Murder on Charles Street (Lady Katherine Regency Mysteries Book 5)

by Leighann Dobbs

  Peggy nodded. “He did, a fellow by the name of Dr. Sumner. Lord Westing imbibed too much and would call one or the other at all hours when his stomach or chest ailed him. If you ask me, it was his lavish lifestyle that did him in. Dr. Sumner is nice enough, though not as kind as Dr. Gammon. Dr. Gammon…” She paused, drawing in a breath. “He truly cared about us working folk, you know? We don’t see that sort of treatment often.”

  Pru asked, “And Lord Westing’s daughter? She didn’t share your good opinion of the doctors?”

  The maid shrugged. “Who am I to know the lady’s mind? She wailed at them at first, but that didn’t bring her father back from the dead, now did it?”

  Katherine asked, “She hasn’t confronted them recently?”

  Peggy gave her an odd look. “I wouldn’t know, but I don’t guess so.”

  “Where was Lady Westing the night before last? Do you know if she went out after dark?”

  The line of confusion between the maid’s eyebrows deepened. “I’m afraid I have no idea where Lord Westing’s daughter was—and she’s Mrs. Eden now, not Lady Westing.”

  If the maid couldn’t confirm the whereabouts of Lord Westing’s daughter on the night of the murder, perhaps she had killed Dr. Gammon! Katherine might already have found the clue she needed to solve the case. “Then she was out that night?”

  Peggy shook her head. “No, you misunderstand. I don’t know where she was because Mrs. Eden isn’t in London.”

  “She isn’t?” Pru asked.

  Peggy shook her head. “She lives east of town in the country house her father entailed to her.”

  Katherine’s primary suspect didn’t even live in London. That wasn’t to say she hadn’t driven all the way in from her country estate, but that made it rather more likely that someone would have seen her. “If she isn’t in London, why is your poor footman so laden down with packages?”

  Peggy shrugged her good shoulder. “The title went to a cousin. Lord Westing IV is in residence at the house now, and I must say he is a far better employer than his predecessor.”

  Harriet tried to keep her emotions off her face as Jarrod, the young footman, peacocked for her. In a show of strength, he shifted every package onto one hand in a tottering tower of parcels. Rather slender of frame, he didn’t have the bulging muscles or thick shoulders to impress. Not to mention, if his attention continued to stray to her figure, those packages would topple on her head.

  She didn’t have time for his flirting. “My, that is a tall order of packages. For Lord Westing, you said? Tell me, is he anything like the late Lord Westing?”

  With the change of topic, the young man gave up balancing the stack and distributed them evenly in both arms. He shook his head. “This one’s far less indolent, but you know your lords. He has high ambitions.”

  “High ambitions, you say?”

  Jarrod nodded. A thick lock of his hair fell onto his forehead, obscuring one eye. He kept the rest tied back from his face. “Yes, he is courting a young heiress and impressing her family with a dinner party tomorrow.” He shook his head, his expression betraying his censure. “Those lordly types, always trying to impress others with food.”

  Harriet bit back a laugh, but her amusement leaked into her voice. “You mean to tell me that you wouldn’t be impressed with the food?”

  His grin widened. “I suppose you have me there. But why so much of it? There will be six people at dinner, and I have enough to feed twenty. ’Tis lucky I accompanied Peggy to run these errands. With her lame wrist, she would never be able to carry half of this on her own.” His eyes warmed again, and he winked. “Of course, a paltry load like this gives me no trouble at all.”

  Harriet did not need another show of strength, especially not from a man who looked like a matchstick when compared to most of the men who visited Number Two Charles Street. For the first time since departing, she wished she had brought Emma with her, if only for the distraction. But with so many people around, Katherine had been afraid the pug would get trampled. This marketplace was far more crowded than the usual promenades where Katherine and Harriet took the dog.

  “I heard a whisper that Lord Westing’s death was not natural, that the physicians may have been at fault. You don’t suppose the new Lord Westing is so ambitious he might pay the physicians to mistreat their patient?”

