A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(111)

I perked up at these last comments. “Did you see any rosaries while you were at Poltalloch yesterday?”

“Nay, but then I didna go searchin’ through their drawers and chests where they’d most likely be kept.”

I tilted my head. “What were you able to learn?” I asked, having wondered what had triggered the poisoner to target her.

She heaved a sigh. “No’ much. And believe me, I’ve been replayin’ every conversation I had yesterday, tryin’ to figure oot if I missed somethin’.”

“You were trying to pry into the connection between Mr. MacCowan working for Lord Alisdair, and Mairi working for the Campbells, and how Mairi had already known the Campbells before going to work for them,” I reminded us both and then informed her of the progress we’d made in the forgery investigation. How we’d located the original portraits behind a false wall Mr. MacCowan had built and all the details Miss Ferguson had remembered from her time visiting as a girl. “Does knowing that help you in any way?”

Her eyes narrowed as she gave the matter her serious consideration. “Well, I’ve been thinkin’ that if Mairi had met the Campbells before goin’ to work for ’em, then maybe she’d met them—or one o’ ’em anyway, since Miss Margaret dinna leave Poltalloch much. Then maybe she met them at Lord Alisdair’s. Maybe Miss Campbell visited there wi’ her brother, or maybe she went by herself . . .” She broke off, and I could tell she was contemplating the same thing I had. She looked up from the toile counterpane over her legs to meet my level gaze. “The lady,” she finally dared to say.

“I wondered about her, too,” I admitted.

“Then you think . . . ?” Her words fell away as she sank her head back against her pillows, seemingly stunned and at least slightly unsettled, given the fact the person in question might have poisoned her.

“Did Miss Campbell know you were there asking questions? Did she know what you were asking about?”

“Aye, she kent we were there. We told her we were there to speak to the staff aboot the poison again after Miss Margaret’s suggestion she might o’ been the intended victim.” Her eyes were apprehensive. “But she might have figured oot we were after somethin’ else. She might o’ overheard.”

I rested my elbow on the arm of the chair and propped my chin on my fist, pondering Miss Margaret’s revelation. Had the poison been in her raspberry compote? Had Miss Campbell known how her sister coaxed the maids to take her food? Had she gambled on her doing so that morning with Mairi? If so, she had taken a tremendous risk, one that would call into question the affection she seemed to hold for her sister. Or had the poison been added later or been given to Mairi in some other form? Or by some other poisoner?

I pressed my hand to my head, wondering if my exhaustion was making me muddled.

“What are ye gonna do?” she asked as if afraid of my answer.

“Speak with Mr. Gage,” I reassured her, pushing to my feet. “And nothing else for tonight. So get some rest. I promise not to ride off into trouble.”

She smiled tightly. “I’ll try.”

So will I, I thought, not having any more confidence I would get much rest than she seemed to. So will I.



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*

The next day dawned too early. Emma woke just after six o’clock demanding an early breakfast, and it had taken considerable effort to crawl out from beneath the covers to answer her summons. It didn’t help that the dawn was cool—one of those Highland summer days that felt more like autumn. Though I tried to console myself with the fact that at least it wasn’t raining, especially since we would be venturing out in just a few short hours.

Gage played lady’s maid for me, as the evening before I’d ordered Bree to stay abed until she felt well enough, or at the very least until midmorning. Though I strongly suspected her to be up on her feet the moment the clock struck that hour.

“Stop fretting,” he told me as he finished lacing my day corset, dropping a kiss on my shoulder. “The answer will present itself. It always does. And fretting won’t make it come any faster.”

He was right, about the latter part in any case. Though I’d long feared our investigative skills would one day prove not up to the challenge. After all, not every criminal was stupid, and evidence wasn’t always there or straightforward.

We had discussed the inquiry for hours the previous evening before falling asleep, sometimes going over the same points multiple times, but the answer was no clearer. Whether the poisoner was Miss Ferguson or Miss Campbell or some other player was not yet evident. But from his knowledge of and correspondence with the region’s procurator fiscal, Gage strongly suspected that as the evidence currently stood, the official would charge Miss Ferguson for the crime. Given my current doubts, this did not sit well with me. I wanted to be certain of her guilt.

Especially now knowing the procurator fiscal was a Campbell himself, a relative of the Duke of Argyll. The Campbells of Poltalloch might be a minor branch of the family, but they were Campbells nonetheless, and clan loyalty ran strong in the Highlands. Had Miss Campbell counted on that? If she was the culprit, had she been relying on her family connections to smooth away any difficulties if she was seen or any evidence happened to point toward her? I couldn’t dismiss the possibility.