A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(90)

“Maybe not if he knew them well,” Gage argued. “If he trusted them, he might have suspected nothing.” He tilted his head. “Or maybe they slipped it into something while he wasn’t looking.”

“Then they would have needed to visit him soon after we left.”

Gage’s head lifted, his eyes fastening on something behind me. I whirled around, thinking of the woman in the blue cloak, but I spied someone more familiar. And potentially much more interesting.

“Someone we might have even passed while we were departing,” I finished leadingly, glancing over my shoulder to catch Gage’s eye before I took a step toward the woman approaching. “Miss Ferguson, what are you doing here?” I called.

“Is it true?” she gasped. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and her eyes looked a little wild. “Is he . . . is he dead?”

Who Mr. MacCowan was to her, I didn’t know, but he was clearly important. However, that didn’t mean she hadn’t also killed him. After all, poisoning could be done from a distance so that the poisoner need not even touch their victim or watch them suffer and the life drain from their body. She might have loved him—and Mairi—and still killed them.

But faced with her distress—even if she was the cause of it—I couldn’t withhold my empathy. “I’m sorry.”

She hiccupped on a sob and turned to hurry toward the door.

Gage moved to intercept her. “My condolences, Miss Ferguson, but you can’t go in there. You don’t want to,” he amended.

“But someone should see to him, someone should . . .” She blanched, and her words broke off as if his last statement had just registered with her. “What . . . what happened?” she asked in a hushed voice. “How did he . . . ?”

“Poison. Likely the same as his daughter.”

Miss Ferguson buried her face in her hands and wept, prompting my husband and his valet to look to me imploringly. Apparently, comforting sobbing females was a woman’s job.

I stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her shuddering shoulders. “Come with me,” I coaxed gently, steering her toward a pair of rocks positioned beneath the cool shade of an oak tree. I perched beside her, passing her my handkerchief when I realized she had none of her own. When her tears had slowed and the worst of her trembling subsided, Gage sidled over to join us while Anderley remained respectfully at a distance, though still within earshot.

“How did you know Mr. MacCowan?” I asked as she dabbed at her eyes.

Her hands stilled. “He . . . he was my uncle.”

My gaze snapped to Gage’s, not having expected this. “Then Mairi was your cousin?”

She nodded.

“But when you found her in the long gallery, you told us you didn’t know who she was.”

Her head bowed low. “I was afraid.”

But that wasn’t all, and we allowed the silence to stretch, letting her know we knew this.

“And I . . . was maybe a little ashamed.” She peered up at me through red-rimmed eyes, fallen strands of her honey blond hair shielding her face. “I hadna told anyone she was my cousin.”

“So it was a secret.”

“It wasna a secret,” she retorted defensively, raising her chin so that I could see her blotchy face more clearly. She crossed her arms in front of her. “I just dinna like to share things aboot myself.”

Because she didn’t want the other maids to find out about her lowly connection? Or was she more worried about concealing the less-than-genteel side of her ancestry from her employer? Considering the romantic designs I’d wondered if she had on him after hearing Charlotte’s concerns, and witnessing Miss Ferguson’s treatment of her soon-to-be new mistress, perhaps she’d worried that would make Rye look at her differently.

“I suppose governesses aren’t often related to simple parlor maids,” I remarked leadingly.

“My mother married above her station. Though no one would’ve known it upon meetin’ her. And she taught me the same.”

“Then when we last saw you here, you were coming to offer your uncle your condolences?”

“Aye.”

“Is that all?”

“What do you mean?” She furrowed her brow in confusion, but by the guarded nature of her stance, I suspected she knew exactly what I meant.

“You didn’t bring him any other comforting measures? Any food or drink?”

She stiffened, glancing warily at Gage and then Anderley, before turning back to me. “I didna poison him, if that’s what you’re tryin’ to imply. Why would I? I just told ye. He’s my uncle.”

“Yes, and yet you kept it a secret. One I suppose no one can verify but you.”

“I have another aunt. In Oban. She can verify it.”

I scrutinized her features more closely, wishing I could tell whether the panic I saw suffusing them was at the idea of being accused of such a crime or being caught. “You must recognize how suspicious it seems that you were the last person known to have visited Mr. MacCowan, and also the person to find Mairi, meanwhile keeping your relation to them concealed.” I tilted my head. “Why were you in the long gallery that night?”

“I often pass through there. ’Tis a quicker route to the servants’ hall and laundry, and I can avoid the bustle o’ the kitchens. And Lady Stratford and Mr. Mallery’s chambers are on that side o’ the house.” She was becoming almost belligerent now in the face of my questioning, and I arched my eyebrows, letting her know I was not impressed. She flushed.