A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(96)

“Perhaps we should repair to the . . .” my aunt began in placation, only to have Lord Ledbury make a rude noise before pivoting on his heel and storming off.

I hastened closer, worried for Charlotte’s well-being, but Rye was already leading her toward the stairs.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she replied with a gasp to my expression of concern. “Just a megrim. I . . . I suffer from them from time to time.”

I nodded, remembering she’d suffered from them at Gairloch Castle when she was married to the odious Lord Stratford. I’d suspected then that her megrims were a symptom of extreme stress and anxiety, and now I was certain of it.

But what could I do but allow her to lie down and rest? Yes, I could solve Mairi’s and Mr. MacCowan’s murders. That would be a start. But I was becoming more and more certain that wouldn’t solve Charlotte’s problems with her father.





Chapter 26




Charlotte did not come down to dinner that evening, and blessedly, neither did Lord Ledbury. This was not something any of us were altogether surprised by, and it allowed the conversation to flow more naturally without Morven or I having to spur it on. But while the company was more congenial, I couldn’t say that it was any more cheerful, not with the murders and Charlotte’s unhappiness preying on many of our minds. Rye, in particular, looked dejected. I suspected his quiet, good-natured soul had never been objected to in all his life, and Lord Ledbury’s rejection, coupled with Charlotte’s megrim, had brought his spirits low.

I wished I could promise that at least one of the investigations would be resolved soon, but we were hindered by a lack of evidence. In the case of the forgeries, while we had strong suspicions and indicators that Lord Alisdair and Signor Pellegrini had been the culprits, we hadn’t uncovered definitive proof and were unlikely to ever find it now that the events were so far in the past, and everyone with any knowledge of the devious goings-on at Alisdair’s cottage was dead.

Anderley had returned from Mr. MacCowan’s cottage earlier that afternoon with a jar that contained the remains of raspberry compote, which seemed to confirm Miss Margaret’s suspicions, but we couldn’t prove that the poison had come from the jar. Not without sophisticated lab equipment and the knowledge to operate it to extract the information we sought. All we knew was that it was possibly from Miss Margaret’s tray, and it was plausible both Mairi and her father had eaten from it. But they’d also eaten a number of other similar things.

The truth was, until we figured out what poison was used, we couldn’t move forward with the investigation. Having escorted Bree to Poltalloch, Anderley was going to speak to the cook about the raspberry compote, and maybe she would have some inspiration, but I doubted it. It was more likely she would refuse to divulge anything beyond the most rudimentary details out of fear that she would somehow be blamed.

Regardless, I’d elected to keep my thoughts on Miss Ferguson to myself for the moment. For if that poison had come from Poltalloch and had been intended for Miss Margaret, I didn’t see how the governess could be involved. There was no need to sully her name needlessly.

Too tired to even play a hand at whist, I excused myself from the drawing room soon after the gentlemen joined us, but before I reached the stairs, I heard Morven calling after me. I turned as she approached, wondering what had brought her hurrying from the room. When she held out her hand and opened it, my heart leapt in relief.

“I found this under the sofa.” Her topaz eyes scrutinized mine as I took the amethyst pendant from her grasp, clutching it to my chest. “Mother said it was taken from your room.”

“Yes. I was afraid it was lost forever,” I answered in a tight voice as the back of my eyes stung with tears.

Morven pressed a hand to my shoulder, offering me a consoling smile.

“Thank you,” I told her sincerely.

“Of course.”

I sighed, my gaze dropping to the purple gemstone. But then I frowned, examining the chain and clasp—both of which were new since the last chain had been snapped by an Edinburgh criminal. “Though I don’t understand how it ended up under the sofa. I know I put it in my jewelry box. I distinctly remember doing so.”

Morven shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe someone was making mischief.”

I looked up at her, pausing in consideration before confiding, “Did your mother also tell you I found her miniature of my mother on my pillow one evening?”

Her eyes widened. “No, she didn’t.” A vee formed between her brows. “Mischief, indeed.”

I began to tell her about the woman in the blue cloak but then for some reason stopped. I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because I would have to explain the significance of the azurite color. Perhaps because it sounded ridiculous, even to me. Whatever the case, I merely nodded emphatically to her reply.

“Why would someone do these things?” she asked in genuine bewilderment.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

She turned to look over her shoulder in the direction of the drawing room. “Let me think on it.” Her eyes sparkled with intrigue. “Maybe I can provide you with some answers for a change.”

I smiled. “That would be nice.”

She embraced me and then returned to the others. At least one mystery was solved. Though it had left another in its wake.