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

by Leighann Dobbs

  Harriet, too, shook her head. “Why does she need to change clothes? Won’t those do?”

  “We’re going out,” Wayland said, biting off the words.

  “Where? She cannot stand.”

  “She would like to,” Katherine said pointedly.

  Wayland still did not put her down. If he didn’t soon, she would—

  Emma barked vigorously, circling Wayland as if trying to find a way to jump into his arms as well.

  “We’re going to the theater.” He quickly craned his neck down to look at Katherine directly. “And before you protest, I’ve arranged for Lady Dalhousie and her niece to accompany us as well. You will be able to spread the rumor to her directly, and once she sees the lengths you are going to match her niece despite your injury, she will certainly leave you be until you’ve healed.”

  He had a great deal of faith in Lady Dalhousie. Katherine suspected that such a maneuver would earn her a day or two of respite, at best. But at the moment, she desperately craved any respite.

  Grumpy, Harriet muttered, “I cannot dress her now. I’m in the middle of cooking dinner. It will burn.”

  Wayland held her gaze. “I will tend it for you.”

  “Can you cook?”

  “I’ll manage for five minutes.”

  Harriet held his gaze a moment longer before she lowered her eyes and dipped into a curtsy. “Put her in the parlor. I’ll fetch clothes from upstairs.”

  “Is no one going to ask me what I think of this endeavor?”

  Wayland, half turned toward the parlor, paused and met her gaze with a sardonic raise of his eyebrow. “Please, Katherine. Tell me, would you prefer to sit here all night or come out to the theater with me?”

  Katherine pressed her lips together.

  “Well?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  He shrugged, jostling her and sending a twinge of pain shooting through her ankle. “Think all you like. I have all evening.”

  Katherine scowled at him. “Oh, put me down. I’ll go to the theater.”

  If Katherine had considered how she would travel from the carriage into the theater box that Wayland had reserved, she might have declined. The heat of humiliation scalded her cheeks as she slouched in the corner of the box, having been carried there in a sedan chair hoisted by two footmen. She might as well announce to the world that she was helpless, and she supposed that would work perfectly with her plan. Lady Dalhousie and her niece had arrived on their heels, fussing over Katherine as she was carried up to the box with such vigor that they drew even more eyes toward them.

  Fortunately, Wayland put his bulk between her and the other two women. Even he could not stifle Lady Dalhousie’s carrying voice drifting from his far side, but at least Katherine did not have to answer the woman’s questions directly.

  So engrossed was she in her misery that she didn’t notice the box to her left filling up with occupants until the play began. When she turned to peer closer at the unfolding entertainment, the livery of a waiting footman caught her eye. She recognized it—and then the man in question. It was Jarrod who was in service to Lord Westing.

  Wayland had arranged a box that abutted Lord Westing’s theater box! When Katherine turned to look at Wayland, his eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’re welcome,” he whispered.

  She swallowed hard, but any reply she hoped to make was drowned out by the performance below.

  Unfortunately, with the performance, she could do little to catch Lord Westing’s attention. He was a short man with a receding hairline, affable in demeanor and easy with his smiles, particularly when they were directed to the young woman at his side. Katherine didn’t recognize the debutante in question, but she must be the heiress the lord hoped to marry. An older couple acted as chaperones, sitting a few seats apart but keeping a rapt attention on the pair. The older woman resembled the younger enough for Katherine to deduce that she and the man were the young lady’s parents.

  Katherine paid attention to the performance with half an ear, the entire time contemplating how to wrest away Lord Westing’s attention. After all, she couldn’t discover whether or not he had killed Dr. Gammon if she didn’t speak with him! He had inherited the Westing title and estate at that point. Unlike Lord Westing’s daughter, he should have been in London this week.

  By the first intermission, Katherine had concocted a devious plan that involved trying to stand and falling across the wall into Lord Westing’s box. She had a reputation for clumsiness and wasn’t opposed to using it to achieve her goals. Unfortunately, as the players left the stage, Lord Westing stood and offered to fetch refreshments for his companions.

  “No,” Katherine mumbled under her breath.

  To her right, Wayland echoed, “No? You aren’t thirsty?”

  She blinked, realizing that he had been asking her the same question. She offered him a bland smile. “Yes. Go. Try to speak with Lord Westing.”

  His smile widened, and he gave her a half bow. “As my lady wishes.”

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes at his theatrics. Fortunately, as he left the box, Lady Dalhousie and Miss Ball decided to stretch their legs.

  Miss Ball hesitated as she turned toward the scarlet curtain leading away. “You don’t mind, do you, Lady Katherine? I don’t wish to leave you without company.”

  “Please, go. If I were able to stand, I would be circulating as well. I won’t be the least bit lonely, I promise.”

  When Miss Ball hesitated, her aunt ushered her away. “We must circulate if you’re to meet your future match.”

  “Precisely,” Katherine agreed with feeling. “Circulate, and do tell me if anyone meets your approval. For later, when I’m healed.”

  Satisfied for the moment, Miss Ball smiled. “I promise.”

  When the two women at last left her in peace, Katherine turned toward Lord Westing’s box. He had been sitting in the seat nearest her. With him absent, she had a better view of the pretty young woman who had so captured his attention. The heiress had delicate, coy features belied by a shrewd look in her eye. She fiddled with the handkerchief on her lap.

  “Good evening, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Lady Katherine Irvine. And you?”

  The girl sent a furtive glance to her parents, who spoke to each other in hushed tones, before she shuffled closer on the edge of her seat. “I’m Abigail Finch. Lovely to meet you. I don’t know many people in London. You see, Papa has only brought me here this season.”

  She seemed so shy and uncertain that Katherine couldn’t help but smile at her. “The season won’t begin in earnest until the snow melts, so I imagine you’ll find making friends far easier in a month or two. How do you know Lord Westing?”