  The footman spat on the ground. “Ah, I don’t trust any of those leeches as far as I can throw them. But Lord Westing? He never expected to inherit. He took a position as a clergyman and lost touch with the family. I heard he nearly fainted away with the news when it came that he’d inherited.”

  “Fainted away? Like a delicately bred young lady?”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past him. He lived a sheltered life. You’ve trouble with yours?” With his chin, he indicated the knot of women a mere ten feet away. Harriet glanced sideways at Lady Katherine then shook her head. “She isn’t so bad. Nearly self-sufficient.”

  The footman laughed again. “What’s that like?”

  Harriet shared a smile with him. “More tiresome than you’d think.”

  He grinned. When he leaned closer, Harriet recalled that she had a task to accomplish. She wasn’t here to commiserate with a fellow servant, an activity that she’d sorely missed this past month with only her and Lady Katherine in the house. Granted, she enjoyed having a spacious room and bed to herself and free run of the house, but the endless wave of chores threatened to bury her. She never could seem to finish everything she needed to do in the day.

  If she wanted to have any chance of a moment or two to put her feet up, she should end this interview as soon as possible. “So you’d say your Lord Westing is a good sort?”

  The young man shrugged. “Oh, he dreams of grandeur, but he always remembers the people in his employ and tries not to overtask us. Like with Peggy—after she injured herself again, Lord Westing insisted that I accompany her on errands.”

  Harriet stole another glance toward her employer. Had she finished with the conversation yet?

  She didn’t realize how close the footman had come until he whispered in her ear, “If you ever have errands too big for you to carry, I’d be happy to lend you a hand too.”

  Harriet jumped. “Oh dear, I think my mistress is through. She’ll need me.” Harriet stumbled back, shaking out her skirts as she turned away.

  Jarrod called out, “The offer stands.”

  Shaking her head, she rejoined Katherine and prayed that her employer wouldn’t ask her to explain that bit of the conversation. Harriet had absolutely no time for romance, what with running Katherine’s household and investigating at the same time. And when it came to flirtations, this footman simply didn’t have McTavish’s charm. He left her feeling awkward rather than warm.

  But that was McTavish’s worst quality. He thought he could finagle whatever he wanted with little more than a smile and a chuck on the chin. Some way, Harriet must find a way to gain the upper hand. Otherwise, her stay in Scotland—on his home ground—would be unbearable.

  Chapter Ten

  In her favorite chair in the front parlor, Katherine struggled to contain a wriggling Emma. Although she and Harriet hadn’t been gone for two hours, Emma acted as though they had left for a decade. Ever since Katherine had returned, the little dog had yipped and run circles around her until Katherine had obeyed the demand. The moment she’d sat in the chair to give her pet some proper attention, Emma had catapulted onto her lap. Proper attention, in Emma’s mind, meant belly scratches. She wriggled like a worm on Katherine’s lap, a furry little creature determined to leave as much hair on Katherine’s skirt as possible.

  At a knock on the door, Emma launched herself through the air and landed hard on all four feet. Her nails scrabbled for purchase on the wood, and she barked as she approached the door. Harriet reached it second.

  “Emma! Out of the way, scamp. I can’t open it if you’re going to run out onto the street.” Harriet grunted. A moment later, she proc
laimed, “There. Now how do you like the view?” She must have lifted the dog into her arms.

  The door opened, Emma’s vigorous barks drowning out the brief exchange. Katherine had just risen when the door shut again, and Harriet carried the dog into the room on her hip. “Who was that?”

  Harriet extended a hand, offering a crisp envelope with a wax seal. “A missive from Lady Dalhousie. She said she expects to meet you tonight at this address?”

  Katherine sighed. She’d hoped that Lady Dalhousie would forget their arrangement. Reluctantly, she took the envelope from Harriet’s hand and went hunting for a penknife.

  Curious, Harriet followed her out of the room and up the stairs. “Where will you be that Lady Dalhousie will meet you?”

