Wayland touched her elbow gently. “What’s wrong?”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Nothing. It’s… it’s been a long day.”
He caught her eye, his expression dubious for a moment before he nodded curtly. “Then tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll have the carriage called ’round for you. Annandale can occupy the hostess for you.”
“Och, now…”
Wayland grinned, turning his hands palm up in surrender. “It was a part of your wager, was it not?”
As the conversation turned to innocent teasing between friends, relief loosened Katherine’s shoulder muscles somewhat. However, the aura of foreboding clinging to her remained, tugging at her concentration and deepening her headache.
A man she had known and liked had been killed today. And if Lady Dalhousie’s information was correct, she might have been handed a vital clue. Could Lord Westing’s daughter have killed Dr. Gammon for revenge? If so, the murders were not through. There was still one more person who had been involved in the treatment of Lord Westing’s ailments.
Where would I find Dr. Sumner?
Chapter Seven
Katherine tapped the hard crust of toast against her plate in a rhythmic echoing of her thoughts. Since returning home last night, she had gone to bed early to nurse her growing headache but still hadn’t been able to shake thoughts of Dr. Gammon’s murder. Despite Harriet’s claim to not have found any additional suspects, she was more certain than ever that her neighbor had not died peacefully in his sleep. No, Dr. Gammon had been murdered—and Katherine was determined to find the culprit. But what could the motive be?
With a sigh, she scooped eggs onto her fork and slipped the tasteless mess into her mouth. She swallowed quickly, wishing for the salt but not wanting to offend Harriet when she looked so tired. Her maid must have been up puzzling over this investigation last night too.
Katherine set her fork down on her plate with a clatter. “He cannot have killed anyone.”
Harriet looked up from her breakfast. She chewed, swallowed, and washed down the mouthful with a sip of tea. “Who, now?”
“Dr. Gammon.”
A wrinkle formed between Harriet’s eyebrows. “Lady Katherine, are you feeling quite the thing? Dr. Gammon is dead. He cannot have killed anyone.”
“I know that. I meant prior to his death. Lady Dalhousie disclosed a rumor to me last night…”
Harriet wrinkled her nose and returned to her breakfast. “Lady Dalhousie will say anything if it means she remains the center of attention. Or have you forgotten Bath? She might have concocted a story for your benefit.”
Katherine tilted her head, considering this as she chased a kipper around her plate. “She might have done, I suppose. We’ll have to confirm the information. But… she seemed adamant that I should not turn to Dr. Gammon for medical advice.”
“Oh? Why is this?”
Katherine, her head too sore upon returning to the house, hadn’t felt well enough to discuss the information she’d learned last night. In a better frame of mind now, she answered, “Lady Dalhousie informed me that Dr. Gammon might be connected with Lord Westing’s death a couple years ago. He and a man named Dr. Sumner were treating Lord Westing for… I don’t know what, precisely. However, apparently the daughter caused quite the stir regarding her father’s premature death.”
Harriet took another bite of egg and warded away Emma, who started sniffing at her shin. “I don’t think Lord Westing’s death was intentional if Dr. Gammon was involved.”
Slowly, Katherine shook her head. “You’re right. But I have wondered if the worries he expressed concerned this case in particular. Do you think Lord Westing’s daughter might have killed Dr. Gammon for revenge?”
Harriet shrugged. It was all the opinion she cared to give.
With a plaintive whine, Emma pawed at Harriet’s skirt once more. Harriet scowled and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Who taught you such abysmal manners? This is our breakfast. You won’t be having a bite of it.”
Katherine ducked her head to hide her flaming cheeks. Emma had learned that particular bad habit since moving to their new home. Katherine had made a habit of slipping the dog food off her plate to make it seem as though she ate more of what Harriet served. Palming the burnt crust, she offered it under the table. Emma, far less discerning than Katherine, took the morsel with glee and ate it beneath the table. Katherine coughed loudly to cover the resultant crunching. Harriet seemed too absorbed in her own meal to notice—or so Katherine thought before Harriet suggested, “Do you think Dr. Sumner might have killed Lord Westing?”
