“We’re here regarding Dr. Gammon. Have you seen anything—or anyone—suspicious in the past day or two?”
The girl made an uncertain sound in the back of her throat. Harriet braced herself, ready to receive the same answer they had been given at the other two houses whose occupants had deigned to answer their knock. No one, thus far, had noticed anything out of the ordinary on Charles Street of late. What with Lady Katherine’s recent arrival, the street was in a stir every time a new visitor came to call at her house.
“No one in particular,” the young girl said.
It wasn’t precisely the answer they had gotten at the past couple houses. Lyle exchanged a meaningful look with Harriet before he prodded further. “Then you’ve seen people coming and going at Number Four?
The girl tucked a strand of her loose hair behind her ear. “Well, yes. But that’s hardly unusual. The doctor always had visitors.”
Lyle fished a small notebook out of his pocket and flipped through the pages. “Visitors such as his son?”
The girl shrugged. “Not only. All sorts of people visited hoping to secure his services.”
Harriet nodded. “Yes, he treated animals.”
The girl looked at her, confused. “Not only animals. Anyone sick, really. At least, if you could garner an invitation through a friend. Why, we thought my mistress would die from pneumonia a few weeks ago before he gave us a remedy. All she had to do was sip a bit of this medicine, and she’s right as rain now.”
Lyle opened his mouth, but a faint call from further in the house had the young woman ushering them out into the cold once more. The wind bit against Harriet’s nose. As the door shut in their faces, she longed to be nearer those warm kitchens once more. Or even her own. She pressed her lips together and returned to the street.
Once they were out of eyeshot of the house, she rounded on Lyle. “Is that what Katherine’s looking for? If so many people were coming and going…”
Lyle’s frown spoke volumes. “It isn’t out of place for a physician to treat patients.”
Harriet’s shoulders dropped. Emma took advantage of her slack hold on the leash to tug Harriet closer to her particularly interesting smell in the snow. Harriet wrapped leash around her fist two more times for extra leverage.
“Harriet? Did I offend you in some way?”
She turned back to Lyle, who looked sheepish.
“Of course not.”
“You look…” Apparently, he couldn’t think of something flattering to say, because he rubbed the tip of his nose instead. “It isn’t your fault we haven’t found anything.” Softly, he added, “There may not be anything to find.”
“Katherine thinks there is!” Harriet’s words rang on the street. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just… it’s been such a grueling month, doing everything on my own. All I wanted was to make Katherine proud…” To her shame, Harriet felt tears stinging her eyes.
Lyle’s soft footsteps crunched against the crusts of snow bordering the street as he approached. Gently, he squeezed her shoulder. She didn’t look at him, but focused on Emma, who was perhaps the only one merry to find herself in this blasted weather.
“It isn’t your fault,” he said again, this time with more conviction. “Just because Katherine wants this to be a murder doesn’t mean that it is one. Dr. Gammon was old and might have died from natural causes. I am looking into the matter as much out of courtesy to Katherine as anything else, but she has been restless. She might be concocting suspicions where there are none.”
Harriet took a deep breath. “Do you think? I suppose it’s always possible for someone to be wrong, but Katherine…”
Lyle shrugged one shoulder, offering her a comforting smile. “We won’t know who is correct until we investigate further. If we find nothing and you’d rather not tell her, I’ll tell her myself. You don’t have to be afraid of letting her down, Harriet. Right now, you’re the one holding her up.”
Harriet smiled back, tired. She was holding Katherine up, whether her employer realized it or not. It was gratifying for someone else to notice all the hard work she’d put into this house over the past month. She was weary to the bone. If all her energy went into holding Katherine up, who was going to support her?
You’ll get through this on your own.
Maybe, just this once, it would be best if Katherine was wrong about this being a murder. Either way, Lyle was right. Only time would tell.
Chapter Six
Katherine huddled beneath the fur next to Wayland as the carriage drew to a stop. Not because she craved his nearness, but because it was so sodding cold, and she didn’t care to exit the carriage until they stopped as close as possible to Lady Dalhousie’s door.
