I shared a look with Gage, curious as to what it was the man seemed so hesitant to share.
“I didna want to tell ye because it clouds some people’s view o’ Mary. But in light o’ this . . .” His gaze lifted to meet mine. “Lady Darby, your mother was Scottish, wasna she? And a Rutherford o’ Clintmains, at that.” He spoke under his breath as he continued to study me. “And come to think o’ it, I believe your grandmum was also Irish.” He nodded, almost to himself. “You might understand, then. I s’pose I’ll have to chance it.”
Gage was watching me closely now, too, but I had no idea what Mr. Wallace was hinting at by quoting part of my lineage.
He squared his shoulders. “My daughter is gifted wi’ the second sight.”
I couldn’t stop my eyes from widening, not having expected this.
“Ye ken what that is?” he demanded of me. I nodded, and he turned to Gage. “Mr. Gage?”
“She can see the future before it happens?” Gage replied, seeming careful to keep his voice and expression neutral.
“Some o’ the future,” he emphasized. “Major events and what God chooses to show her. My wife had it, too.”
His eyes darted back and forth between us, gauging our reactions. I had no idea what to say, and I knew better than to look at Gage, lest I see disdain.
I honestly didn’t know what I thought about second sight. Certainly the belief was a time-honored tradition in Scotland, one that many accepted as truth. As a child I’d heard people whisper that my grandmother had it, the same Irish one Mr. Wallace had referred to. I’d never thought much of it, though I suppose if I’d been forced to give an answer, I would have said that people simply exaggerated. That whatever “ability” my grandmother had had was the product of a quick mind and strong intuition.
I didn’t necessarily disbelieve in things like second sight, however. After all, I had heard enough myths and legends from my mother and our Scottish nanny growing up that I liked to allow for the possibility of unexplainable occurrences. But I was also logical, methodical, and I had yet to meet someone who could prove they were capable of foretelling anything that keen observation could not. That didn’t mean such people didn’t exist, just that I had never met them, nor was I likely to.
“And she has enemies because of it?” I said, speaking to the effect her claimed ability had on the investigation, not whether I believed it to be true or not. “People who don’t believe her dislike her for it, or even envy her?”
“Most accept it readily enough, and are even grateful for it. Like Mrs. Ross. Mary saw she was going to have trouble delivering her bairns, and so she convinced Dr. Littleton to visit her in the midst o’ a terrible storm. Made it just in time, or those bairns and Mrs. Ross woulda died.” He sighed and bobbed his head in resignation. “But there are others who aren’t so pleased aboot it. Be it disbelief, dislike, or envy, I dinna ken, but there are some who watch her wi’ mistrustful eyes.”
“Like Mr. Paxton?” Gage guessed.
“Aye. He be one o’ them. Mr. Munro is another.” He scowled. “Though it’s his own fault for no’ heeding her warning. Mary told him no’ to fix his roof that day, but he didn’t listen. And when he fell and broke his leg, he blamed her for calling a curse doon on him.”
“Would he do something to your daughter to get back at her? Maybe not murder her, but harm her in some way?”
Mr. Wallace considered the matter, rubbing his fingers over his pointed chin. “Nay. Munro is a loud complainer, but he’s no’ violent. And if ye considered him, you’d also have to consider Mrs. Ogston, and she was just overcome wi’ grief. She didn’t mean her threats.”
Gage glanced at me. “What threats?”
Mr. Wallace pressed his lips together, and I wondered if he wished he hadn’t said anything about the woman. “Sometimes Mary has visions that are no’ so happy.”
I frowned. None of her visions thus far had seemed particularly pleasant, unless she hadn’t liked Mr. Munro. Then the prospect of his breaking his leg might have given her some kind of enjoyment. But I refrained from making this remark.
“She saw that Mrs. Ogston was going to lose her bairn before its time. All she could do was warn her to be careful, but it happened anyway. And Mrs. Ogston blamed her for it. Called her a witch and accused her of telling the devil to take her bairn.”
“And threatened to what?” Gage persisted.
Mr. Wallace faced us grimly. “Send her to hell.”
I blinked. That was quite extreme.
“But as I said, she was overcome by grief. I dinna think she meant it, though I ken she doesn’t wish my daughter weel.”
“How long ago was this?”
“A few months. Less than half a year.”