A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(116)
She had risen up onto her supposedly weak knees, her eyes blazing back at me with unholy fury. But it was the tip of the knife she held out toward me that most alarmed me. It was small, about the size of a sgian-dubh, but wickedly sharp. Only when I recognized she was still several paces away, that surely I could reach the door before she could reach me, did the panic in my chest ease so that I could take a breath.
“?’Twas my boots,” she demanded. “They gave me away, didna they?”
“Your legs, actually,” I replied as conversationally as I could manage, deciding my best course of action was to keep her talking. Regardless of her physical fitness, she was still seventy-odd years of age and would eventually tire of perching in that position. When she moved, so would I. “They’re not those of an invalid.”
“?’Twas a gamble pretendin’ to trip like I did,” she conceded. “But I had to force Anne’s thoughts away from bloody Barbreck and back to me,” she snarled, using far stronger words. Words I’d rarely heard a lady utter.
“You didn’t want your sister to leave you,” I realized with a start.
Her eyes narrowed. “If I was never goin’ to be allowed to leave, then neither was she.”
Her vehemence was unsettling, and I found myself wishing I could recall what was on top of the bureau behind me. Was there something I could throw at her? A book? A figurine?
“Then your illness . . . ? Was it ever real?”
“Aye, it started oot real enough. I was a sickly child. But then I was never allowed to get better. My father had already decided my place, and it was at Poltalloch, as a companion to my aging relatives.” Her lips curled upward at the corners. “So, I arranged matters to my liking.”
I blinked, stunned by the turn in our conversation. “Then, you convinced Alisdair to paint a forgery of the Titian?”
“Dinna act so surprised. I’ve always been good at convincin’ others to do what I want.” Her eyes hardened. “Except my father. God rest his soul.” The manner in which she said it planted in my brain the chilling suggestion that he might have been her first victim, though she didn’t admit it outright. “As I said, Alisdair was led easily enough. After all, I was quite beautiful at seventeen. And I didna really lose my looks until a few years ago. Aboot the time Alisdair suddenly grew a conscience.” Her sneer told me she didn’t think much of those who were bound by such a thing. “Before that he was happy to do what I wished, wi’ the knowledge that he was not only foolin’ his pompous older brother by possessin’ the genuine paintings he’d so coveted but also occasionally sleepin’ wi’ a Campbell woman in his bed.”
“But why? Why continue the ruse for all that time?” I asked in astonished bewilderment. “Your ploy had worked. Alisdair painted the forgery, and then I presume you were the one to damage it to convince your father to contact that expert who decried it. You took quite a risk thinking that would cause a rift wide enough between Barbreck and your sister that it would end their engagement.”
“Nay, I just recognized Barbreck’s pride couldna withstand the accusation.”
I blinked at her cool assessment of the situation. “So, you’d already ruined your sister’s engagement and kept her at Poltalloch. Then why continue? Especially after your father died? Couldn’t you have done what you wanted then?”
“?’Twas too late,” she snapped. “I’d already lost all those years, any chance at a life and a home o’ my own. Gentlemen dinna marry spinsters when they can have young and nubile debutantes for their brides.” She sat back on her heels, tipping the knife as if to idly examine the blade. “Besides I liked kenning that Barbreck was slowly bein’ deprived o’ his precious collection, and that he’d no’ idea it was happenin’ right under his nose, or if he did ken, he was too proud to admit it. Babreck looks on me with pity,” she practically spat the word. “But he was the one too stupid to see the truth. He was the one bein’ duped. And by his own brother, no less.” She glanced up at me as if to see what kind of effect her confessions were having on me. “And as for Alisdair, I liked watchin’ his jealousy grow, no’ dwindle wi’ every painting he took. And ’twas no hardship to endure his attentions. At least, no’ initially.” Her smile was feline. “I wouldna offered myself if it was.”
“All this time, you kept the scheme going. Until, as you said, Alisdair grew a conscience.”
“Aye. Then his usefulness was at an end, and . . . you can imagine the rest.” She shrugged one shoulder as if the matter was of little importance. “There wasna even a hint o’ suspicion, except from Mairi and MacCowan. But they wouldna dared to say anythin’.” Her gaze sharpened. “Until you showed up.”
“And I noticed the forgery.” I’d already deduced this much.
“I could feel Mairi watchin’ me, and I ken ’twas only a matter o’ time before she or her da talked. I couldna let that happen.”
She shifted her leg as if to begin climbing down from the bed, and I sidled a step toward the door, only to stiffen in shock as the knife she’d held came flying past within inches of my head to embed itself in the wall with a thunk.
Margaret tsked. “Really, Mrs. Gage, did you honestly think I was goin’ to let you simply walk oot o’ here?” She now stood by the bed, brandishing two more knives. “I canna ride. I was ne’er allowed. But I can throw wi’ deadly accuracy up to twenty feet. ’Twas one o’ the skills I could practice while confined to my room.” She nodded toward the walls. “Why do ye think there are so many tapestries in here? They’re to cover the holes.”