A Perilous Perspective (Lady Darby Mystery #10)(99)

I snatched up my shawl from the vanity bench and charged through the door, down the lesser-used staircase, and out the door next to the chapel. I had no destination in mind other than to keep moving.

The sky was leaden—suitable to my mood—but the clouds didn’t seem to threaten rain. Even if they had, I didn’t think that would have stopped me from striding northeast, past the gardens, and out onto the moor. The sun was hidden from view, but I estimated the time to be close to midday, and my stomach began to protest in hunger at my never having broken my fast. I ignored it, welcoming each pang as my due for not having protected Bree.

If she had been poisoned by the same substance as Mairi and her father—and we had no reason to believe she hadn’t—would her fate be the same? Had too much of the poison already worked its way into her system before we’d induced vomiting? Had it all been in vain?

I hugged my shawl tighter around me, refusing to contemplate that possibility. Bree was my maid, yes, but she was also my friend, and if I lost her . . .

I shook my head, desperate to drive the thought from my mind. Bree was strong. She was a fighter. Her breathing had been regular when I left. Her color had been pale but growing healthier. Another few hours should tell us whether she’d escaped the worst or . . .

My footsteps arrested in the middle of the tall grasses, the damp from the dew having already soaked the hem of my skirts. I should turn back. I should be with her. Just in case. I closed my eyes against the sudden press of tears.

Who was doing this? Who could be so cold-blooded?

Bree had to have been getting close to the truth. That’s the only thing that made sense. Why else strike at her?

So what exactly had she uncovered? I forced myself to think back over our conversation in the library the previous afternoon. She had wanted to further explore the connection of Mr. MacCowan’s employment with Lord Alisdair and Mairi’s with the Campbells. She’d said Mairi had known the Campbell sisters before she went to work for them, but how?

The most likely scenario was that she had met them through her father, who worked for Lord Alisdair. We’d discussed the possibility of the Campbells and Lord Alisdair having been cordial. Was that the connection? Was there something about that relationship they—or someone else—had wished to remain hidden? What was I missing?!

I was on the verge of turning back when I saw a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye. My gaze jerked to the nearby tree line where the woman in the azurite blue cloak stood watching me. I couldn’t see her eyes beneath the shade of her hood, but I could feel the weight of her stare nonetheless.

She stood arrested as I began to walk toward her, slowly at first, and then with more urgency. I thought perhaps she meant to help, but then she turned and began to move off into the trees.

My heart kicked in my chest. “Wait!” I called, lifting my skirts to run, the grasses whipping at my ankles. “Please, wait!”

When I reached the trees, I didn’t even break stride but continued on, following the same narrow trampled path she had. She glanced over her shoulder once but kept going, gliding between the trees, seeming to hide and reveal herself with each alternating step. I was panting and gasping for air, desperate to reach her, and yet she seemed to move without effort up the trail, even as it climbed.

Through the trees up ahead, I could see a lightening, and I pushed myself to move faster, hoping to catch up with her in the clearing. But by the time I reached the glade, she was already at the other side. “Please!” I gasped one last time, bending forward over my knees as I struggled for breath. I didn’t know if I could go on. Until she turned back toward me again, lifting a gloved hand to the edge of her hood in profile.

The way she clutched the trim of her hood. The manner in which she gripped it, as if she might throw it back at any moment. My heart stuttered. I had seen my mother make just such a gesture dozens, if not hundreds, of times. Even eighteen years after her death, I remembered it.

I blinked my bleary eyes, testing their focus. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. I had to be seeing things. If she would only show me her face.

When she set off again through the woods, I couldn’t just let her go. Not without knowing for sure. Not without understanding what I was seeing.

I stumbled forward, pushing through the pain and exhaustion. She was so tantalizingly close and yet too far away. I could hear the sounds of the river growing closer, a steady ripple beneath the birdsong and my own panting breaths. The trees here grew thicker, and I kept losing sight of her for multiple seconds before catching a glimpse of her again. And still she moved incessantly onward.

I should have been more mindful of my surroundings. I should have stopped to wonder at her motives. However, in my weary, sleep-deprived, guilt-lashed haze, I couldn’t think straight. I was operating on pure instinct—and a false instinct at that—one born of grief and loss and the desperate wish to see my mother again. But before I realized any of this, it was too late.

When she disappeared from view, I raced onward, determined to find her. Bursting through the last line of trees, I thought she must reappear. Instead, all I saw was open sky. I realized too late that the land ended here, dropping precipitously into the river. I flailed, the earth crumbling under my feet as I began to topple over the edge.





Chapter 27




Kiera!” a voice shouted, grabbing onto me from behind and hauling me back from the brink.