A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(44)

“Did ye wish to commission me to make something for ye? I’m afraid I dinna do much buildin’ noo-a-days.” He lifted his hands to show us his gnarled fingers. “Rheumatism. ’Twas why I agreed to be pensioned. Couldna do much anyways.”

Gage flushed, clearly recognizing why I’d been attempting to signal him. He’d let his enthusiasm for Mr. MacCowan’s skill temporarily blind him. “No, I apologize. We’re actually here for a rather more serious reason.”

“Oh?” he replied, gesturing for us to be seated.

I selected a chair below the high open window through which I could hear the river and the birds.

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this,” Gage continued as he perched on the edge of its twin. “But your daughter, Mairi, was found dead yesterday evening.”

“Dead?” he replied in startlement.

“Yes,” Gage replied, and then paused to allow the man to absorb this information.

Mr. MacCowan rocked back in his chair and swiped a hand over the bristles on his jaw as he stared unseeing at the floor. His skin was ashen and his eyes glassy with shock.

“Can I get you a glass of water?” I asked him, concerned for his health.

“Nay,” he croaked. “Nay, thank you.” He blinked through a sheen of tears as he looked up at us. “How?”

“We believe she was poisoned, though we’re not certain if it was accidental or . . .” Gage broke off, suddenly hesitant to continue, perhaps concerned how the elderly man would react.

“Or murder,” he finished for him, swallowing thickly around the word.

Gage nodded.

He inhaled a ragged breath, as if making himself face the possibility, and then he eyed us both evenly. “You mun’ have questions for me.”

Gage and I exchanged a glance, and I nodded for him to continue. My throat was too tight to speak. Somehow this man’s quiet grief and acceptance was more difficult to face than the histrionics such news was often met with.

“We understand that Mairi visited you yesterday afternoon? That she often came to see you on her days off and then stopped at the manor.”

“To see Liam, aye,” Mr. MacCowan said. “And aye, Mairi was here yesterday. She cooked dinner, and we ate together before she left.” At this, he blinked rapidly and turned his head to the side, perhaps confronting the fact that that was the last time he would ever see his daughter. I lifted my eyes to the embroidered verse. At least, here on earth.

“What did you eat?”

“Mince and tatties.”

“No mushrooms? No berries?” I interjected.

“Nay mushrooms. But we did eat a few o’ the blaeberries she picked on her walk here. They were from a patch we ken weel. They’re no’ poisonous.”

I nodded. Bilberries were a common enough fruit, though stains caused by their juices were the very devil to get out. Or so I’d been told.

“Did your daughter eat anything that you didn’t?” Gage pressed, just to be clear, but Mr. MacCowan shook his head.

“How was she?” I asked, switching topics, for it seemed that whatever poison she’d ingested, it had not happened here. “Did she appear healthy? Was anything preying on her mind?”

“She seemed tired,” he replied. “But she often did.” His brow furrowed. “And she had a bit o’ a cough.”

“A wet one? Or was it dry?”

“Wet. I asked if she wished to pass the night here, but she had to be back to Poltalloch by midnight in case Miss Margaret had need o’ her.”

“That’s who she served?” I asked, having wondered what her exact position was. On our visit to Poltalloch, she had acted as more of a downstairs maid, carrying the tea tray, but I suspected that wasn’t her normal duty.

“She did a little o’ this and a little o’ that,” he replied, a reminder that, due to their nephew’s profligate ways, the Campbell sisters had to do with less staff. He sighed. “And she said she needed to see Liam.”

I resisted the urge to look at Gage, thinking that might be too telling.

“Did she say why she was anxious to speak with him?” Gage inquired.

Mr. MacCowan shook his head listlessly. “Nay, but surely he can tell ye that.”

When neither of us responded, he looked up at us warily.

“Liam Gillies is missing,” Gage explained. “And it’s believed he was the last person to see your daughter.”

I expected to encounter some sort of doubt or recriminations from Mairi’s father about the first footman, but I was swiftly proven wrong.

“Then he mun’ have been frightened,” he declared. “Liam Gillies wouldna harm a flea, let alone my daughter. That lad has more honor in his little finger than most gentlemen possess in their whole body.”

I found this to be a curious statement, and rather a scathing indictment of the gentlemen he’d had contact with. But before I could ponder more than Lord Barbreck and his broken engagement to Miss Campbell, Mr. MacCowan continued with a derisive snort.

“Why else do ye think I allowed him to go on escortin’ Mairi home? I’d no’ have done that for just anyone.”

“We presumed as much,” Gage told him calmly. “But all the same, we need to speak with him. To find out what he knows and whether he might have some idea how she ingested the poison. Do you have any idea where he might be? Does he have family nearby?”