Katherine opened her mouth then shut it again. She’d feared that Dr. Gammon’s partner might be another possible victim, but Harriet’s idea made her reconsider. “I don’t know. I’ve never met Dr. Sumner, so I can’t take his measure. I’d like to think that Dr. Gammon would not have worked with a man so vile as to do such a thing, but…”
Harriet gave a half-hearted shrug. “Dr. Sumner might simply have made a mistake in the treatment. One he’d prefer to keep quiet.”
“And Dr. Gammon puzzled it out.” But if it had been a genuine mistake, would it cause Dr. Sumner to kill his former partner? That seemed rather drastic. With a sigh, Katherine slumped in her chair and pushed her plate away. For once, she lamented the lack of decoration in the breakfast room, for it gave her nothing to look at to distract herself.
“Then those are two suspects at the moment. Let’s see if they fit the clues. Dr. Gammon was not stabbed, shot, or visibly strangled. So he must have been poisoned. Do you think someone came back that night and slipped some poison into a shared drink or meal?”
Harriet cocked one eyebrow. “Emma didn’t make a peep. You know how she likes to announce whenever we have visitors on the street.”
Katherine pulled a face. “You’re right. Although… Emma was ill that night. Perhaps she simply didn’t feel well enough to bark. You said no one else on the street happened to have seen anything out of place?”
Harriet looked down at her plate, defeated. “I’m afraid not.”
“Did you ask Mrs. Ramsey? She’s always at her window and might have seen something.”
Pressing her lips together, Harriet shook her head. “She didn’t answer the door when Lyle and I called.”
Katherine pushed herself to her feet. “Then I’ll call on her now. She knows everything that happens in this neighborhood.”
As Katherine turned away, Harriet heaved a small unhappy sigh. “I’m sorry. I should have waited longer.”
Katherine waved her hand, dismissing the notion. “Don’t worry over it. She might have been out last night, for all we know. I hope that she is at home now.”
Ten minutes later, Katherine knocked at Mrs. Ramsey’s door, Emma at her side. Since recovering from her ailments, Emma had taken every opportunity to exit the house. Katherine couldn’t blame her, considering there wasn’t much of interest inside it. However, with the cold, Katherine would have remained inside if she’d had her druthers.
The older woman, her hair arrayed in artful curls, opened the door with a bright smile. Today, she wore a muted taupe dress that would have looked at home in any season. She glanced at the dog then back at Katherine once more. “My lady, this is a surprise.”
Katherine waved her hand. “Call me Katherine, please. Are you busy? I hope you might have time for a cup of tea.”
“I just put on a pot. Come into the parlor.”
Katherine shut the door behind her, stamping her feet before entering the house proper. Like her, Mrs. Ramsey didn’t keep many servants, only a small slip of a girl Katherine saw so infrequently that she sometimes wondered if she’d imagined her. She followed Mrs. Ramsey through her modestly decorated house into the parlor. Katherine had been here once or twice before, and the muted blue of the room always seemed to put her at ease. True to her word, Mrs. Ramsey had laid out a platter of seedcake and the tea service. However, she only had one cup. She rectif
ied that within moments.
When Katherine sat with the cup of tea warming her palms soothingly, she felt the tension ease from her shoulders. For a moment, the previous day caught up with her, and she wanted nothing more than to shut her eyes. But she was not at home, and she couldn’t afford to sink back into the overstuffed armchair. She perched on the edge, keeping an eye on Emma, lest she get up to no good.
“Quite the stir we’ve had over the past couple days, haven’t we?” Mrs. Ramsey asked as she twirled her spoon around her teacup. She tapped the utensil delicately on the edge of the cup and set it down before lifting the brew to her lips. The porcelain scarcely kissed her mouth before she lowered it again. “Were you able to make heads or tails of what business all those men had at Dr. Gammon’s house?”
Katherine shrugged noncommittally. “In a way. Dr. Gammon was found dead in his study.”
“Yes, I’ve heard.”