  Upon reaching the study, Katherine glared at her as she crossed to the battered writing desk. Katherine had managed to claim the one she’d had in her room at Dorchester House, but with the inclement weather and the struggle to carry it down several flights of steps and out of Mayfair, it hadn’t survived unscathed. One or two of those marks on the legs had been there already from Emma. Like the rest of her house, the sole piece of furniture in the study acted as a stark sentinel against the undecorated space and sparsely filled bookshelf.

  Katherine rummaged through the desk while Harriet stood over it, Emma in hand. “Do you mean to tell me, or do I have to guess?”

  Upon finding the penknife, Katherine slipped it into the thick wax and broke the seal. “You would know if you hadn’t abandoned me to Lady Dalhousie’s clutches earlier today.”

  Harriet raised an eyebrow and settled Emma more firmly in her grasp. The little dog strained to sniff her face, her neck not long enough to reach. “If you don’t tell me, I can’t ensure that you’re ready to go out.”

  Katherine opened the envelope and slipped out a thick card—an invitation to Lord Penhurst’s exhibition this evening. He promised a quiet affair, friends only, as he displayed his latest treasures from Egypt. Katherine couldn’t very well refuse. From the way the invitation was worded, the host already presumed her attendance. Lady Dalhousie would have made certain of that.

  With a sigh, Katherine glanced at Harriet. “What should I wear to a private exhibition?”

  Harriet took the card and frowned as she tapped it against her thigh. Emma snapped at it unsuccessfully. “I’ll have a look and find something to suit. But what does this have to do with Lady Dalhousie?”

  “She’s asked me to match her niece, Miss Ball. I was in such a hurry to rejoin you and the interrogation that I said yes. We are discussing the particulars this evening.”

  Harriet sighed, looking crestfallen. “I suppose this means you’ll want to look as dowdy as possible.”

  Katherine used her clothes as a shield to ward away unwanted advances from men who saw her as no more than an earl’s unmarried daughter. In fact, she used her wardrobe to ward away all men. She hadn’t the time for anyone who didn’t care to engage her mind.

  She opened her mouth to answer, but movement at the window caught her eye. This window, like the one in the front parlor below, overlooked the street. A figure in a dress and cloak turned briskly up the walkway two doors down. Mrs. Campbell! “I have to go next door. I won’t be long.”

  As she rushed out of the room, Harriet called after her, “Katherine!” Her voice was filled with exasperation. Distantly, she added, “Wear your pattens this time so you don’t get your hem deep in mud.”

  “The mud is frozen,” Katherine muttered under her breath, her words swallowed by the clatter of her steps on the stairs.

  She exited the house—after donning her pattens, as Harriet had asked—none too soon. She didn’t know how long Mrs. Campbell would linger at Dr. Gammon’s house. This might be her only chance to speak with the housekeeper, and she dearly needed some answers. Given that Mrs. Campbell was more embroiled in Dr. Gammon’s physician work than Katherine had thought, she could be a very handy woman to know. Not to mention, Katherine still needed to look for the notes Dr. Gammon had left behind. His son had interrupted her the last time, and she didn’t want to gain access to an old friend’s house by criminal means. However, those notes might prove pivotal in her investigation. She couldn’t admit defeat.

  And if the patient he had been worried over was Lord Westing, Mrs. Campbell might know more. With a niece in the household and close ties to the doctor who had administered the treatment, she should know more about the business than Katherine had initially thought.

  As Katherine knocked on the door, she held her breath, hoping Mrs. Campbell was the only person inside. If Mr. Gammon found her here again, he would almost certainly cast her out. Perhaps he would also mention something to Bow Street. Although Katherine didn’t think they would interfere, she didn’t want to be named a suspect in a case they had formerly believed to be an accident.

  A moment later, Mrs. Campbell opened the door. She looked weary, with lines around her nose and mouth. As she saw Katherine on the step, she frowned. “Aren’t you…?”

  “Lady Katherine Irvine. I live two doors down and was a friend of Dr. Gammon. You didn’t seem in the right state of mind for me to talk to you yesterday. Do you have a moment now? I’d like to make certain you’ve recovered.”

  The corners of Mrs. Campbell’s eyes crinkled. “I’m recovered well enough.”

