MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy (7 page)

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Authors: William W. Johnstone,J. A. Johnstone

Tags: #Fiction, #Westerns, #General

BOOK: MacCallister: The Eagles Legacy
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“Julius, this is my cousin, Duff,” Andrew said to the uniformed black man who was the elevator operator.
“It is nice to meet you, sir,” the elevator operator said with a deep, resonant voice.
“It is good to meet you as well.”
After the brief elevator ride, they stepped across the hall where Andrew opened a door, then welcomed Duff inside. The apartment was large and expensively decorated. But the most appealing feature of the apartment was, as Andrew had stated, the “magnificent view” of the city. Because of the height of Andrew’s apartment building, much of the city could be seen, all the way down to the docks, where Duff could see both steamships and sailing ships. He was able to pick out the
Hiawatha
, just by her topgallant, and he felt a strange sense of attachment to it, as if it were his last connection to Scotland, and by extension, to Skye.
Andrew walked over to the wall and removed the telephone from the hook. “Eight-three-two-five, please,” he said. Then, “Rosanna, he is here. Yes. We will have lunch together.”
Hanging up the phone, he turned back to Duff. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited Rosanna to have lunch with us.”
“No, not at all. I will be delighted to see her again.”
“How long can you stay in America?” Andrew asked.
“I’m never going back.”
Andrew’s expression showed his surprise at the answer. “But your fiancée,” he said.
Duff was quiet for a moment.
“Skye?” Andrew asked, the word softly spoken because he perceived that, for some reason, the name was painful to Duff.
“Skye is dead, Andrew,” Duff said. “She was murdered.”
“Oh, Duff, I am so sorry,” Andrew said. “Do they know who did it?”
“Yes, and the ones who did it have already been executed.” Duff did not say that he was their executioner.
“I am glad that they have paid for their crime. And I am glad that you have come to America. I think making a fresh start will be good for you.”
“I believe so as well.”
“We’ll have to find a place for you to stay,” Andrew said. “And, will you be looking for a job?”
“Aye. I’ve some money, but I dinna know how long it will last.”
“Good, because I know just the job for you.”
With an introduction provided by Andrew, Duff began working backstage at a major theater. He was a skilled carpenter, and he had the ability to analyze complex problems and solve them quickly. Within a month, he became a stage manager, an important and most prestigious job. And now that he was securely employed in America, he decided it was time to write to his friend Ian McGregor to tell him that all was well.
Duff MacCallister
200 West 48th Street
New York, NY
Ian McGregor
The White Horse Pub
2 Elway Lane
Donuun, Scotland
Dear Ian,
My heart is still heavy with grief from the death of my beloved Skye, the more so because I was unable to be there for her funeral. But while I was not there in person, I was there in spirit and I know that, even as she sleeps in the arms of our Lord, she is aware of the undying love I have for her. I know too that at the time of her funeral she was surrounded by those who loved her most, and I take comfort from that.
On the night I left Scotland, I secured passage on a ship bound for New York. I did so by way of working as a crew member during the voyage. It was very hard work, but the very difficulty of the work helped me to deal with the pain of losing the one who was the center of my life. I take respite in the fact that our dear Skye returned my love with equal vigor, though I shall never understand how one as unworthy as I could have won the love of such a wonderful woman.
I am now living in New York and have gone to work in the theater, the position secured for me by my cousin Andrew. We are in “pre-production” as they say, for the play “The Highlander.” I am told that it was inspired by the visit of my cousins Andrew and Rosanna to Scotland. Of course, Andrew and Rosanna are the principal players of the production.
I hold the most gratifying position as stage manager. The play will take place in the Rex, an elegant and ample theater which is on West 48th Street at Broadway. You may find this interesting, Ian. The Rex theatre is lit entirely by electricity, the installation personally supervised by the inventor Thomas Edison.
Please write to me and tell me how you are doing. With shared sorrow for the loss of our dear Skye, I remain,
Your friend,
Duff MacCallister
 
