A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(52)
“May we speak with her?” I asked when Miss Campbell finished answering.
Her eyes and Gage’s both dipped to my neck where, without conscious thought, I’d begun to worry my amethyst pendant again. It was clear from both their faces that they knew what that meant. My first impulse was to drop the necklace as if it were on fire, but I knew that would make my fretfulness even more obvious. So I stilled my fingers, clutching it instead.
“I’m afraid she hasna been feelin’ well these past two days,” Miss Campbell replied. A furrow formed between her brows. “Truth be told, I almost asked Mairi to stay yesterday because, as you already ken, Margaret prefers her. I even asked my sister aboot it, but she told me she’d be fine. That it wasna fair to keep Mairi from her day off. That she looked forward to seein’ her da and Liam. And I decided she was right.”
“If I may be so bold,” I began apologetically. “What infirmity does your sister suffer from?”
Her eyes clouded with worry. “She has weak lungs and a weak heart. Has all her life.” She turned to gaze out over the loch where darker clouds appeared to be gathering in the west. “Ye shoulda seen her as a child. She was so verra fragile. Spent most o’ her time indoors because my father worried aboot her so. Ye see, our brother William, who was born between us, died as an infant.”
I stiffened at the name. Had I not been thinking of William Dalmay just a short time earlier, hearing it would likely have only caused me a flicker of discomfort. But in this setting, with my nerves already so raw, I struggled to stifle my reaction. Even so, Gage and Miss Campbell both noticed, though they had the grace not to make an issue of it.
“And our mother died soon after givin’ birth to Margaret,” Miss Campbell continued. “Father feared she would be next.” Her gaze drifted again toward the horizon. “To be honest, it’s somewhat of a miracle that she’s lived this long.”
I suspected that fact was a testament to Miss Campbell’s care for her and the fresh, clean air of the Highlands. If Margaret had a weak heart and lungs, had the women lived near one of the cities—Glasgow or Edinburgh, “Auld Reekie” herself—I doubted she would have survived long.
I allowed my gaze to drift over Miss Campbell’s noble profile. Between her love for Poltalloch and her affection for her sister, I supposed there was little wonder why she’d never left here and never married after her engagement to Lord Barbreck ended. She was tied here as much by her heartstrings as her duties and obligations.
She and Margaret were the youngest Campbell children to survive to adulthood, then. Which meant that Edmund’s father must have been an older brother, perhaps even the eldest—yet another Sir James. If so, that would mean the current Sir James would be Edmund’s older brother. I wondered if Edmund had taken after his brother in his profligate ways, if that was how he’d died. But before I could become tempted to ask, Gage recalled us to the haste of our current situation.
“Those look like storm clouds.” Concern marred his brow, and I could tell the emotion was directed more at me than the weather. “I suggest we collect Anderley and Miss McEvoy and return to Barbreck before we’re either detained here or caught in the deluge.” He was thinking of Emma, of course. Mrs. Mackay had told us that our daughter could be fed goat’s milk in an emergency, but I would prefer not to have to resort to that. In any case, I suddenly felt very anxious to return to her.
“Yes, we should go.”
We took our leave as politely as could be managed. For my part, I felt wooden and awkward, but Miss Campbell seemed to understand. Better than I might have in her shoes.
We urged the horses to travel faster than they had on the journey to Poltalloch, racing the dark clouds that now seemed to be multiplying in number. As such, we mostly rode single file, and there was little opportunity for discussion. Something I was not altogether disappointed by. It gave me more time to contemplate what I’d learned before having to put it into words for Gage.
He continued to cast me worried glances and, when the trail widened enough for my pony to trot by his gelding’s side, opened his mouth to speak.
“Not now,” I cut him off.
He continued to stare at me until I turned to him with as level a look as I could manage while posting to the bay’s trot so as to avoid being jolted. He dipped his head in acknowledgment before turning away, urging Titus to pull ahead as the trail narrowed again. What I had to say could wait, as could whatever Bree and Anderley had learned from the rest of the Poltalloch staff.
We reached the drive leading up to Barbreck Manor just as the first fat drops of cold rain began to fall. At first, they were sporadic, but as we rounded the drive toward the portico, it began to rain in earnest. We slowed the horses to a walk beneath the shelter of the roof, allowing them to pace up and down the length of the portico while we waited for the stable hands to hurry across the yard to collect them. Normally, Barbreck’s staff was much more prompt, but I attributed their delay to the rainstorm. It took a hearty soul to willingly run out in a Highland downpour, no matter one’s station.
“Give him a good rubdown and an extra bucket of oats,” Gage directed the man who took hold of Titus’s reins as he gave his steed an affectionate pat on his shoulder. Then he turned to collect me, guiding me through the door, where Wheaton took my damp summer cloak. It had been a fortuitous decision to drape the garment over my riding habit, and I was glad Bree had suggested it.