A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(71)

I wondered how she would respond when we confronted her with Liam’s assertion. Our past interactions had suggested she was a sensible and pragmatic person, but I had witnessed more times than I could count how the act of murder could drive the sense right out of a person.





Chapter 20




My feet dragged as I climbed the stairs to our bedchamber while Gage settled the matter of Liam’s absence with Wheaton, at least temporarily. Though we didn’t anticipate the footman being released from his employment when his behavior had been motivated by grief and shock, Gage wanted to be certain no actions were taken against him for the time being. I spared a moment of curiosity for how Callum, the second footman, would react to Liam’s return, but it slipped from my thoughts as I sank down on the edge of the bed to unfasten the ankle ties of my slippers. I dropped each satin shoe and reached under my skirts to roll down my stockings before sinking my toes into the plush rug with a sigh.

I listened for the sound of Emma’s cries or Mrs. Mackay’s voice from the nursery next door, but all was quiet. Leaning forward, I reached for the watch I’d set on the bedside table, only to be brought up short at the sight of the object on my pillow.

It was a portrait. A miniature watercolor affixed in a round golden frame. Lifting it carefully, I cradled the image in my hands, recognizing the figure immediately. After all, I saw many of the same features in the mirror every morning, including the bright dots indicating her lapis-lazuli eyes.

But what was this miniature of my mother doing on my pillow? And who had put it there? I looked about me, as if the answer might be found in one shadowed corner of the room or another, but the chamber was empty except for me. I couldn’t halt the flutter of uncertainty in my stomach or the way my skin pebbled as if a chill wind had blown across the back of my neck. Just as I couldn’t stop my thoughts from straying to the woman I’d seen this afternoon from the rooftop.

Was this a coincidence, or was someone deliberately trying to conjure the image and memory of my mother? Flipping the portrait over, I discovered that someone had written her name on the back. Or her name as it had been when this watercolor was painted—Greer Rutherford Campbell. She had not yet wed my father and was perhaps still wed to Edmund. Alana, Trevor, and I were not even specks in her eyes.

How long I sat staring down at the lovely young woman, I didn’t know, but I heard the door open and then close, and still I didn’t look up. I heard the soft swish of Bree’s skirts as she bustled about my dressing table and then approached.

“Is that you, m’lady?” she asked, having paused beside me.

I inhaled a ragged breath before replying. “My mother.”

“You look like her.”

“A bit.” I reached over to prop it on the bedside table before turning to face her. “I found it on my pillow. Did you put it there?”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “Nay, m’lady.” She paused, considering the matter. “But maybe Mrs. Mallery placed it there?”

I glanced back toward the painting. She was right. That would be like my aunt. Perhaps it had been in her possession, and after our conversation that afternoon about my mother’s first marriage, she’d decided I should have it.

I forced a breath deeper into my lungs. Yes, that was the likeliest explanation. There was no reason for this uneasy feeling. And I would ask her about it in the morning to prove it.



* * *




*

Unfortunately, my aunt had not yet risen the following morning when Gage, Anderley, Bree, and I set off once again for Poltalloch Castle. Today it was Henry who was left behind, but with the important task of searching Barbreck’s files with the aid of the steward. I had given him the list of potential forgeries whose purchase agreements he should locate, while also gleaning as much information as he could about Lord Alisdair’s financials and his usual methods for acquiring art and from whom. Given the duties he sometimes undertook on behalf of his family, traveling far and wide to put matters in order for the Duke and Duchess of Bowmont and his various half brothers and sisters, he was likely the best person to accomplish the task anyway. He would be able to spot discrepancies or odd business and financial practices far quicker than I could, in any case.

We arrived just as Miss Campbell was striding from her door in another sensible riding habit, but at the sight of us, her footsteps checked. Our eyes met, and the subject of our private discussion during our last visit came rushing back to me. My cheeks flushed, recalling how I’d told her I wasn’t ready to discuss her revelation about my mother, and I still didn’t know if I was. Whether she sensed this turmoil or merely recognized the seriousness of our intent, she said nothing of the matter and turned to usher us inside.

Bree and Anderley were taken belowstairs, while Miss Campbell led me and Gage into the drawing room before swiveling to face us with her hands clasped before her. She didn’t waste time with trite cordialities. “You’ve uncovered somethin’?”

“Liam Gillies has been found unharmed,” Gage informed her.

Miss Campbell’s hand lifted briefly to her chest as she inhaled swiftly. Though her relief appeared genuine, I couldn’t help but scrutinize each movement, each flutter of her eyelashes, searching for any hint that her reactions were feigned.

“He returned to Barbreck Manor, and his recollection of the minutes prior to Mairi MacCowan’s death further confirms the evidence of its cause being poison.”