Chapter Seven
 
Scotland—Donuun in Argyllshire
 
Postmaster Desmond Henry walked into the office of the Lord High Sheriff Angus Somerled, clutching an envelope to his breast. Deputy Rab Malcolm looked up at him.
“Postmaster Henry, may I help you?”
“I would like to speak with the sheriff, please.”
“What do you want to see the sheriff about?”
“That would be between me and the sheriff,” the postmaster replied.
Deputy Malcolm made a guttural sound deep in his throat, then stood and walked into the back office. He returned after a moment with the sheriff.
“What is this about, Henry?” Sheriff Somerled asked.
“Is there still a reward being offered for anyone who can tell you where to find Duff MacCallister?” Henry asked.
“A twenty-pound reward, yes. Do you know where he is?”
“Let me see the twenty pounds,” Henry demanded.
Sheriff Somerled nodded at Deputy Malcolm, and Malcolm walked over to a file, opened a drawer, and took our four five-pound notes and handed them to the sheriff. Postmaster Henry reached out for them, but the sheriff pulled his hand back.
“Where is he?”
“Well, that’s just it, Sheriff. I will tell you where he is, but you will nae be able to do anything about it. ’Tis out of your jurisdiction, he is.”
“Where is he?” Sheriff Somerled asked again.
“He is in New York.”
“New York? You mean he is in America?”
“Aye.”
“Then he did get on the ship that night,” Somerled said, hitting his fist into his hand. “I should have gone aboard to look for him. How do you know he is in New York?”
“He wrote this letter to Ian McGregor,” the postmaster said, showing the envelope to the sheriff. “It has his return address on it. Two hundred West Forty-eighth Street, New York, New York.”
“How do we know he is still there?” Deputy Malcolm asked.
“Because he has a job there,” the postmaster said. “It is clear that he plans to stay for a while.”
“How do you know that?” Sheriff Somerled asked.
“I steamed open the envelope and read the letter,” Postmaster Henry said. “I made a copy of the letter before I returned it to the envelope.”
“Let me see your copy.”
“That will cost you another twenty pounds,” Henry said.
“I could arrest you for opening someone else’s mail,” Sheriff Somerled warned.
“You could. But you may not find another postmaster who is as willing to cooperate with you as I have always been.”
“Yes, for profit,” Somerled said.
“One has to make a living, Sheriff. The postal service pays so little.”
Somerled stroked his chin for a moment, then nodded at Malcolm. “Get him another twenty pounds,” he said.
Deputy Malcolm got another twenty pounds and gave it to the postmaster who, in return, gave the sheriff a folded piece of paper. “I printed it clearly so you should have no trouble reading it,” the postmaster said.
Somerled took the piece of paper, opened it, and began reading eagerly.
“If you will excuse me, I have business to attend to,” the postmaster said. “I must deliver this letter to Mr. McGregor.”
Because Somerled was reading the letter, he made no response to Henry, who left after carefully putting the money in the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Anything interesting, Sheriff?” Malcolm asked.
“How would you like to go to America?” Somerled asked.
“I’ve always wanted to visit America,” Malcolm replied.
“I’ll be sending you, along with Roderick and Alexander. And I’ll be putting you in charge, knowing how hotheaded and irresponsible my two boys are.”
“You’ll be tellin’ them I’m in charge, will you not, Sheriff? For without hearing from you, I think they may not listen.”
“I will tell them and they will listen,” Sheriff Somerled said.
“Sheriff, ye have no jurisdiction in America. When we find MacCallister, how do you want me to deal with him?”
“Deal with him? There will be no dealing with him,” Sheriff Somerled said. “I’ll be for wanting you to kill him.”
Malcolm smiled. “It was hoping, I was, that you would say that. Gillis and Nevin were good friends of mine. I will take pleasure in avenging them.”
“’Tis for them you be seeking vengeance, and ’tis for their brother that Roderick and Alexander will be doing the same. Don’t let me down, Malcolm. I want Duff Tavish MacCallister killed, and when he dies, there will be no more MacCallisters in Scotland. The two hundred and more years our clans have been at war will come to an end.”
Aboard the Cunard steamship Etruria
 