“I hope you’ll give me a moment alone with Lady Dalhousie when we arrive. I’d like to ask her about Dr. Gammon and see what she knows of him,” Katherine said.
Pru drew in an audible breath, on the precipice of sighing.
Lord Annandale clasped her hand, silencing her. “You will nae find any argument from me. The more ye talk to her, the less I do.”
Wayland chuckled. “That’s what you get for wagering against the skills of the women.”
Raising her eyebrow, Katherine turned her head to smirk at him. “Have you forgotten that you also participated in that wager?”
He shrugged. “My punishment lasted for one evening. Annandale is the fool who wagered the indefinite time between Twelfth Night and his wedding.”
Katherine and Pru exchanged a smile at that. During the course of their last investigation, there had been a wager between them to see who were the best detectives, the women or the men. Annandale was still paying for their loss.
“In my defense, I did nae think it would take so long.”
The carriage lurched forward another inch as Pru tilted her head up to look askance at her fiancé. “’Tis you who insists on a Scotland wedding. We must wait for the snow to melt or we’d never arrive!”
Lord Annandale lifted her hand and laid it against his chest, over his heart. “Och, lass. I’m still the luckiest man alive. Ye’re well worth the wait.”
Katherine bit back a smile and readjusted the fur on her lap, trying to give them a moment of privacy.
“Though if ye’re that eager to marry me, we can always bring the wedding date closer. Perhaps then I will nae have to deal with Lady Dalhousie at all!”
Pru laughed and shook her head.
The carriage stopped again. This time, it jostled on its springs as the driver descended. A moment later, Katherine caught the scrape of the steps lowered into place. She cast off the fur and sidled closer to the edge of the seat. It brought her flush against Wayland’s leg. Even in an expensive coach like Annandale’s, there wasn’t enough room for two large men like the lord and Wayland to fit comfortably. Although Katherine appreciated the offer to escort her to events, she did sometimes wish that Lord Annandale would leave Wayland to his own devices rather than constantly thrusting them together.
The carriage door opened to reveal the dark night and a wash of cold air that pierced her dress and pelisse. Wayland exited first, squeezing through the door and reaching his hand back to usher first Katherine, then Pru, out of the carriage. When they both stood on the walk in front of Lady Dalhousie’s Mayfair townhouse, Lord Annandale exited and tipped his hat to the driver. He escorted Pru up the walk to the lantern-lit door, which opened at his approach. Katherine followed on Wayland’s arm.
Inside, they relinquished their outerwear to a footman before greeting the hostess. Although she had a ballroom to be envied, Lady Dalhousie had set herself up in the unremarkable foyer, ready to greet and exchange a word with every man and woman to enter. No doubt she didn’t care for a lick of gossip to pass her by. Katherine positioned herself at the end of the line of her friends, waiting for the inevitable moment when her friends would excuse themselves and she could ask Lady Dalhousie some questions alone.
Lord Annandale did his part and led Pru down the corridor. Wayland, on the other hand, stubbornly remained at her side. She glared at him. Although he held her gaze, he made no move to excuse himself. When she made a shooing motion with her hand, he shook his head subtly.
“What sort of escort would I be if I abandon you in the foyer?”
The words, spoken low enough to carry no farther than Katherine’s ears, made her bristle. “I am perfectly capable of escorting myself.”
Despite the clipped edge to her words, he said nothing more. Instead, he greeted Lady Dalhousie with a warm smile.
Katherine resigned herself to Wayland’s company. Was he simply being a gentleman—or did he hope to glean information about the investigation? Examining his motives was exhausting. Frankly, after she had bested him in the last investigation and proved to them both who was the superior detective, she had hoped she would not have to contend with these childish antics. Not that he had ever used the information he learned to his own ends. After all, he and Lyle had escorted the Pink Ribbon Murderer to Bow Street, and despite his family’s title, he had insisted upon having no hand in the capture. And in the other investigations during which he had loomed by her side, he had been nothing but helpful. That was save, perhaps, for the last—but then, they’d each had a wager to win. Had he taken her side in this investigation? For once, rather than suspecting his motives, she longed to accept him as her ally.
