A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(117)

I realized with sickening clarity that I’d made a fatal miscalculation. Margaret might have pretended to be infirm for fifty to sixty years of her life, but she was far from helpless, and she did not allow herself to be hindered by the same scruples as other people. I had no doubt she would kill me, find a way to make it look like an accident, and feel no remorse in doing so. Only smugness at her own cleverness.

But I had a daughter who needed me. A husband and family and friends who relied on and loved me. I was not going to let her take me from them. And I was not going to let her outwit me. Yes, she was cunning and resourceful, but so was I. And I could be ruthless, too, when the situation called for it.

Pivoted slightly away as I was, I slowly, ever so slowly, tried to slide my hand through the slit in my mauve pelisse to where my pocket had been tied beneath without alerting her. I had taken to wearing one whenever we were in the country or someplace I didn’t want the bother of carrying a reticule about my wrist. I had also long ago learned to never leave my pocket pistol behind, especially while we were in the midst of an inquiry.

But I feared I would never reach it before Margaret tired of talking. She seemed to like the sound of her own voice, as well as the opportunity to brag about her predatory, manipulative feats, but she was far from stupid. Eventually she would decide enough was enough, and I knew I had no hope of extracting the gun before she hurled her next knife.

It was then that I spied the second door just a few feet away. It was partially concealed by one of the tapestries, and there was no telling what was behind it or if it was even unlocked, but at the moment it was my best chance of escape.

“That must have been a lonely way to grow up,” I said, hoping empathy might have some effect on her, or at least keep her talking while I worked out a plan.

But my compassion seemed to have the opposite effect, making her brow lower in anger. “Dinna pretend to sympathize wi’ me. That ploy willna work. And dinna try appealin’ to the fact you’re Greer’s offspring. It willna save you either.”

My heart stuttered in my chest, but I forced myself to breathe in and out as evenly as I could. “Your sister told me you were both fond of her,” I charged.

“O’ course we were. Greer was worthy o’ fondness.”

This pronouncement might have softened me toward her if she wasn’t wielding a pair of knives, intent on killing me.

“And Anne has kept a watchful eye o’er all o’ her offspring from afar, all these years. So we ken all aboot yer bein’ an artist and yer turn as an investigator, as weel as yer more ghoulish past.” Her lips curled with a cruel delight that then just as swiftly disappeared. “But I didna anticipate ye identifyin’ the forgeries, though I shoulda.” She scrutinized me from head to toe. “Yer mother always saw too much, too.”

I stilled at this pronouncement, uncertain what she was implying. What had my mother seen?

“?’Tis why she left. And why she returned. To confront me. She kent I’d poisoned Edmund. Put it in his brandy flask. And she wanted me to ken it, though she could ne’er prove it.” Margaret gestured with the knives, making me flinch. “As I said, I liked Greer. I liked havin’ her here. But Edmund kept takin’ her away.”

Aunt Cait had told me the same thing. How my mother had been happy here, but her feckless husband kept returning for her, only to betray and abandon her yet again.

Margaret’s expression turned black. “I didna expect her to leave and ne’er return. At least, no’ until it was too late.”

With each moment that passed, I could feel the clock silently ticking down. Margaret’s mood was darkening, her umbrage growing, and it was only a matter of time before she struck. Having abandoned my efforts to reach my pistol as futile, I instead reached for the handle of the drawer in the bureau behind me and slowly began to pull it out, hoping my wide skirts masked the movements. Much as I loathed the current fashion for swathes of bulky fabric and ridiculous puffed sleeves, I had never been so glad of them.

“And if she’d stayed?” I challenged. “What would you have done then? Killed her, too?”

“Only if she crossed me,” she replied chillingly, as if such a response was perfectly reasonable.

Each tug of my hand ratcheted the tension within me that it would be the one she detected. Feeling I’d risked enough, I lifted my fingers to slide them into the one-or two-inch gap I’d made. The tips brushed against coarse wool, and I clamped hold. “It was you in the blue cloak, wasn’t it?” I accused.

One eyebrow arched upward in satisfaction. “The same shade as your mother always wore.”

“And you who placed her miniature on my pillow and stole my pendant, only to drop it under the sofa when you came to plant that lie about the poison being for you.”

She shrugged. “I tried to save ye from this fate, but ye persisted in pursuin’ yer inquiry.”

“You tried to lead me off a cliff,” I snapped, my temper igniting at her implication that she’d been doing me a favor. I yanked the woolen garment out a little further, crumpling it in my fist.

“That, too,” she readily admitted.

“And you poisoned my maid!”

“Aye, she was sniffin’ too close to the truth.” Her gaze met mine sharply in accusation. “But you’re the one who sent her here into danger.”