A note to all my lovely readers:
If you wish to read my recent novel retelling the original story of The Ghost and Mrs Muir, then please go to Amazon (US) and look under Books for Lucie and the Captain by Katherine Lange.
It can be downloaded to any device with the Kindle app. You do not need a Kindle to read it.
Thank you for your attention, please enjoy!
NOTE: This work of fiction is coming to an end. There will be three more chapters and then THE END. It has been a fun ride and thanks to all who have come along for the journey. I will be starting a new fanfiction for GaMM and also continuing with Let There Be Love as a fortnightly addition.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Return of the Countess
Claymore hurried along the chilly sidewalk and slipped unobtrusively into the general store. The doorbell rang, noting his arrival, but he reached up to silence it as he closed the door behind him. The store had a few customers, browsing and buying, all townsfolk he knew. He moved quietly to the counter, not meeting anyone's gaze while seeming to browse the goods on offer.
His roving gaze flicked over a very elegantly dressed young woman with midnight black hair. She was seated in the corner at a table set beside the wood stove that heated the autumn chill from the large, cluttered shop space. An elegant bonnet, kid-skin gloves and a large reticule lay on the table beside her. The stranger was reading the latest edition of the 'Ladies' View' magazine with seemingly keen interest.
She didn't look up to see who had entered. The few women in the store were all staring enviously at her elegant black clothing. More than one looked like they might wish to introduce themselves and make enquiries about her dress. But the woman's icy demeanour and haughty look kept them at arm's length.
Claymore edged his way over to where Fred Hammond, the store's proprietor, was standing behind the counter also watching the strange woman closely. Fred leaned forward when Claymore drew closer, turning his back to the stranger.
"Been here for some time now, looking around and buying a few things." Fred indicated the young woman with a lift of his chin. "A bit too lofty in her ways for my liking. She bought herself all three of the issues of the magazine your Carolyn got herself published in. Seems real interested in knowing more about it and Mrs Gregg. She said she'd met her before."
He shrugged. "And she mentioned you too. She settled down to read the magazine after she paid me for it and hasn't moved since. Like she was waiting for someone."
"What did you tell her about Carolyn or me?" Claymore asked.
Fred reared back in disgust. "Nothin', of course." He shrugged. "Well, nothin' she didn't seem to know already. She's been well told by someone about who Carolyn is. She seemed real interested in those serials she writes. Spun some story about opening a branch of some new kind of fancy store down in Boston and how she's looking for fresh merchandise to sell. Things that'll appeal more to the ladies. Daft idea if you ask me. Menfolk know what they want, buy it and leave. It's the womenfolk who hang around talking all day."
The storekeeper didn't see the irony in the two of them standing there talking. Claymore didn't enlighten him.
"If she's in the market for buying some fancy goods, then I'm certainly interested," he replied quickly. "A couple of years ago, I sailed over to France on a new business venture. I've made a nice earner out of importing antique European furniture. It's good for business. I just brought a whole new shipment up from Boston. Everything is safely tucked away in my warehouse right now."
He looked quickly around before he leaned closer. "There was someone was sniffing around the cargo then, too. They were trying to purchase some valuable items of furniture behind my back. I had to go all the way down to Boston in person to secure my own goods and get them all shipped here. Cost me extra too."
"Who'd wanna buy a load of old second-hand furniture?" Fred looked sceptical.
"Plenty of people. I have discerning buyers." Claymore straightened up indignantly. "If the lady's been asking for me then I should make myself known to her. Looks like there might be a tidy profit in it for me, after all."
The shop owner sighed. "Well, I ain't seen her before or know anything about her opening any new fancy store. Strange thing to lie about, though. Margaret swears that black dress she's wearing might be for mourning but says it's real expensive and been made in either Paris or London. She's right green about it, I can tell you. I sure wish Captain Gregg was here right now. He'd know what to do about all these odd goings-on."
He shook his head. "The Captain's wife surely has stirred up a lot of interest in this town with her writing for that magazine. Can't decide if that's good or bad. Good for trade, though."
He grinned suddenly. "And for me, too. I must say, my Margaret's been a whole lot more loving since she started reading that story. And the town's menfolk aren't complaining. Maybe there's something in letting the wife run with her new idea of giving over a whole section of the store to catering more for the ladies, after all."
He whistled softly. "Captain Gregg surely is one very lucky man. He certainly married the right woman and no mistake."