She didn’t know what to think of him anymore. Tonight, she resolved to focus solely on the man who deserved her attention—the late Dr. Stuart Gammon. Her confusing association with Wayland could wait.
“Lady Katherine, so good of you to come! I promise, all of the festivities will be indoors tonight. In fact, I closed up the ballroom entirely and have situated us in the pink parlor. I’m sure we’ll have a splendid evening.”
Despite her assurances, Lady Dalhousie nervously plucked at the infamous necklace around her throat, a delicate fall of aquamarines and diamonds that she never removed. Usually, in times when she had no other gossip to impart, she could be relied upon to disclose the increasingly fanciful tale of the necklace’s origin. Katherine suspected that the truth of its procurement was rather mundane.
Tonight, however, Katherine hoped to preempt that story. If Lady Dalhousie hadn’t insisted upon changing it in some small detail every time she told it, Katherine might have been able to recite it by rote. “I’m certain the evening will be remarkably tame. I look forward to hearing your niece. I’m told she is a delight.”
Twin roses bloomed across Lady Dalhousie’s cheeks, and she beamed. She tucked a stray wisp of white hair beneath her bright turban. “She is that, I assure you. A true virtuoso.”
Before the old woman exalted her niece’s virtues, Katherine reached out to touch her arm. “Actually, if you’ve a moment, I hope to ask you a question before the entertainment begins.”
The lady, sensing gossip in the air, narrowed her eyes. She leaned forward, flicking her gaze between Katherine and Wayland. “And what question would this be?”
“Have you heard of a Dr. Gammon? He treated many of the peerage.”
Lady Dalhousie returned to fiddling with her necklace. “Yes, I’ve heard the name, though I haven’t sought his services myself. If you’re thinking of going to him with an ailment, perhaps I might recommend my physician instead? I assure you, Doctor—”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Katherine’s heart beat quicker as she spoke over her hostess. If she didn’t interrupt her now, Katherine might find herself standing by the front door for the entire evening. Not to mention, she didn’t want the old gossip to spread rumors that Katherine was ailing. She could only imagine the reactions her father and stepmother would have if they heard such whispers.
“Why would you warn me away from his services?” After all, Dr. Gammon had been nothing but kind and knowledgeable during their association.
Raising her thin eyebrows, Lady Dalhousie closed the distance between them until she had to tilt her head up so as not to speak to Katherine’s bosom. “You see, a year or two ago, there was some question regarding the death of Lord Westing. He had his problems, as do we all, but his end was seen by some to be… premature. Dr. Gammon, along with a fellow named Dr. Sumner, both treated his ailments.”
Could that be the mistake that had consumed Dr. Gammon before his death? Katherine swallowed and tried to keep her voice even as she asked, “And you think Dr. Gammon k-killed him?”
The woman’s eyes widened. “A physician? No, dear me! I simply mean to say that perhaps he wasn’t as skilled in his trade as most people think. Besides, I hear he’s retired and doesn’t take new patients.”
Katherine nodded slowly, digesting that information, which offered Lady Dalhousie the perfect excuse to add, “Though in Lord Westing’s case, it’s good riddance, if you ask me. What a lecherous, mean old man. I wouldn’t suffer him near a member of my family, I tell you.” She sighed, ruefully shaking her head as she put a respectful distance between them again. “But his daughter doted on him. She was remarkably angry about his death. She told everyone who would listen that it was premature. Married shortly after, I believe. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard from her in quite some time…”
Katherine opened her mouth, but the old woman spoke overtop her.
“Why is it that you’re asking after Dr. Gammon? If not for yourself…” Her gaze drifted toward Wayland.
Katherine bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “No reason.”
Wayland added, likely to preserve his reputation, “He was found dead in his study this morning. You haven’t heard?”
