A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(16)
It appeared everyone was aware of my altercation with Lord Barbreck that afternoon, but much to my relief, it seemed no one blamed me for it. Although, in general, we skirted the subject rather than addressing it directly. The closest we came to discussing it outright was an artless remark made by Jack about how obsessed Barbreck was with his art.
Lady Bearsden, for her part, looked slightly dyspeptic. There had been no opportunity to speak privately before dinner, and now she sat with her lips tightly sealed, as if she was struggling to keep whatever she knew—and she knew something—from spilling from her mouth between bites of food. Charlotte kept casting worried looks her way, unaware of the real reason for her great-aunt’s uncharacteristic silence.
By the time the final course was brought forth, and still there had been no sign of Barbreck, the men started discussing whether they should ride out to ensure nothing dreadful had befallen him.
“After all, the roads in this part of Scotland are not exactly the most hospitable,” Rye remarked.
“And it isn’t unheard of for a band of ruffians to stop an unprotected carriage traveling at night,” Jack added, causing somewhat of a stir among the ladies. Even I felt a pulse of alarm.
“That’s true,” Uncle Dunstan conceded, sinking back in his chair as he directed a chiding look at his son-in-law. “But the same could also be said aboot most o’ the roads in Scotland and northern England. Highwaymen are a problem everywhere.”
“Yes, but you can’t deny they’re more desperate here,” Jack countered, lifting his glass of Madeira. “What with the clearances having taken away any chance of their scrabbling together much of an honest living.”
This was a familiar topic of discussion between the two men, one on which they normally saw eye to eye. For Uncle Dunstan was as concerned as Jack about the lack of land available to small farmers. A century earlier, the wealthy landowners had begun driving off the people who had lived and worked on the land of their estates for generations in order to enclose it for more sheep. Many of those people had ended up immigrating to North America and beyond, but not all.
However, in this case, it wasn’t Jack’s politics my uncle disagreed with.
“Maybe so, but there’s no need to be frightenin’ the ladies wi’ such talk. Especially when we’ve no cause to jump to such a rash conclusion.”
“All the same,” Aunt Cait declared, ever the peacemaker, as she leaned forward to rest a restraining hand against Jack’s arm. “Perhaps it would be a good idea if several of you gentlemen ventured out to meet him if he hasn’t returned by sunset.”
I glanced at the clock, seeing that it was almost nine o’clock, which meant the sun would be setting soon. During the height of summer, sunset did not occur until late in the evening and was followed by the gloaming—the time between sunset and actual nightfall when the soft smudge of twilight reigned the sky. Here in the Highlands, the gloaming could last for hours after sunset.
Uncle Dunstan nodded in agreement. “Aye.”
Everyone’s appetites being sated, if not spoiled, by that point, Aunt Cait rose from her chair but a few minutes later to lead the ladies from the room. This left the men to plan their approach over their port. I trailed my fingers over Gage’s shoulders as I passed his chair, letting him know that I was content with him joining the search should he choose to do so. His hand lifted to briefly clasp mine before releasing me.
Morven was waiting for me just outside the door and looped her arm through mine to walk in step with me. “Is it just me, or does Lady Bearsden look as if she’s going to burst if she doesn’t tell someone what she knows?” she leaned toward me to murmur as our heels clicked against the flagstone floor of the Great Hall.
These tiles appeared to be original to the previous castle, as did the stones in the enormous fireplace and some of the weaponry mounted on the walls. However, the white stucco work, tall-corniced windows, and wide Corinthian columns were much newer.
I eyed the lady in question, who strode arm in arm with her great-niece a few feet in front of us. Charlotte appeared to be whispering solicitously to her, but Lady Bearsden merely shook her head, which made the already taut line of Charlotte’s back even more rigid.
“That, or cause her great-niece to collapse in worry,” I retorted.
“Then perhaps we’d best wheedle it out of her.” Morven’s dark eyes were lit with mischief, but in this instance, I had to admit, her mischief was warranted.
“Yes, I think you’re right.” For if Barbreck didn’t return soon, we needed some understanding of what had sent him running off to Poltalloch Castle, or wherever he’d gone, without a moment’s notice.
Aunt Cait must have harbored similar intentions, for when we reached the drawing room, she was already dismissing the footman, informing him we would serve ourselves. I scrutinized the fellow as he was leaving, wondering if the ash-blond-haired chap was the Callum that Bree had referred to twice during our conversation earlier. It was either him or the darker-haired footman who had also assisted in serving dinner.
“Morven, dear. Do, please, shut the door,” Aunt Cait urged as she began pouring tea. “I feel a draft.”
Morven’s eyebrows arched in wry disbelief, but she released my arm to comply with her wishes.
I passed Lady Bearsden and Charlotte their tea, declining a cup for myself before I sank down on the sofa upholstered in mulberry brocade across from the pair of fauteuil chairs the two women inhabited. The drawing room being as spacious as the library across the hall, we had naturally gravitated toward the seating arrangement closest to the hearth and the metal screen depicting stags and Scottish thistles. The ceiling in this chamber was likewise ornately decorated, and the windows tall and numerous, flooding the room with sunlight during the day. But at this hour we had to be contented with the warm glow of the fire and the candles spaced throughout the room.