Claymore grimaced. "Well, much good it'll do you that wishing. The Captain's still away at sea. Should be for a couple of weeks yet. So it falls to me as the head of the family to see to what this woman's nosy business is all about," Claymore replied stoutly. "If she does have such a business."
"Yeah, well…" Fred regarded him dubiously. "Wonder what the Captain would think about all that too. You never cared much for what people said about the family name before Mrs Gregg came to town and set you all on your ear. You were always more interested in fleecin' all the incomers of their very last dime."
"Time can change people," Claymore replied huffily. "I've changed. And it's still the Gregg name that woman's asking about. Well, I am a Gregg."
"That you are. For all your sins. You'd sell anything to the Devil himself if there was a dime to be made…" Fred shook his head, walking away to serve his latest customer.
"A man's allowed to change," Claymore grumbled as he straightened slowly, keeping the bulky wood stove and broad chimney between himself and the woman who was still reading the magazine while ignoring everyone around her.
Claymore walked over and helped himself from the battered pot bubbling on the stove to a mug of the black brew that tried to pass for the store's coffee. He detested the stuff but it made good cover. When he cleared his throat to draw her attention the young woman looked up from her reading with obvious reluctance.
"Good afternoon." Claymore quickly raised his hat courteously before he moved closer, holding up the pot. "Would you like me to pour you a cup of coffee?"
The woman's dark eyes took in all of him with a frowning glance. "Merci." She pushed her empty cup forward and went back to her reading.
Claymore obliged, frowning at her use of a French word. "I don't think I have seen you around here before," he said cautiously.
He noted the gold wedding band on her finger. And the diamond ring with three impressively cut stones next to it. To his knowledgeable eye, both were worth a very pretty penny. And her intoxicating perfume was also expensive.
His gaze shifted to her large reticule, trying to judge how much money he could make from transacting business with her. That was if she was a genuine buyer of the kind of fancy goods he'd recently purchased through his European contacts.
"That's because I'm not from around here," the woman replied with a sigh. "I'm just passing through town on my way down to Boston. I have some business to conduct while I'm here."
"I see…" Claymore settled onto another chair at the table with his coffee.
He sipped it gingerly. It scorched his throat on its way down to his empty stomach. He grimaced but tried to look unconcerned as he looked for an opening.
"Did you wish to talk to me about something?" the stranger asked with a haughty arch of her dark eyebrows. "It often happens to me, but I do not enjoy being accosted by strange men. If you have business, then get on with it or do not waste my time."
Claymore shrugged at her haughty tone while her slight French accent intrigued him. "I was just being friendly to a stranger in town. We don't get many out-of-towners around here at this time of year."
"Ah, I see." The woman's lips thinned. "Well, seems to me you want to ask me something. Well, out with it. I don't have all day."
"Oh, are you going somewhere else?" Claymore asked innocently, ignoring the terse question.
The woman picked up the coffee cup. "My time is limited. I'm looking for someone with whom I wish to transact some important commerce. Unfortunately, he eluded me in Boston. I am told that man resides here in Schooner Bay. I've been forced to take a suite at your deplorable inn while I seek him out."
She raised her cup to sip the scalding brew before pulling a disgusted face. She put the cup down again, pushing it away with a disgusted sigh. "Mon Dieu! I truly do miss the Paris cafes where the making of good coffee is an art to be savoured."
She slapped the magazine closed. "All these old-style American stores are the same. Nosy people who can't mind their own business and bad coffee. I know I can do much better with my chain of quality goods stores."
"Your chain of stores?" Claymore queried with a breathless rise of increased interest in his voice. "How fascinating."
He eased a finger around inside the collar of his shirt as he watched her reach for her gloves and bonnet, drawing them on before picking up her reticule and pushing the magazines she'd purchased inside the bag. Claymore rose quickly to his feet, pulling on the brim of his hat. "If you wish to discuss business, I know everyone in town. Perhaps I may direct you to this man's office? Though may I say, I also am a man in the business of imported goods."
The young woman considered him for a long moment of simmering indecision. "It may save me time, I suppose," she conceded. "I'm looking for a man named Claymore Gregg. I am familiar with some members of the Gregg family, but not all of them. I've been informed that he recently imported a cargo of French antique furniture. I am very keen to secure some items from among that cargo for myself. Do you know of him?"
"Know of him?" Claymore struggled against the rising clamour of his inner voice that was fairly shouting its avarice. He abandoned his coffee as he dragged off his hat. "Madam, I am Claymore Gregg."