“Then I’m afraid you know as much as I do. As far as I know, Bow Street is still investigating. It must have happened during the night. I don’t suppose you saw anyone lurking about?”
Pursing her lips, Mrs. Ramsey gave Katherine a speaking look. “You mean, aside from you? I saw you slipping out of Dr. Gammon’s garden late that night. You have a very distinctive figure.”
Katherine smiled ruefully. There weren’t many women as tall as she, to be certain. “I promise you he was still alive when I left. I would never harm Dr. Gammon.”
“Of course not!” Mrs. Ramsey pressed her palm over her bosom. “You don’t mean to suggest that he—”
Katherine raised her hands. As Emma took the newfound freedom in stride and lunged for the seedcake on the table, Katherine fumbled for the leash and pulled her up short. “I don’t mean to imply anything. I only want to know what happened. Then you saw no one? No carriage?”
Mrs. Ramsey shook her head, the curls by her cheeks dancing. “There was certainly no carriage, and no one I noticed on the back path, either, aside from yourself. I’ve been up these past two evenings for half the night. My gout has inflamed again and inflicts too much pain to let me sleep. I spend most of my nights in this parlor.” She nodded toward the window facing the street. “I would have noticed if someone passed.”
Katherine sighed. She covered the sound with a hearty gulp of her tea, lukewarm. As she set it and its saucer on the table, she fought not to make a face. “You’re right. Perhaps my imagination is running away with me.”
With a harrumph, Mrs. Ramsey helped herself to a bite of seedcake. She dusted off her fingers over the plate and said, “This isn’t the first time you’ve asked me some pointed questions. Why was it that you were investigating Lord Conyers?” The older woman’s eyes gleamed with mischief that made Katherine’s mouth dry. “I thought you were a matchmaker, but surely you weren’t trying to match Dr. Gammon, a man with grown children.”
“No, of course not. I was only there because Emma wasn’t feeling quite the thing.”
“Is that so? And now?”
Katherine’s heart hammered painfully in the base of her throat. Even though she didn’t need the ruse of her matchmaking to open doors for her in this investigation, she didn’t want to have them locked up tight should someone learn she was a detective. Detectives, such as those at Bow Street, were looked down upon for their profession, and for a woman like her to engage in what was seen as a man’s duty… She didn’t live with her father any longer, but her reputation might still have repercussions.
Out of the corner of her eye, a carriage rolled past. Emma gave a half-hearted bark before presumably recognizing the vehicle and moving on to more interesting pursuits. Katherine got to her feet, gathering the leash and tugging her dog toward the door. “Speaking of carriages, I believe that looks like my friend Miss Burwick. I’m so sorry to cut this visit short, but I really must go before she bangs down the door. I cannot keep the future Marchioness of Annandale waiting, can I?”
Mrs. Ramsey stood, as well, more unsteady on her feet as she followed with a slight limp. “No, of course not. But if you have more information to impart, I do hope to return later.”
The very last thing Katherine needed to add to this investigation was more rumors. Better she keep her mouth shut until she knew precisely what had gone on at Number Four Charles Street. And that, she undoubtedly would find out.
Chapter Eight
In her hurry to depart from Mrs. Ramsey’s house, Katherine underestimated Emma’s enthusiasm. Although the dog was small, she pulled with a weight equal to three of her size, towing Katherine behind her as she yipped for the attention of the new arrivals.
As during her last visit, Pru was not the only person waiting on Katherine’s doorstep. She had brought along not only Lord Annandale, but also his manservant and Wayland. As they neared the doors, Katherine’s toes caught on a dip in the snow, and she toppled forward into the hard crust. Emma charged forward, dancing around Wayland’s shins in a shameless bid for attention. Although Katherine tried not to take it personally, it rankled her that her beloved dog had abandoned her and left her face-first in the snow. Spitting out snow, she pushed herself onto all fours.
“Och now, lass. Here ye are.” McTavish’s booming voice in her ear provided little warning before his large hands closed beneath her arms and levered her to her feet. Her face flaming, she pulled free of his hold and patted herself down.
