For this occasion, the duchess wore a light pink Pompadour taffeta, with tiny pink rose buds along the neckline, down the outside of the flared sleeves and along the bottom of the skirt. She wore her dark hair down, which was the way she remembered he liked it, and hoped soon he would reward her with a little more freedom.
Delighted after she was seated to find a London paper next to her plate, she hurried to open it to the society page and froze. There before her was her wedding picture to Hannish MacGreagor. She quickly read the short article, folded the paper, put it back where she found it and then put her hands in her lap. She was caught and it took a long time for her to lift her head and look down the long table at her second husband – the one she married before Mr. Sinclair, Lord Bayington, Hannish MacGreagor, Charles Whitfield, Mr. Nelson, and the true love of her life, Jedediah Tanner.
“Are you unwell this evenin’…Catherin?” he asked when she finally had the nerve to look him in the eye.
By the way he said her name, it was apparent he had seen the article. “A little,” she meekly answered, “though it is nothing fresh air and sunshine cannot remedy.” He made no reply and as soon as the footman poured her wine, she started to reach for the glass. Her hand shook so she immediately put it back in her lap. Someone was to blame for this and she knew exactly who. It was all Hannish MacGreagor’s fault. Who else would have given that wedding picture to the press? Not only that, if he had kept his word and come back to Scotland as he promised, she would still be a duchess and in the arms of her precious London society.
Both the footman and Liam watched as the duchess continued to seethe. Neither of them could understand her muttering, but the spiteful expression on her face was undeniable. At last, she grabbed the glass of wine, drank it down and then acknowledged them both with a weak smile.
The disturbed footman served soup next.
The duchess hungrily dipped her spoon in the Dublin coddle and tried desperately not to slurp in the far too quiet room. As far as she could tell, although she was not all that interested, Liam did not eat, did not look at her and did not make a sound. Even so, she saw no reason to forgo what was certain to be her very last meal on his account. Food, in the tradition of the Irish she decided, was the best in the world.
She was nearly finished with her third course when he excused the footman, waited until he was gone, and then asked, “Catherin, what have you done?”
She stopped chewing, swallowed and reached for more wine to wash it down. “What?”
“Have you no ears to hear?”
“I…”
“You married again after you ran off?”
The answer to his question would have been obvious even to a simpleton, and she was in no mood for nonsense. “Of course I did, why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I dinna divorce you.”
“You dinna…I mean did not?”
“Nay, I dinna.”
“Oh.” She lifted her napkin and blotted the corners of her mouth, in her practiced proper and demure way. “Why not?”
“I foolishly loved you.”
“All these years? That is foolish!” She did not realize she had raised her voice and the echo caused her to shrink in her chair a little. Of all the men she had been with, Liam frightened her most. Thankfully, he had made no move to assault her.
“Do you love him?”
“Hardly.”
“Did you steal from him?” Liam asked.
Clearly, the duchess did not appreciate his inquisition, and clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. She was destined to die anyway, so why not be honest? Emboldened, she sat up straight. “As much as I could.”
“Why are you not still with him?”
She narrowed her eyes. “If it pleases you to know, he turned me out.”
“And the others? Did they turn you out?”
“What…others?” She held her breath and waited for his answer. Surely, he did not know about them all.
Liam got up, went to the wall rope and rang the bell. A moment later, the door opened and Adam Sweeney entered. He held a stack of papers in his hands – papers that looked very much like the manuscript Solicitor John Crisp was writing. Not once had she thought who might be typing the words on the pages for Crisp, and of course, it had to be the annoying, beady-eyed Adam Sweeney.
“You have met my secretary?” Liam asked.
“Unfortunately,” the duchess muttered.
“Madam,” Sweeney said, bowing curtly. “Your carriage awaits, My Lord.”
“Thank you, I shall be there directly.”
“Very good,” said Sweeney leaving the room.
If the duchess hadn’t known better, she might have guessed the dreary Sweeney actually had a smile on his face when he passed by her. Impossible, she thought, he has not smiled in months…possibly years.
“We are going out?” she asked.
“Not we. I intend to take a wife once I have disposed of you.”
“Dis…posed,” she gulped. There it was, finally, he truly intended to kill her.
“I spent the last few days reading this,” he began, putting his hand on the stack of papers. “You kindly dinna mention me. Why?”
“I…”
“You thought I might read it, once it was published and know how to find you?”
She felt like a rat in a corner with six cats licking their lips and getting ready to pounce. “I...”
“Can you not speak up, or shall I come there?”
“I,” she said considerably louder. “I do not know why.”
“At my request, Mr. Sweeney tracked your movements. He almost caught you twice, but you moved on before he could. You were not there when your most recent husband died, a lad by the name of Jedediah Tanner – but Mr. Sweeney was. Do you know what Mr. Tanner muttered after he was gunned down, lay bleeding and dying in the street?”
The image of her beloved Jedediah dying brought unwanted and totally out of character tears to her eyes. For once, the duchess could not speak.
