A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(113)

Lord Barbreck lowered himself into the chair nearest to Miss Campbell, a move which seemed to surprise her based on the rigid tension in her frame. As we were there, at least ostensibly, in support of his lordship, Gage and I made polite small talk, waiting for Barbreck to direct the conversation. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he dived into the heart of the matter.

“Miss Campbell, I wanted to come here myself to inform you that there’s been a development,” he told her in a respectful voice.

All the room fell silent, the sisters waiting to hear what Barbreck would say, and Gage and I scrutinizing Miss Campbell’s and her sister’s every flutter of an eyelash.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gage have found the original paintings. All the original paintings.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in. “Includin’ the Titian.”

Miss Campbell took a quick inhalation of air, as if for a moment she’d forgotten to breathe, and then resumed her rigid stillness, while Miss Margaret turned her head to the side, her jaw tight with anger.

Barbreck bowed his head. “Apparently, I was wrong aboot Alisdair. Verra, verra wrong. I trusted him. I placed family honor and my belief in him o’er everythin’ else, and he deceived me.” His voice broke on the last, and I watched Miss Campbell check the impulse to reach out to him. Her eyes told me she was not unaffected, even if the rest of her features remained stiff and unyielding.

Inhaling noisily through his nostrils, he forced his gaze up to meet hers. “I’ve come to apologize,” he declared. “I was wrong, Anne. You were right. And I was a bloody fool to let it end our engagement.”

The ache and the naked longing in his eyes brought a lump to my throat, as well as Miss Campbell’s, for she hiccupped, seeming to struggle with her own emotions.

She did reach out then, resting her hand over his where it lay on his chair arm. “We were both fools, Donald,” she admitted softly. “We both put our pride before all else.”

Seeing them thus affected me greatly, and I reached up to swipe at the tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. They had both let hard-heartedness and stubbornness separate them for so long, but whatever love had been between them was evidently not completely extinguished. Unless Miss Campbell was acting. But seeing her now, seeing them together, I struggled to believe such a thing was possible.

Perhaps we’d been wrong. Perhaps I’d been trying too hard to make all the pieces fit, to connect both investigations when the simplest answer was the right one. Miss Ferguson had killed her uncle and cousin for the painting or to protect her past or in revenge for some slight.

But in our absorption with Barbreck and Miss Campbell’s reconciliation, we had forgotten about Miss Margaret, whose voice suddenly snapped like a clap of thunder.

“You’re goin’ to forgive him? Just like that? After all the pain he’s caused ye? Fifty-four years o’ it.”

“Meg . . .” Anne began, but her sister would have none of it.

“Well, I’m no’!” Her eyes flashed fire. “Because I remember every minute o’ it. I remember every tear and every outburst. Every lonely year ye spent here wi’ naught but me for company, wishin’ for love and children, and a life ootside these four walls. He stole that from ye! He stole it all wi’ his stupid pride!” She pushed to her feet, rising far quicker than I would have believed she could. “So, no, I’ll no’ forgive him.” Her eyes narrowed spitefully on Barbreck. “I’ll never forgive him.”

She began to stride angrily toward the door but crumpled after two steps.

“Meg!” her sister gasped as Gage and I rushed to Miss Margaret’s aid.

Her face was scrunched in pain.

“Deep breaths,” I coaxed as Gage attempted to help her sit.

“My cane. I forgot my blasted cane,” she bemoaned through gritted teeth.

“What hurts most?” I asked as I scoured her for injuries.

“Your hip,” her sister exclaimed.

“Nay. It’s no’ that,” Miss Margaret groused. “?’Tis my leg.”

“This one?” I reached down to make a precursory assessment of it through her skirts. “It doesn’t appear to be broken, but it may be badly bruised or sprained.” I turned to my husband. “Can you lift her? Perhaps you should carry her to her chamber?” I looked to Miss Campbell for confirmation.

“Aye.” She glanced over her shoulder toward where the butler stood in the doorway. “Calder will show ye the way.”

Gage hefted Miss Margaret into his arms and moved to follow him. My gaze trailed over the floor, searching for what had tripped her up in the first place. Or had her old legs simply given way?

Miss Campbell grasped my arm anxiously. “Mrs. Gage, you have some medical training.”

“A very little,” I replied. And almost exclusively on dead bodies.

“Will you examine her? Make certain it’s no’ serious. I can send for Dr. Brown, but he’ll take hours to come, if he deigns to come at all.”

Having firsthand experience of this Dr. Brown, I well understood what she was saying, so I reluctantly agreed. “Of course. I’ll do what I can.”

She thanked me, and I hurried after them.

I found Gage settling Miss Margaret in her bed on the floor above, arriving just in time to hear her make a jest.