“Goodness, Katherine! Are you hurt?” Pru asked.
“I’m in the pink of health, I assure you.” The very last thing Katherine wanted to do was draw more attention to her faults.
Thankfully, Harriet opened the door, cutting the conversation short. The guests streamed inside, with Katherine taking up the rear. As she stepped alongside Wayland, he held out her eager dog, whom she collected and held close, despite Emma’s protests.
Learning down, he softly said in her ear, “And here I thought your days of examining my shoes were over.”
Katherine glared at him before stepping past him and into the house. She had arranged to measure his shoes once for an investigation. He had been a suspect. If he hadn’t insisted on following her so closely, her perusal of his shoes would have ended there.
Harriet nursed a dark look as she retrieved the outerwear of each guest in turn, ending with Katherine. Taking in Katherine’s wet garments, she exclaimed, “Lady Katherine! What have you done to your dress?”
To say nothing of what Katherine had done to her person. Her knees still smarted from the contact with the hard snow. “Nothing. I—”
Unceremoniously, Harriet shoved the outerwear into McTavish’s arms and grasped Katherine’s elbow. “Let’s get you out of that dress at once and into something less damp.”
“I’ll be quite all right.” Katherine tugged away. She wished her friends would stop staring at her so. Despite her reputation, she wasn’t usually so clumsy. In this case, the fault lay entirely with Emma. “I’ll sit by the fire in the parlor and be dry in no time.
Dubiously, Harriet narrowed her eyes. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Now please, stop asking.”
Coming to her rescue, Wayland cleared his throat. “Perhaps tea would be in order?”
Harriet nodded, reclaiming the cloaks from McTavish’s arms. He seemed reluctant to give them up. “What sort of man would I be if I let a fine wee lass like yerself carry all this?”
“The usual sort.”
McTavish tsked under his breath and turned to follow her despite her obvious rebuttal. She paused at the entry to the narrow corridor door leading toward the kitchen and shuffled the outerwear onto her hip. With a cocked eyebrow, she jerked her chin toward the parlor. “Why don’t you wait in there?”
“And leave you to do all the work on yer own?”
“Leave me to do my job? Yes.” Harriet’s voice shared none of the warmth in his.
McTavish spread his hands, adjusting a cloth sack beneath his arm. “Och now, I’m afraid that will not do.”
Harriet narrowed her eyes.
“I don’t need your help.”
He winked at her, flashing his infamous grin. “Are ye sure? I’m certain there are many ways I can be of use to ye.”
“Not in the least.” She turned on her heel, retreating down the corridor, but he followed.
“As it so happens, I’ll have to entreat ye for the use of your kitchen. Lorna sent me with scones for Lady Katherine to try.”
“Scones?” Harriet stopped short, drawing herself up and turning to face him. The expression on her face could have withered the paint on the walls.
Undaunted, McTavish reminded, “For the wedding breakfast.”
Scones. Katherine’s mouth watered, and her stomach gurgled. This morning, as with most of her meals, she had only picked at the unpalatable food Harriet had served. The seedcake and scones she had eaten at Lord Annandale’s house in the past had been buttery and soft, melting away on her tongue. She stared after the pair with longing.
“I’ll start a fire.”
Thus shaken from her daydream of gorging herself on scones, Katherine turned to the source of the voice. She caught no more than Wayland’s coattails as he disappeared into the customary room overlooking the street. Belatedly, she realized she was the last still standing in the entryway.
As she scampered into the parlor, she eyed the available chair. Once again, everyone had engaged in another confusing round of dividing three seats among four people. This time, Pru had left the area nearest the unlit hearth for Katherine. She had claimed the armchair, and the burly Lord Annandale perched on one arm next to her. Her protest of Wayland’s familiarity melting from her lips, Katherine pressed her hand to her mouth to withhold a giggle. They looked a sight. Katherine certainly needed to purchase more chairs.
“You can use the loveseat. It’s much better suited to you and Lord Annandale.”
Murder on Charles Street (Lady Katherine Regency Mysteries Book 5) Page 6