“Mr. Tanner bled for quite some time before he gave up the ghost, but then he had six or seven ghastly wounds and even if they had tried, which they dinna, there was no savin’ him.” Liam ignored it when she began to sob.
“Of course, ‘twas you who had him gunned down, was it not? ‘Tis how you got out of prison.”
“I dinna…I mean, I did not think…he would truly be there.”
Liam was touched by tears he suspected were actually genuine. Nevertheless, he meant to make her suffer. “Yet, you could not know Mr. Tanner would not be in Kansas City. He died, Catherin, at your hands.”
“Stop, please stop. You torture me.”
“Just as you have tortured me, and how many others who loved you?”
Her tears abruptly turned to anger. “You look well enough to me!”
“Indeed I am…now that I know what you truly are. I thought I was to blame for losing you. I am wiser now, far wiser. There was nothing I could have done to make you love me. Is that not so?”
“Aye, there was nothing you…”
Liam scoffed, “Aye? You let your Scottish heritage show at last? How difficult it must be to pretend you are English.” She had nothing to say to that, so he paused to take a sip of his wine.
The duchess wiped her tears away with her napkin and tried to compose herself. “What do you mean to do to me?”
“I mean to drown you in the ocean where your body shall be eaten by sharks.”
“You would not dare?”
Liam finally stood up. “I must leave you now. Mr. Sweeney shall see you back to your room.”
“Wait…what did Jedediah say?”
His grin was menacing as he walked boldly to her, stopped and looked her in the eye. “Are you hopin’ he spoke of loving you? Of course you are.” He tilted his head to one side and continued to grin. “Twas not Caroline, the name you used when you married him, ‘twas Susan he cried out for.” He could see rage beginning to build in eyes he once thought we
re beautiful, curtly nodded and left the room.
As soon as he left, she hurried to his end of the table. The first page of the manuscript was blank, and so were all the others. “Liar,” she muttered, glaring at the door. Suddenly, she realized she might actually be able to escape and ran for the door. Unfortunately, Mr. Sweeney was waiting, took her arm and hauled her back to her room.
*
After Laura Bayington insisted, she and Edward took their twins and went home so Edward could rest and hopefully, get well before the ball.
Cameron ordered the carriage brought around in the early afternoon and the MacGreagors went to see sights farther north. Much greener than Colorado, Scotland’s Braemar Village in Aberdeenshire offered excellent views of grazing Scottish cattle, Angus beef, favorite fishing brooks, stone bridges built centuries before, and mountains, although none were quite as high as Pikes Peak.
When they stopped for lunch, they happened upon a farmer well versed in the history of the place. He filled their heads with stories of the King of the Picts, the oldest Jacobite, the magic Bible, Macbeth, and Robert Louis Stevenson, who not so long ago had written Treasure Island in that very place.
Addie and Justin got their fill of running and jumping, and for an afternoon, the MacGreagors managed to take their minds off their troubles. By the time they returned home, they were exhausted and ready to turn in early.
Their peaceful slumber didn’t last long.
When the telephone rang, it woke everyone in the Castle. Accustomed to people calling from America at odd hours of the night, most of the servants promptly went back to sleep. Malveen was not accustomed to it, had been tossing and turning anyway, and decided a cup of tea might be needed. She donned her robe, slipped down the dimly lit stairs to the kitchen and turned on the light.
Alistair softly knocked on Hannish and Leesil’s bedchamber and opened the door a crack. “‘Tis Mr. Prescot.”
Hannish looked to see if Leesil was awake, discovered she was and took the call in their bedchamber. “Come in, Alistair, we are awake.” He went to the dressing table and picked up the handset. “Prescot?” He listened for a while before he uttered, “Oh, no…of course I shall tell Egan. Is there anything I can do? Shall I make the arrangements…I see…do give everyone our love.” He gently hung up the phone and turned to his wife. “Blanka passed.”
Alistair took a step back and Leesil’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “What happened?”
“She fell down the stairs?” Hannish answered.
“The stairs?” Leesil cried, “We put her in a downstairs room so she would not have to climb them. What…”
“I dinna know, sweetheart,” he said, taking her in his arms. “I shall call tomorrow. The judge is taking care of the arrangements.” he kissed her on the forehead and let Alistair help him on with his robe. “Do forgive me, but I must tell Egan.”
“Of course.” She looked at the pocket watches he kept beside the bed. The one set to Scotland time said eleven p.m., but there was no going back to sleep. She got up and started to dress.
Just as Hannish and Alistair were coming down the hall, Cameron opened the door to his bedchamber. Hannish whispered the news, and was not surprised when his brother went back inside to tell Cathleen.
*
The kitchen seemed to be the natural place to gather at a time like this, and the family was grateful Malveen thought to heat water for tea.
Seated at the servant’s table, Egan struggled to hold back his tears. “I had a feeling I might not see Aunt Blanka again when I kissed her goodbye. I cannae believe it. She fell down the stairs, you say?”
“‘Tis all Prescot said,” Hannish answered. “He sounded very upset, so I dinna press him.”
“Aye, we all loved her,” said Alistair.