He held out his hand. "And I am very much at your service."
"Ah, I see now. Of course, I might have known. But you do not look at all like a Gregg," she commented cryptically.
Claymore tried to look offended. "I can assure you that I am a Gregg."
"No matter." The young woman took his hand briefly. "I am Countess Vanessa Beauvoir and you have purchased items that were illegally removed from my late husband's estate. I am interested in securing their immediate return."
She clicked her tongue. "I was annoyed to discover you had managed to elude me in Boston. I do not have time for games."
"Oh, so that was you…" Claymore blinked at her, anxiously crushing his hat between his hands. "But I bought all those items fair and square through my agent in Paris. And paid to have them shipped here to me at no small cost. He assured me they were legitimately purchased."
The Countess waved her hand dismissingly. "A small matter of an unfortunate misunderstanding with my late husband's conniving heir. He seeks to divest me of everything and leave me penniless. The items in question should never have been put up for sale. They are… valuable to me."
Claymore managed to look offended. "I am sorry, Madame. But all the items listed on the bill of sale are mine. If you wish them returned to you then you must reimburse me for my time and considerable outlay."
The Countess looked around impatiently. "Very well. But we cannot discuss our business here." She raised her voice. "There are far too many interested eyes and some very large noses."
Those customers who had been keenly observing their interaction all turned away at once. Many went back to their own conversations, while others left the shop to spread the juicy gossip about the expensively dressed, foreign woman who had come to town to do business with Claymore Gregg.
Claymore nodded as he jammed his hat back on his head. "Then allow me to show you to my office."
He stood aside to indicate the Countess should go before him. She swept past with her head held high and looked at no one as they exited the general store together. The few remaining customers hurried to the front window to watch them depart and discuss the new development.
"It's this way…" Claymore ignored the stares of the curious townsfolk as he pointed down the street toward his office.
"I'm sure you must understand I require complete discretion in this matter," the Countess replied. "It's a rather delicate situation."
"Oh, yes, yes, of course," Claymore babbled. "If you're prepared to meet my terms, Countess, then the goods shall be returned to you as soon as the bill of sale is all safely signed and sealed. You have my word."
He fought to keep the deeply satisfied smile from his face while mentally rubbing his hands at the nice fat profit he was about to make. His day, which had begun so well, was becoming even more stellar by the minute. He decided he might even treat himself to a full lobster dinner down at Norrie's in celebration.
"Let me get that for you, Countess," he purred, dragging off his hat again as he reached to open his office door.
Walking slowly along the sidewalk, Carolyn was idly window shopping. She'd come to town to post the third of the agreed manuscripts away to Sally Hall. She was feeling rather proud of the achievement of her long-cherished dream to become a full-time writer. It was a pity she couldn't share her joy with her parents.
Having completed the novel, she now had nothing to do until Daniel came home from the sea. She couldn't wait to see him again and tell him the wonderful news.
Only yesterday, Sally had confirmed, by telegram, the excellent lift in sales of her magazine and her intention to contract them to write more novels. It seemed that Ladies' View magazine was edging ever closer to becoming a success and finally safe from being shut down by her vindictive father.
Carolyn smiled as she browsed the shop windows. "Take that, Mr Ellsworth, blasted Hall. You'd better watch out for a few squalls on your horizon."
Having some time to spare before she collected the children from school, she was intending to walk along to the general store to check up on the latest sales figures with Fred Hammond.
She stopped abruptly when she saw Claymore escorting a fashionably dressed woman into his office. A young woman she recognised immediately even though she was draped in widow's weeds.
"Countess Beauvoir?" she gasped. "Vanessa?"
The countess turned her well-coifed head, frowning in annoyance as if she didn't recognise Carolyn and resented the intrusion. "Have we met before, Madame?" she asked icily.
Carolyn held out her hand. "Don't you remember? I'm Carolyn Gregg. We first met in Boston last spring."
The Countess continued to frown before her brow suddenly cleared. "Ah, yes, of course. Do forgive me. You're the little woman writer who succeeded in marrying my Daniel. How nice to see you again."
She smiled courteously enough as she briefly touched her gloved fingers to Carolyn's hand in greeting, but the warmth did not rise to her dark eyes. "I will say your writing held some appeal for me. I may yet do some business with the publisher of your little magazine when I return to Boston."
She turned away again almost immediately, dismissing Carolyn's unexpected advent as no longer important to her. Carolyn poked her tongue out at the woman's back view.
