A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(67)
“But what if the upper servants weren’t loyal to his lordship?” I asked, following the direction of his speculating.
His mouth flattened into a grim line. “Then they might as easily have squashed the story among the lower staff with threats or explained it away.” A furrow formed between his dark brows. “Wheaton has only been butler for about three years.”
I presumed he’d learned this from one of the members of the staff, or perhaps Wheaton himself. “Which means the former butler was pensioned off just a few years after Lord Alisdair’s death.”
“Apparently, he had been in service here at Barbreck Manor for most of his life, and butler for forty-some-odd years. Most of Lord Barbreck’s tenure as marquess.”
The same span of years when the forgeries would have been swapped for the originals.
“We need to speak with him,” I stated.
He nodded. “I’ll ask for his direction as soon as we’ve finished here and then look in on Bree.” Though I didn’t think my expression had betrayed by even a flutter of an eyelash what I was thinking, Anderley’s already correct posture straightened even further. “If one of the servants who are still here does know something, they might not appreciate her poking around.”
“That’s true,” I readily agreed. “And Gage did ask you to see to our safety while he was away.”
A pale flush tinged the crest of his cheekbones—a sight I had never thought to see, for Anderley was not easily embarrassed or discomforted, and his olive-toned skin masked much of such a reaction. Though I wasn’t certain precisely which of my words had brought it about.
Wishing to spare him, I turned away, moving on to the next painting. “Just a few more rooms,” I declared. “I’ve already examined many of the paintings in the more public areas on the ground floor, and it’s doubtful the forgers would have been audacious enough to swap any of the works of art hanging there for fear of Barbreck or others noticing the change.”
That didn’t mean they hadn’t considered it, but there was a reason the forgers had gotten away with their ruse for fifty years, and that was because they were clever enough not to take such foolhardy risks. I could only hope they’d been foolhardy in other ways.
Chapter 19
The list being finished, Anderley left it in my care and hurried belowstairs to check on Bree and speak with Wheaton about the former butler. This left me standing in the small parlor on the uppermost floor of the manor. As we’d descended methodically through the floors of the manor, we’d realized we’d forgotten the narrow tower that housed but two chambers, and so we’d retraced our steps up the stairs to inspect it last. But we’d soon discovered there were few pieces of art in the parlor, and even fewer in the billiards room. None were of note.
I watched as Anderley disappeared down the circular stone staircase and moved to follow, but then the staircase winding upward caught my eye. From the exterior, I’d noticed the parapet at the top of the tower and suspected there were fine views of the surrounding countryside from its height. Folding the paper carefully and tucking it into the pocket of my morning dress, I changed course.
As suspected, the door at the top opened onto a flat roof. The rain which had first poured down earlier and then drizzled had moved on to the east, leaving the evening sky painted in shades of fiery oranges and yellows. I breathed deep of the brisk air, its crispness settling with almost a bite at the back of my tongue. The vista over the trees toward the blue undulating loch to the west and the green and brown marbled crags to the north, east, and south was certainly spectacular. It possessed a light and clarity I’d yet to see an artist truly capture on a canvas, and one I readily accepted was beyond my ability, no matter how I might have strived to ensnare it with pigment.
It was that clarity which called to me now as I lifted my arms to rest them on a merlon. I’d observed long ago how often the higher I was, the clearer my thoughts became. Whether it was the loft of the library at Gairloch Castle, the tors of Dartmoor, or my art studio at the top of our Edinburgh town house, the loftier my position, the more lucidity it brought. And I definitely craved lucidity now.
It seemed that Anderley and I had uncovered the origins of the forgeries, if not the forgers’ precise motive or methods, but I still didn’t see how they connected to Mairi MacCowan and her death. Perhaps I was clutching at straws, seeing a connection where there was none. But even as such an excuse occurred to me, I’d already discarded it. They were linked somehow. Every instinct within me told me they were. But how?
If Gage and Henry could find Liam, perhaps some of our questions would be answered, but I was logical enough to realize it would be mutton-headed to expect he could answer them all. I turned toward the south, hoping to catch sight of the brothers returning to Barbreck, perhaps with another man in tow. Which is when I spotted her.
She was standing on the opposite side of the river at the edge of the line of trees which skirted the base of the ridge of crags which separated Barbreck from the rest of Argyll to the south and east. She was too far away for me to distinguish anything about her other than the fact that she was wearing a brilliant blue cloak, but the sight brought a lump to my throat. My mother had owned a cloak the exact same shade of azurite. Whenever she wore it, her lapis-lazuli eyes—the same color as my own—sparkled like jewels.