A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(38)
“Mairi went aroond wi’ Liam,” the dark-haired footman interjected, drawing his superior’s gaze. “Ye ken, regular-like.”
What the butler thought of this comment, I wasn’t entirely sure, but he seemed doubtful.
“You mean, he was her beau?” I tried to clarify.
The footman nodded. “Aye.”
Wheaton continued to eye the younger man askance even as he explained. “Liam Gillies is our first footman. And if what Callum says is true . . .” He hesitated briefly, as if to indicate he would be verifying that assertion with the remainder of the staff—a task easily done—so he’d better not be lying. “Then the fact that Liam disappeared from his duties earlier this evenin’ is troublin’.”
Callum’s brow tightened, clearly disliking having his honesty questioned.
So this was the footman Bree had spoken of so often during the past few days. I couldn’t say I blamed her. He was a good-looking lad, possessing a youthful vigor and a rugged Highlander’s physique that was certain to turn heads. However, I found myself wondering what it said about him that Wheaton didn’t entirely trust his word. Was this merely an indicator of the inherent rivalry that must exist between a first and second footman, or something specific to Callum?
Whatever the case, Liam’s absence was, indeed, noteworthy if not outright suspicious.
“Please let me know when he turns up,” Gage told the butler.
“O’ course.”
I lowered my gaze to scrutinize the maid’s face while he instructed the two men to leave their candles and collect blankets and something sturdy to carry her on. As they hastened away, I offered my husband a tight smile of gratitude. He knew I preferred to conduct my examinations without others looking on in shock and disgust. That my reputation preceded me—having been forced to sketch my first husband’s dissections for the anatomy textbook he was writing—lessened their astonishment somewhat, but not the revulsion many still felt at the idea of a gentlewoman assessing a corpse, no matter my and Gage’s renown as inquiry agents.
Gage made a slow semicircle around me and the corpse, scrutinizing the floor carefully before he stepped, and set a brace of candles near her head and feet. “What do you think? Was Miss MacCowan curious about the portrait Lord Barbreck accused her employer of forging and stealing? Maybe she overheard him blaming her. So she asked her beau to sneak her up here to see it.”
“Maybe,” I replied obliquely, leaning closer to examine the maid’s nostrils.
“But then what?” Gage continued in bafflement. “He attacked her? With what? How did he make her bleed from her mouth, nose, and eyes?”
I pulled down on the maid’s jaw, peering into her mouth. “Bring that light closer,” I instructed him as I tilted her head to get a better look inside her mouth.
“What is it? What do you see?”
“Ulcers,” I replied absently, sinking back on my heels as I racked my brain for something that would cause these symptoms. Furrowing my brow in consternation, I felt her lymph nodes and down her neck. I examined her head for any indication of a blow, but there was no fracturing, and the only blood appeared to be from her facial orifices. A brief scrutiny of her torso and limbs showed there were no punctures, abrasions, or scrapes, and no defensive wounds either. There were no injuries of any kind save a small burn on the inside of her arm, and she could have easily suffered that from mishandling a clothing iron or dropping a pair of curling tongs.
“So strange,” I murmured to myself, scrubbing the blood from my hands as best as I could with merely a handkerchief to hand.
“What is?” Gage asked, gripping my elbow to help me rise to my feet.
“It seems she was poisoned.” I gestured toward the body, the flickering light of the candles casting it in a yellow glow. “For I can find no evidence of physical violence. But I’ve never heard of a poison that causes bleeding from the eyes, nose, and mouth.” I tilted my head. “Not that I’m all that versed in poisons to begin with. But I did familiarize myself with the symptoms of the most common ones after the events in Edinburgh last spring.”
“A poison?” Gage repeated.
I nodded. “Yes. One she probably ingested. At least the ulcers inside her mouth seem to indicate so.”
“Then the footman—Liam—might not be responsible? That is, if he’s the person who helped her gain access to the long gallery.”
“Not necessarily. Some poisons act quickly, but others do not. She might have ingested it hours ago, long before she arrived at Barbreck Manor.” My mouth flattened. “But you raise an interesting point. Clearly an outsider could gain access to the long gallery. An outsider from the Campbells’ household. Though as far as we can tell, she wasn’t carrying anything.” I lifted my gaze to the Van Dyck, verifying it was the same one I’d examined two days prior.
“You think someone was trying to make a point?” He widened his stance, planting his hands on his hips. “But to what end? And why poison the maid?”
“To prove that an outsider could have switched the paintings. Though the person trying to make that point and the poisoner need not be the same person.” I scowled, scrutinizing the body and the floor nearby again. “And yet, it doesn’t make sense to even try to make that point unless she was intended to be caught. Or unless she left something behind.”