"Mr Gregg?" the Countess questioned Claymore with a significant rise of her brows. "Our urgent business, s'il vous plait. I do not wish to linger in this backwater of a town for longer than I must."
"Of course, yes. Ah, this way…" Claymore shifted uncomfortably as he pushed his office door wide open for the woman to walk past him. "Sorry, Carolyn…" he said apologetically, giving her a swift grimace as he turned to hurry after his new customer.
"Well…" Carolyn stood on the sidewalk looking after them as Claymore shut the door behind him.
She felt as if she'd just been slapped in the face. The whole scene quite took the happy glow out of her day.
She sighed her displeasure, trying to decide if she would open the office door and give the obnoxious woman a piece of her mind or leave well enough alone. Her breathing increased as she sensed the last of her lifelong habit of reticence to express her thoughts and feelings finally falling away.
"Little woman, indeed!" she snapped, stamping her foot. "How dare she?" She put her hand out toward the door with the intention of entering Claymore's office.
"Oh ho, someone's about to be sunk by a well-placed broadside," a dearly familiar voice commented from close behind her. "And here's me thinking you would be happy to see me returning sooner than expected."
"Daniel?" Carolyn gasped, spinning around in astonishment to stare up at her husband. "You're back! And so soon! Oh, I'm so very glad! I've missed you!"
She launched herself headlong into his arms, uncaring of who might be looking. She didn't even see the other man standing behind her husband's shoulder, watching their interplay with wry amusement.
Daniel had to drop his seabag to catch her. He swung her high in his embrace before lowering her down to kiss her thoroughly until they were both breathless with the joy of reunion. Carolyn clung to his arms, trying not to cry even as she laughed with joy. All thought of her recent unpleasant encounter with Vanessa Beauvoir was forgotten.
"I'm going to have to talk to my wife about how she greets me when I return home from the sea," the man standing behind Daniel commented dryly, his voice full of amusement.
"I have missed you…" Daniel sighed as he rested his forehead against Carolyn's. "The weather gods were behind me all the way home. They favoured my course. Sadly, they also blew this great oaf into safe harbour along with me. Then they abandoned him here when the wind died."
He turned to punch Lucius Beaumont lightly in the shoulder. His good friend took the blow equitably as he possessed himself of Carolyn's hand and kissed the backs of her fingers with easy grace. "Mrs Gregg. It is a delight to finally see you again. It has been too long."
"Thank you, Captain…" Carolyn smiled at his roguishness, removing her hand from his.
"Who were you about to fire upon when we arrived, my dear?" Daniel asked curiously as he picked up his seabag and settled it back on his shoulder. "You were certainly deeply annoyed with someone." He frowned through Claymore's front window with curiosity. "I'll admit I do like the see that fire in your eyes. It suits you."
"Oh, it was nobody important…" Carolyn dismissed his question with a wave of her hand, trying to distract his attention by moving away.
She had no wish for the Countess's unwanted arrival to spoil their reunion. She turned to Lucius, intending to invite him to dine with them, but it was already too late.
"Vanessa?" Daniel frowned at the young woman seated before Claymore's desk, talking urgently to him while he listened with frowning attention. "I can see now why you're looking so upset, my dear."
Daniel stared at young Jack, standing next to his employer, taking frantic notes as he tried to keep up with the negotiations which appeared to be becoming more animated by the second. Tempers were becoming heated both inside and outside the office as both combatants began to wave their arms around.
"It seems that the Countess is in town to do business with Claymore," Carolyn replied rather unnecessarily, as she stepped reluctantly back to her husband's side.
"I can see that," Daniel commented grimly. "The question is, what sort of business?"
"I don't care what her business is," Carolyn replied. "She's a rude and arrogant woman. She looked down on me as if I was nothing. I was about to give her a goodly piece of my mind."
Lucius joined them in looking through the window. "That's the Countess Beauvoir," he added to what the others already knew. "I saw her in Paris after I met you two that night at the Parker Hotel in Boston. She was living the high life, happily spending her way through her husband's fortune, until he got killed in a shooting accident two months ago."
He shook his head. "It was said to be all rather shady. Seems he wasn't very popular in some circles and his heir was itching to take over the family estates before there was nothing left of them but huge debts. But what's she doing here? Schooner Bay is a very long way from the salons of Paris."
"That's the burning question that needs answering," Daniel replied grimly as he went forward to open the office door, intending to interrupt the tense negotiations and get to the bottom of what was going on.
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