Lady Dalhousie’s eyes gleamed with a predatory light. She turned her full attention upon Wayland and peppered him with questions. Although Katherine had been Dr. Gammon’s neighbor and had indeed seen the body before Bow Street carted it away, she left Wayland in the hostess’s clutches and slipped farther into the house.
She was so absorbed in her thoughts by the time she found the large parlor with the pianoforte that Lady Dalhousie’s niece was set to play upon that she’d halfway forgotten she was at an event. She returned to the present abruptly when a short, round woman with auburn hair and a suspicious expression stepped into her path.
“Lady Katherine. I’m surprised to see you alone.”
Katherine mustered a smile. “Mrs. Fairchild, it’s nice to see you. I attend most of these events alone.”
The woman’s knuckles cracked as she clasped her hands in front of her stomach. Her face betrayed none of her annoyance. “I’m afraid we’ll have to disagree. I usually see you with a debutante… or at times, a spinster.”
Katherine spread her hands. “Not tonight.” Truthfully, if she had her way, she would never take up matchmaking again. Not the least because Mrs. Fairchild made for the most irritating rival she had ever encountered—including the men who believed women were unfit for detective work. No matter how Katherine tried to dissuade her, Mrs. Fairchild constantly presumed more meddling and scheming on Katherine’s part than existed in the whole of Napoleon’s army. From the very beginning, Katherine had aimed to use her matchmaking clients as an excuse to gain her entry to the events she needed to investigate and attended to them only as secondary matters.
“I believe we have the Graylocke-Glandore wedding to thank you for?”
Katherine opened her mouth to protest, but sighed instead. “In a roundabout way, I suppose so.”
“If you ask me, she settled too low. She had a duke in her grasp, for heaven’s sake.”
She’s happier now. Katherine bit the tip of her tongue and fought to keep her smile in place. She tried to step around the smaller woman, but Mrs. Fairchild refused to let her pass.
“And who are you matching tonight?”
“No one.”
It felt deuced good to say.
Mrs. Fairchild scowled. “I do hope you’re not angling to represent Lady Dalhousie’s niece.”
&nb
sp; Had that been what Lady Dalhousie had been about to say before Katherine had asked after Dr. Gammon? She suppressed a shudder. Her neighbor had just died, and the very last thing she needed was to facilitate a romance. No, for once, there would be no romance in her life at all. Aside from Pru and Lord Annandale, that was.
“I will have that match, I assure you,” Mrs. Fairchild said.
“You’re welcome to it.” As Mrs. Fairchild glanced over Katherine’s shoulder, Katherine used the distraction to step around the woman and into the room proper. The light play of music and chatter washed over her as she took her bearings. Lord Annandale was frightfully easy to find in the crowd, and she started toward him at once. Her shoulders remained tense, an ominous feeling she couldn’t seem to shake enveloping her.
When Katherine reached the soon-to-be-married pair by the mantel, Pru asked, “Did she have anything interesting to impart?”
“Who, Mrs. Fairchild?”
“No. Lady Dalhousie!” Pru shook her head, impatient. “What would I care for what Mrs. Fairchild had to say?”
Katherine glanced around, half certain the rival matchmaker was still hanging on her every word. Instead, the only person of note stepping into earshot was Wayland. Somehow, he’d managed to liberate himself from Lady Dalhousie’s company. A man of many talents, he was. He lifted a sardonic brow, a speaking look that promised more words in the future.
Katherine turned her back on him. “I did learn something from our hostess, but perhaps this isn’t the best place to impart it.” The voices and music, which had soothed her upon first entering the room, now reached a pinnacle that drilled into her temples. She rubbed one and caught Lord Annandale’s eye. “You know, perhaps I’m not feeling up to staying this evening, after all.”
“You can’t leave now,” Pru protested.
That, Katherine knew altogether too well. She grimaced and shook her head. “I’ll stay for the first song and then make my excuses. Do you mind terribly if I take the carriage and send it back to you?”
Murder on Charles Street (Lady Katherine Regency Mysteries Book 5) Page 5