The young lady’s name was Miriam Phelps, and she was from one of New York’s wealthiest and most fashionable families. This was not her first transatlantic voyage, though it was the first one she had made alone, and she was now coming back from a grand tour of Europe.
Roderick and Alexander Somerled met her in the first-class dining room, and she had flirted outrageously with both of them. Malcolm had watched with interest how she was playing the brothers against each other. He knew that it was all a game to her, a means of diversion for a very wealthy young woman at whose feet the whole world lay.
“Alexander, Roderick, Roderick, Alexander,” she said in a singsong voice. “I swear, you are both so handsome and so fascinating, that I don’t know which of you I want to give the most attention. What is a girl to do?” She smiled flirtatiously, then turned and walked away from them, glancing once back over her shoulder.
They had been at sea for five days when, early in the morning as Malcolm was asleep in his stateroom, he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder.
“What?” he said with a start as he jerked awake.
“Malcolm.”
Malcolm saw Alexander sitting on the side of his bed, his eyes gleaming wildly and a look of panic on his face.
“Wake up, Malcolm. Wake up,” Alexander was saying.
“I am awake,” he said. “What is it? What is going on?”
“We need some help.”
“Who needs help?”
“I do. So does Roderick.”
“What do you mean you need help? You need help with what?”
“Maybe you had better come to our stateroom,” Alexander said, referring to the cabin that he and his brother were sharing.
“What time is it?”
“It’s about three o’clock.”
“In the morning?”
“Aye.”
“What are you doing, waking me at this hour?”
“Please, Malcolm, get dressed and come with me,” Alexander said. “We need your help.”
“Yes, you keep saying that.”
Although Malcolm dressed quickly, Alexander kept urging him to hurry. Finally, when he was fully dressed, he left his stateroom and followed Alexander down the corridor, feeling, not only the gentle roll of the ship, but also feeling and hearing the vibration of the steam engine.
“Alexander, what . . .”
“Shhh,” Alexander hissed, laying his finger across his lips.
When they reached the stateroom shared by Alexander and Roderick, Alexander tapped, lightly, on the door.
“Who is it?” a muffled voice called from the other side of the door.
“Roderick, open up.”
The door opened, swinging inward, and Alexander and Malcolm stepped inside. Roderick closed the door quickly.
“What is it? What is this all about? What’s going on, and why is it so dark in here?”
“Turn on the light,” Alexander said.
The
Etruria
was equipped with electric lamps, so it required but the flick of a switch for the dark to be pushed away.
“She is over there,” Roderick said.
“She? Who is—what the hell?” Malcolm gasped.
Lying on one of the two beds, her arms and legs askew, her dress torn asunder to expose her naked body, her face blue, and her eyes bulging, but with her final expression of terror still discernable, was Miriam Phelps.
“My God,” Malcolm said, speaking in quiet shock. “You killed her?”
“We had to, don’t you see?” Roderick asked.
“No, I don’t see. What do you mean, you had to?”
“She was naught but a tease,” Alexander said. “First she said she wanted Roderick, then she said she wanted me, but it was a tease, all along. We brought her here, we gave her a chance to—be with one of us.”
“We even said we didn’t care which one,” Roderick continued. “She could be with Alexander, and I would watch. Or she could be with me, and Alexander would watch.”
“But she didn’t want to be with either one of us, so . . .”
“You raped her?”
“Aye,” Roderick said.
“Which one of you?”
“Both of us,” Alexander said.
“But I think she actually wanted it,” Roderick said.
“What makes you think that?”
“Because she dinnae scream,” Alexander said. “No’ with either one of us.”
“But afterward, she said she was going to report us,” Roderick added.
“And we could nae let that happen,” Alexander said.
“So, we, uh—we . . .” Roderick pointed to the girl’s twisted and bruised body. He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to.
“So, what do you want me to do?” Malcolm asked.
Roderick and Alexander looked at each other before Alexander spoke. “Tell us what to do now,” he said.
Malcolm sighed, then stroked his chin. “We’ve got to get rid of the body,” he said.
“How?” Roderick asked.
“How? We are on a ship in the middle of the ocean,” Malcolm said. “We’ll throw her and her clothes overboard.”
“See, Roderick? I told you that Malcolm would know what to do.”
“Look out in the passageway, make certain there is no one there,” Malcolm said. “There is an opening at the end of the passageway. We can go there to drop her over the side.”
When the coast was clear, the three men took Miriam’s body out of the cabin, then to the end of the corridor where, as Malcolm had pointed out, there was a railing that was open to the sea. They dropped the body overboard, then turned around just as a sailor was walking by.
“Ha!” the sailor said. “Feeding the fishes, are you?”
“What?” Roderick asked, startled by the question.
“That’s what we say when one is seasick and throwing up over the rail. He is feeding the fishes.”
Malcolm laughed. “Yes, that’s a good one,” he said. He put his hand on Roderick’s shoulder. “I’m afraid my friend isn’t that good of a sailor.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of,” the sailor said. “I’ve seen all of my shipmates get seasick at one time or another. Ask the galley for an orange,” he called back as he continued on whatever mission had brought him on deck. “I’ve always found that an orange helps.”
“Thanks,” Roderick replied.
Because Miriam was traveling alone, her absence was not noticed immediately. It was two days before another young lady, who had befriended her, reported her concern over not having seen her. The captain authorized her cabin to be entered, and they found it empty. A thorough search of the ship turned up no sign of her, and the captain, reluctantly, concluded that she must have fallen overboard.
From the
New York Sentinel:
New York Debutante Lost at Sea
 
