs and an occasional footstool. The delicate floral pattern in the rug matched the border that separated the walls from the ceiling. Even the chandelier was surrounded by the same gold leaf floral design. Intentionally painted a light green instead of being wallpapered, magnificent paintings were showcased on the walls and warm sunlight filtered in through an abundance of windows.

  Since the invitations went out to a select ten, she had the room rearranged so that everyone was encouraged to sit in close quarters, and therefore would not miss a word of what she had to say.

  *

  “And then,” said Maude, expressively throwing up her hands, “Mrs. MacGreagor said they buried Olivia in the rose garden behind their Colorado Mansion.”

  Just as well dressed, and just as esteemed as Lady Okerman, Lady Laura Bayington giggled. She was certain she had been invited by design, and having also heard the gossip, she thought she was ready for anything Lady Okerman had to say. She would soon learn she was not. “Maude, it is a joke they tell. It means nothing,” Laura said.

  “She may not be buried there, and is certainly not according to the last sighting of her, but the thought remains – they wish her dead.”

  “As do many of us,” said Laura. “Is there one among us, who does not know she sought out our wealthy husbands at every opportunity? Why Olivia settled on Hannish MacGreagor, who was virtually penniless at the time, is beyond me.”

  “For the title,” Lady Gradly scoffed. “Not to mention he is divinely handsome. I do hope he will attend a ball before he goes back to America.”

  “I have invited them,” said Maude, “though they have not yet said which they shall attend.”

  “Splendid,” Lady Gradly breathed. “Do let us know.”

  Maude nodded. She was not pleased; Lady Gradly managed to change the subject and she was anxious to continue her gossip. “Of course, the question remains. Hannish MacGreagor claims to have a new wife without explaining what happened to the old one. I called and there is no record of a divorce decree either in Denver or Colorado Springs.”

  “You called?” an astonished Laura asked. “I wasn’t aware one could simply get that sort of information over the telephone.”

  “If you tell them you are calling on behalf of the King of England, they will tell you most anything, once their simple American hearts have stopped fluttering.”

  “I see,” said Laura sarcastically. “That is good to know, should I need to learn something about your private life.”

  Maude glared. “Now, Laura, we all know you favor your Scots, although some of us cannot think why. There is no need to be distraught. When I called, I was merely curious.”

  “You are merely suggesting Hannish MacGreagor has committed bigamy,” Laura shot back.

  “Bigamy?” Lady Lewis cried out louder than she intended. “Is that…is that what you meant, dearest Maude?”

  Lady Lewis was a bit dense at times and it made Laura roll her eyes, “Lady Lewis, dearest Maude can say what she likes, but she makes her accusations with no proof.”

  “What more proof do we need?” Maude insisted.

  “Far more than that!” Laura argued. “Olivia only spent one night in the home he built for her in Colorado.”

  Lady Ferris gasped. “Only one night? I have heard the mansion is quite splendid. I intend to see it when next we are in Colorado Springs.”

  Out of all the women in the room, Laura l
iked Lady Ferris the best. She playfully stuck her nose in the air and spoke in her best Scottish accent, “‘Twas not to her likin’, Lady Ferris.’”

  Lady Gradly and Lady Ferris giggled – Maude did not.

  “Nevertheless,” Maude insisted, “Olivia is missing and it is likely Hannish MacGreagor had her gotten rid of.”

  “Now you accuse Mr. MacGreagor of murder?” Lady Wilcox asked. “I hardly think…”

  “Lady Okerman,” Laura interrupted, “I know no kinder, gentler man in the world than Hannish MacGreagor. Your assumption is nonsense.”

  “Nonsense? How better to keep the truth from us, than to get Olivia out of the way,” Maude said. “Have any of you heard from her?”

  “She would not contact me,” Lady Wilcox said. “I hate the very sight of her and she knows it.”

  “Nor me,” both Lady Benton and Lady Morison agreed.

  Maude took another sip of tea and set her cup down. “Laura, tell me true, was it you who hired the detective to find her?”

  “Why on earth would I want her found? I hope never to see her again.”

  “Why?” Lady Benton asked. “Has she attempted to steal Lord Bayington?”

  “Not that I am aware of. It is because she has treated our dearest friends abominably, and she should not be counted among the members of our society.”

  “How has she treated Mr. MacGreagor abominably?” Lady Benton insisted.

  “She just has,” Laura answered.

  “I bet he caught her,” Lady Lewis said.

  “I’d not be surprised by that,” Lady Benton agreed.

  “Olivia has a daughter, you know.” Maude ignored the gasps in the room and kept her eyes on Laura. “Since you know so much, perhaps you know where Olivia has hidden her daughter?”

  Alarmed, and with good reason to be, Laura struggled to hide her reaction. “I wasn’t aware she had a daughter.”

  “Is it Hannish MacGreagor’s child?” a giddy Lady Gradly asked.

  Maude finally dropped her gaze, sipped her tea and considered her answer for a moment. “The girl was born before she married Hannish.”