A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(94)

“Our staff is very loyal,” Miss Campbell replied.

Except we knew that they weren’t. Their upper servants, perhaps, but not the maids who came and went with distressing regularity, as their housekeeper had confided.

“Perhaps it was an accident,” Aunt Cait suggested, drawing all of our gazes. “Maybe something was mistakenly added to the compote.” She waved her hand in the air. “Some herb or berry or whatever the poison was. After all, accidents do happen.”

The others began to murmur about this possibility, and I had to admit she was right. Accidents did sometimes happen. But it disturbed me that the poison had caused such an alarming end to its victims, and yet no one thus far had recognized it. If it was a simple herb or berry found in this region, wouldn’t someone have identified it by now?



* * *




*

The door behind me opened softly, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Bree entering. “Ye rang?” she queried as she crossed the room toward where I stood, cradling Emma before me so that she could gaze out the window.

A pair of birds must have made a nest above us under the eaves or in a crevice in the edifice of the building, for periodically the two sparrows would playfully soar and dive in front of us before swooping back up to their perch. Each time they did, Emma reached out a little hand as if trying to catch them and exclaimed, “Ah-ah,” in approval of their antics. Bree grinned as Emma squirmed in excitement, and I noticed how it highlighted the charming smattering of freckles across Bree’s cheeks and nose.

“Well, noo. I can tell someone’s feelin’ better,” she remarked, offering the child her finger to grip.

“Yes. Mrs. Mackay gave her a warm bath this morning, and she made a liniment of camphor and lavender to spread on her chest.” I’m sure it also helped that she’d been able to breathe well enough to nurse and fill her belly.

“Aye, I can smell it. My mam used to do the same. Works a treat.”

Emma cooed in response to this, as if to agree, and Bree and I laughed at her adorable enthusiasm.

“Is that right?” I told my daughter, pretending I understood exactly what she was saying. “Well, you don’t say.”

She tilted her head up and reached for my chin. I pretended to nibble the tips of her fingers, to her grinning delight as I carried her toward the rug. “Lay that blanket on the floor,” I directed Bree, nodding at the quilt draped over the back of a chair. “Emma can show you what a marvelous roller she’s become while we talk.”

Once we were settled on the floor, with Emma on her belly between us gnawing on her fist rather than attempting to roll, I turned my thoughts to the investigations. “You heard that the Campbell sisters visited Barbreck this morning?” I queried, straightening the fern-green skirts of my gown where I sat with my legs draped to the side.

“Aye. Miss Margaret thought the poison might o’ been meant for her.”

I was pleased to hear she was already informed about at least some of this morning’s developments. “Yes. Did any of the maids at Poltalloch mention her coaxing them to take food from her tray?”

“Aye, one o’ ’em. I suspected it was one o’ the reasons they were so jealous o’ her preference for Mairi.”

I turned my head to the side, nibbling my lip in thought. “Then Miss Margaret wasn’t lying. At least about that part.”

“Do you think she’s lyin’ aboot somethin’ else?” From Bree’s tone of voice, I could tell she was doubtful, though she didn’t wish that uncertainty to be evident.

“Probably not, but I do wish she’d told us everything earlier. As it is, we now have to reexamine what we know and try to make connections we weren’t trying to before.”

Her eyes reflected her understanding of my frustration.

I frowned at the blocks of the quilt below me. “The most baffling question we have to answer is who would wish to harm Miss Margaret. And why?” I gazed hopefully at Bree. “Did the staff have much to say about her?”

“No’ much more than that she’s an invalid who gives gifts. Or lets them take ’em.” She tilted her head, gazing up at the ceiling in thought. “I gather most o’ ’em rather pity her. They see her as some sort o’ tragic figure.”

And Miss Margaret had realized this. She’d alluded to as much. But none of that really seemed to offer a motive for killing her.

I reached over to smooth out the blanket where it had become rumpled beside Emma. “I suppose the person with the most obvious motive for killing Miss Margaret is her sister. After all, Miss Campbell has been charged with her care all her life, which has tied her to Poltalloch.” I shook my head. “But she genuinely seems to love her sister, just as she loves Poltalloch. I don’t believe her life would change much even if her sister died.”

Bree nodded in agreement. “That’s the impression I’ve gotten from the servants aboot her as well. Other than the typical sisterly squabbles, they rub along rather well.”

“Then where does that leave us?”

She shrugged. “Everyone seemed to like Miss Margaret. She’d caused none o’ ’em any grief. How could she, wi’ her being ill her whole life? She’s harmless.”

I frowned upon hearing her words, wishing I understood why they made the base of my neck tingle.