T
ERRIBLE
T
RAGEDY
H
AD
N
O
W
ITNESSES
A terrible tragedy occurred on board the RMS
Etruria
during its voyage from Glasgow to New York. Miss Miriam Phelps, daughter of Edward Phelps, wealthy owner of the New York Bank for International Investment, was lost at sea during the ship’s transit. Miss Phelps was seen by many at dinner in the First-Class dining salon on Wednesday of the week previous, and by two guests who saw her later that night outside her cabin door.
First-Class passengers have their own deck, a large roomy area affording the more affluent the privacy necessary to protect them from unwanted contact with those passengers who transit via steerage. The First-Class deck is complete with shuffleboard and reclining chairs, and often passengers will, if the night is particularly pleasant, visit the First-Class deck to view the stars, or just to watch the luminescence of the water breaking white along the hull of the ship. It is thought that, perhaps to enjoy the deck in complete privacy, or perchance in an attempt to get some fresh air to combat a bout of
mal de mar
, Miss Phelps decided to visit the deck and, getting too close to the rail with no one to express caution or extend assistance, she fell overboard.
With nobody to hear her plea for help, the ship sailed on, leaving the poor woman floundering helplessly in its wake. Miss Phelps, 21, was a graduate of Smith College and is remembered by her classmates as a woman of talent, beauty, and generosity.
 
“Ha,” Roderick said after reading the newspaper. “Did you read this in the newspaper? They think she fell overboard.”
“We got away with it,” Alexander said.
“This time,” Malcolm said. “You were lucky. You might not be so lucky next time. So my advice to you is, stay out of trouble.”
“Our father may have appointed you in charge of us while we are looking for MacCallister,” Roderick said. “But he dinnae put you in charge of our personal lives.”
“Nor do I want to be in charge of your personal lives,” Malcolm replied. “But I am in charge of finding Duff MacCallister and dealing with him. And until that is accomplished, anything that might get in the way of our finding him comes under my purview.”
“All right, we’ll go along with what you say until then,” Alexander said. “But after we take care of MacCallister, you are no’ in charge of us anymore.”
“The first thing we need to do is find the Rex Theater,” Malcolm said.
“When we find the theater, let’s get us good seats,” Roderick said. “I like watching plays. Alexander, do you remember the play we went to in Edinburgh?”
“Aye, that was a good play,” Alexander replied.
“We will find the theater,” Malcolm said, “but we will nae put ourselves into position where he might see us.”
“Do you mean we will have to sit in the very back row?”
“We won’t sit in any row,” Malcolm said.
“What do you mean? How are we going to see the play if we don’t sit in any row?”
“We are not going to see the play,” Malcolm said. “We will wait outside until the play is over and the audience has left. It will be dark in the auditorium then, so we will be able to sneak in without being seen.”

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