“I dinna suppose going home now would do any good,” said Egan. “I’d not get there in time for her buryin’.”
Cameron put his arm around Cathleen, whose tears seemed endless too. “I beg of you, love, dinna let yourself get too upset. You must think of the baby.”
“He is right,” said Hannish, “Blanka would not want any harm to come to any of us.”
Malveen set the tray of tea cups on the table and began to pass them out. “Miss Blanka gave me a good smack once.”
Egan smiled in spite of his held back tears. “Only once? She gave me a good lick most every day.”
“And me,” Cameron admitted. “We were eight laddies and McKenna, all growin’ up together, and Blanka and Donnel kept us well in hand. Uncle was not against Blanka’s methods of punishment, even though she was a servant. He dinna have the heart to get after us.”
Hannish chuckled. “We needed it too. After the train wreck took our parents, and Egan’s mother died, Blanka and Donnel were the closest thing we had to a mother.”
“No mother could have loved us more,” said Cameron.
Leesil took a deep breath and tried to stop crying. “We were at Palmer Lake one day swimming, and we orphans had no last name, so Blanka and Donnel gave us theirs.”
“Covington,” Cathleen muttered, wiping the last of her tears away and then taking a sip of tea. “Cameron, can we not name this child after them? They hoped their surname would survive somehow.”
“I think ‘tis a splendid idea,” said Egan. “They would both be very…” No longer able to contain his grief, he stood up and quietly left the room.
When Cathleen started to go after him, Cameron stopped her. “Let him be. ‘Tis hard for a lad to cry in front of a lass.”
*
After the family left to go back to bed, and Malveen finished setting the cups and saucers in the sink, she glanced out the window. In the moonlight, she could see Egan standing on the footbridge over the river, so she slipped out the back door and went to him.
He acknowledged her arrival with a nod, but there was a time for silence and this was one of them. Grateful she didn’t interrupt his thoughts; Egan leaned his forearms on the railing and took several deep breaths. Memories of Blanka’s smiles and frowns passed quickly through his mind, but mostly he remembered her arms were always open when he needed them to be.
At length, Malveen said, “For sleepin’ in church.”
“What?”
“Miss Blanka swatted me for fallin’ asleep in church.”
Egan grinned in spite of his sorrow. “How very dastardly of you.”
“Blanka thought so. I never let her catch me again.”
“Aye, but you did fall asleep often, as I recall.”
“Not where she could see me. Besides, father liked practicin’ his sermons and come Sunday morn, I’d already heard them.”
“I suppose you had,” he said, turning back to watch the water rush swiftly to the sea. “Have you let the village know?”
“I shall call Father in the morning.”
He was quite for a time longer before he said, “Blanka and Donnel wanted to go to America, you know. Home was where the family was, even if ‘twas Colorado.”
“I know.”
“Mr. Hannish bought a family plot in Colorado Springs. Aunt Blanka shall be buried next to her sister. ‘Tis as it should be.”
“Aye.”
“How I wished I could have been…” He bit his lip to keep from crying.
Malveen gently touched his arm. “Egan, you need not be brave in front of me.”
Impulsively, he took her in his arms and held her for a long moment before he let her go. “‘Twas Mr. Hannish who asked me to see Miss Landon.”
“You need not explain?”
“I know, but I dinna want you to think otherwise.”
He wasn’t sure why, but he began at the beginning and it felt good to tell Malveen all about the trouble the duchess had caused the family. She was a good listener, she made him feel comfortable and besides, who could he trust, if not the Parson’s daughter? It helped take his mine off Blanka too.
“Did you find any letters?” she asked, glancing up at the moon.
/> “Nay, we looked through every trunk, and found nothing. Yet, I remember bringing three trunks from the cottage when the duchess fled the cottage. Mr. Cameron says he only looked through two of them, found nothing and sent them off to be given to the poor. Still…”
“Yet, you remember three.”
“Aye, but I cannae imagine who might have taken the other one.”
“Perhaps we have a thief as well. Good trunks bring a handsome price, and Her Royal Highness had nothing but the best.”
Egan smiled, noticed Malveen had her arms tightly folded and looked as though she was getting cold. “Indeed she did. Miss MacGreagor, you should not be out this late. To bed with you.” He took her arm and playfully started to pull her back across the bridge.
CHAPTER 9
When Hannish called Marblestone early the next morning, Prescot didn’t seem to know, or want to explain why Blanka was on the stairs, so Hannish let it drop. He could get to the bottom of it after he got home. Claymore and Abigail had relieved the busy judge of the funeral arrangements, and everything seemed to be taken care of. There was nothing to do but try to get through their next few days of grief.
*
Leesil was just climbing out of bed when Alistair came to tell her Abigail was on the line from America.
“Abigail,” Leesil said. “Please say no one else has died.”
“No one has, that I am aware of. How sorry I am about our beloved Blanka. I loved her too. I have ordered the very best headstone, one to precisely match that of her sister’s. But I fear I am the bearer of more bad news. Oh, my dear, whatever are we to do?”
Marblestone Mansion, Book 5 Page 15
