A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(64)
For a moment, Anderley seemed reticent to agree to Gage’s request, but then he nodded once in acceptance, their eyes communicating more than their body language. Whether Anderley had agreed simply because he felt he was required to do whatever was asked of him or because he acknowledged the responsibility of his assignment, I didn’t know, but I could tell he was far from satisfied.
“Then we have our tasks,” Gage declared. “Henry, why don’t you see that our horses are saddled while Kiera and I have a word with Barbreck.”
I grimaced, preparing myself for the snarls and snaps to come.
Chapter 18
Contrary to what I’d expected, Lord Barbreck met our questions and accusations with sullen silence rather than loud rebuttals. Each new complaint and demand for answers was only met by more stubborn brooding. At first, I found his display as maddening as Gage, whose temper seemed to build with every unanswered query, but then I recognized our anger would get us nowhere. Not when the marquess was clearly even more infuriated with himself than we were.
I rested a hand against Gage’s chest to quiet him before he could utter another vehement challenge. He turned his scowl on me but obeyed my unspoken request.
At first, Barbreck didn’t seem to notice that we’d stopped speaking, but continued to glare out the windows of his study overlooking the formal garden. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Gage was tempted to break the silent stalemate, so I kept my arm linked with his, determined that we wait out the older man. I knew Barbreck well enough to realize that he wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth closed for long. Not when someone else wasn’t rattling on and driving his impetus to remain taciturn.
He huffed one aggrieved breath and then another, wriggling his shoulders as if finally acknowledging the uncomfortable sensation of having been trapped in his lies of omission. “Aye, I neglected to tell ye aboot Alisdair’s cottage and his Italian friend,” he begrudgingly admitted. “But that’s only because neither is of any consequence.” He glanced at me before returning his gaze to the water-speckled windows and the gentle rain that was still falling. “And I thought ye kent aboot yer mother. How was I to ken ye didna?”
“Come now, my lord,” I replied in milder reproach than he deserved. “If your brother’s cottage and Signor Pellegrini were truly of no consequence, then you would never have felt the need to conceal them from us in the first place.”
He turned his ferocious glare on me. “Dinna try to flim-flam me, lass. ’Twas to keep ye from leapin’ to the wrong conclusion, just as you’re doin’ noo.”
“If we’re inclined to leap to any conclusions, it’s because you tried to keep it from us when you must have realized we would find out eventually.” My voice tightened as I struggled to stifle my frustration. “You’re lucky I don’t view it as an insult to my intelligence.”
I would like to think one of the emotions that flashed in Barbreck’s eyes before he turned away was shame, but I couldn’t be certain. The old curmudgeon had always been difficult to read, and that was before I’d ever been confronted with this vindictive side of him. Prior to my discovery of the first forgery, he had always been a crusty old uncle figure, prone to impertinent remarks and a dry sense of humor. But since then his cackling laugh and gentle teasing had been replaced by surly scowls and spiteful quips.
It was Gage’s turn to place a quelling hand over my own where it rested against his arm, and I made myself take a deep breath before I spoke. “We will be visiting Lord Alisdair’s cottage. Will you provide us the key, or will we have to break down the door?” Aunt Cait had said she’d make sure I was given the key, so I knew no door-breaking would be necessary, but Barbreck didn’t know that.
His gaze met mine askance, and for a moment I thought I detected a slight curl to his lip. If I’d amused him, that had not been my intent. Then he reached into a drawer in his desk to extract a thick key, plunking it down on the desk. Gage stepped forward to pocket it before the marquess changed his mind.
“Now, what can you tell us about Signor Pellegrini?” I demanded.
He arched his chin and leaned farther back in his chair, which creaked in protest. “No’ much. He hailed from Rome, or there-aboots, if I recall rightly. Preferred no’ to talk aboot himself. Though he was always happy to share stories aboot the great and good he’d met in his travels and painted murals for.” Perhaps realizing this wasn’t much of an endorsement, he then amended his statement. “He gave me no reason no’ to believe him to be the upright and honorable gentleman he presented himself to be. My brother was certainly fond o’ him.”
That might be true, but if Alisdair had convinced Pellegrini to paint forgeries for him, then his endorsement was meaningless.
“Do you know if this Signor Pellegrini is still alive?” Gage asked, remaining focused on the facts.
“Nay, he died a few years before Alisdair in a shipwreck in the Mediterranean.”
I turned to meet Gage’s gaze. Then at least we knew he wasn’t still lurking about creating forgeries either for himself or on the Campbells’ behalf.
“You should know, I’ve identified at least three more forgeries,” I informed him coolly, anticipating an outburst much like the other two had provoked. However, while his face and balding head flushed red, his mouth remained firmly closed. “I’m about to embark on a full inventory, and I shall notify you of the results. Are there any paintings in storage?”