  “Are you certain? It must have been a great shock to find your employer in the study like that.”

  A shadow crossed the older woman’s face, and she drew back, though not enough for Katherine to push into the house next to her. Katherine balled her fists, refusing to admit to the cold. She had more important matters than the physical upon which to dwell, even if her ears burned.

  “I knew there was a possibility I might find him that way one day. He isn’t as young as he once was, but…” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I suppose I wasn’t prepared for the reality.”

  Katherine nodded, sullen. She might have been inured to death, having seen it so often that the initial shock had worn away, but the picture of Dr. Gammon in his study chair still haunted her. She suspected it would until she got to the bottom of this investigation. Her friend deserved justice, and she would be the one to deliver it. “Shouldn’t you be at home? It might be better if you took some time to recover.”

  Taking a deep breath, the old woman seemed to steel herself. She shook her head. “Mr. Gammon has kept me on while he decides what to do with the estate. Soon, I won’t be able to live off my poultices alone, so I’ll take the work as long as I can.”

  “But today? He died only two days ago.”

  Mrs. Campbell made no response.

  Katherine was spending far too much time commiserating. If the woman truly was so concerned about her position that she would return to a place that caused her pain to enter, perhaps Katherine ought to have a serious talk with Harriet about hiring her on to help the townhouse. Not today—Katherine was far too busy—but the next time the topic arose and she thought Harriet might receive it favorably, she would ask. Katherine didn’t want to do her old friend the disservice of hiring someone without consulting her, particularly if that someone might think themselves in a superior position. After all, Katherine doubted Mrs. Campbell would lower herself to working as a parlor maid when she had been a housekeeper for so long.

  For now, it didn’t matter. Katherine needed more answers, and she wouldn’t find them by sympathizing with the old woman. If Mrs. Campbell seemed determined not to let her into the house, she must learn as much as she could on the stoop. Stamping her feet to keep her circulation, Katherine asked, “When did you find him? After you had washed the dishes and put them away?”

  The corners of Mrs. Campbell’s mouth turned down, the lines deepening. “I didn’t wash any dishes. I found him first thing, and the moment I did, I panicked and ran into the street for help.”

  So someone else had been in the house. “But he ate. There were crumbs on his shirt and marmalade at the corners of his mouth—”


  “What are you nattering on about? There isn’t any marmalade in the house…” She looked at Katherine as though Katherine was on her way to Bedlam.

  “Perhaps not marmalade, then. The filling from a pie or something similar.”

  Mrs. Campbell shook her head. “Nothing like that. The poor old dear had his brandy and… Fell asleep. He didn’t suffer.”

  How could Mrs. Campbell possibly know that? It was a platitude, something to which she clung in this time of grief. Katherine didn’t want to dash her hopes, though poison was often very painful. “If I’m honest, I’m not certain that Dr. Gammon died of natural causes. I saw him only the night before, and he seemed in perfect health.”

  Mrs. Campbell took a step inside. Katherine pressed the advantage, following until she stood in the mouth of the doorway. It was every bit as cold here as it was on the stoop, but at least she didn’t feel so exposed.

  “You must be mistaken. He was an old man…”

  Katherine refused to admit, even to Mrs. Campbell, that she might be wrong. Lyle had mentioned the scent of almonds—and the poison that might cause the smell. Katherine must find the truth, one way or another.

  “At the moment, I have only my suspicions. But didn’t he seem to you as if something bothered him?”

  Mrs. Campbell hesitated. “I suppose he was acting out of sorts, but I couldn’t tell you why.”

  “I think I know why. When I visited that night, he mentioned some notes. It’s very important that I look through his notes so I know what it was that put him so ill at ease.”

  For a moment, she thought Mrs. Campbell would deny her outright. Hesitation lingered on the older woman’s face for a hair too long before the resistance in her expression faded. “I’ll help in any way I can. I liked Dr. Gammon a great deal. He was perhaps the best man for whom I ever worked. Sometimes, he let me help with his herbs and such. However, I cannot let you inside now, my lady.”