  Color turned the young woman’s cheeks a fetching shade of pink as she confessed, “It feels like such a whirlwind. You see, I’ve scarcely been in London two days! Before then, I was with Lord Westing at a house party halfway out to Bath. I suppose Papa thought a week in the lord’s company was not enough, because Lord Westing convinced him very easily to travel to London.” She paused then, flushing with an even deeper color, rushed to add, “We aren’t staying with him, of course. We let our own house for the season.”

  Katherine wasn’t the least bit concerned with Miss Finch’s sense of modesty. She frowned, thinking aloud. “A house party, at this time of year?”

  Her eyes wide, the young woman nodded. “Oh yes, our friends put one on for Valentine’s Day every year. It ran a bit longer than anticipated this year. The snow, you see. We had fresh snowfall the day before departure, and we were left mired at the party until the roads were cleared for the carriages.” She simpered, sheepish. “I suppose it was fortunate. I don’t think Papa planned to venture to London if not for Lord Westing’s insistence. I’ve wanted to come for years.”

  Katherine dug in the reticule hanging from her wrist and produced a calling card. “If you need an introduction, chances are I’ll be able to provide one. I’m not able to leave the house for the ne
xt week or two, but if you call after that, I’ll be happy to do what I can.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Finch exclaimed, her delight shining from her eyes. She hugged the card to her chest, grinning.

  Had Katherine ever been so eager for a season? She’d been raised in London, no stranger to being paraded in front of peers and the stifling oppression of acting the proper young lady. Certainly, her sisters had enjoyed their fame as eligible earl’s daughters. Katherine had even helped along their romances. However, she had never precisely been eager to mingle with polite society. She had always preferred a good puzzle at her father’s elbow. Perhaps that was why she remained unmarried while her sisters were happily in love. She didn’t crave companionship; she craved a challenge to exercise her mind.

  However, she usually didn’t prefer one as personal as the death of a friend. Dr. Gammon had been a solace to her when she’d moved out of her father’s house. She would get on without him, but it seemed unfair for him to have to die in such a way when he’d been such a delightful man, willing to help anyone who needed it.

  Katherine frowned, recalling an earlier piece of the conversation. “You said you’ve only been in town for two days?”

  If so, her arrival would have been the day Dr. Gammon’s body had been discovered. If so, Lord Westing could not possibly have killed Dr. Gammon!

  Miss Finch nodded. “Yes.”

  “And Lord Westing? Did he accompany you, or did he go on ahead?”

  “He accompanied us. Papa made certain of that.” She bit her lip, looking nervous. “I usually wouldn’t be so forward, but you’ve been so nice. You see, Papa is hoping for a match, but I’m not so certain. Lord Westing seems a nice enough fellow, but I scarcely know him. I don’t want to marry the first man who looks at me, even if he has a title. Do you think I should discourage Lord Westing’s suit, if I’m not certain of him?”

  Softening, Katherine reached over the wall that separated them and patted Miss Finch’s hand. “Listen to your instincts. Neither your father nor Lord Westing could possibly deny you the desire to get to know him better before you make a decision. I’m certain it will work out all right.”

  Katherine didn’t know any such thing. Simply because her parents were liberally minded and didn’t mind her pursuing her independence instead of a husband did not mean that all parents treated their daughters in such a way. In fact, Katherine had often found that she was the aberration. Take Pru, for instance. Her mother had made it her business to seek Pru a wealthy husband. The fact that Pru had happened to fall in love with the man her mother had picked for her was a lucky coincidence.

  But it wasn’t Katherine’s place to interfere, not unless the Finches hired her as a matchmaker. She certainly didn’t want to take on another matchmaking client. She’d learned everything she needed to about Lord Westing—namely, his innocence in the murder of Dr. Gammon. Now, she could enjoy the remainder of the play without feeling guilty over having accomplished nothing.

  Wayland’s voice returned, muffled at first, but Katherine caught the tail end of the conversation. “…poor dear can’t even walk on her own. I’m lucky to have convinced her to leave the house this evening rather than resting her ankle.”

  Katherine scowled. Who was he talking to about her?

  She twisted in her seat to look at the curtain separating the box from the corridor. Wayland held it open, a glass of champagne in each hand. Lady Dalhousie and Miss Ball entered first, followed by another man. Katherine shut her mouth before she betrayed her surprise. It was Mr. Gammon.

  As Wayland stepped into the box, Mr. Gammon at his heels, he caught Katherine’s gaze and winked. He had spread the rumor directly to one of the suspects! As Wayland crossed to her and offered the glass of champagne, he said, “I hope you don’t mind if we bring one more person to sit with us this evening. I found Mr. Gammon in the lobby and invited him to our box. He’s been gracious enough to escort Miss Ball.”

  Katherine smiled. “I don’t mind at all.”

  She took the champagne and sipped it as Wayland settled himself beside her. Lady Dalhousie took the seat next to him, and Miss Ball lowered herself next to her aunt. Last in the long line of bodies, Mr. Gammon sat next to the young woman and offered the other ladies the flutes of champagne he held. With so many bodies in between them, Katherine would never manage to get a word in edgewise to question him.

  Oh, well. If Mr. Gammon had killed his father, then the foundation of his arrest had already been laid. He would certainly rise to the bait that Wayland had offered and come to her house to collect the evidence she had purportedly taken. No doubt, he would even come tonight after the theater.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Katherine gritted her teeth against the waves of mixed pain and cold. She tried not to grimace. “I don’t think it’s having much effect.”

  Wayland sipped from the brandy in his tumbler and gave her ankle no more than a cursory glance from his position on the loveseat across from her. “Give it a minute.”

  I’d rather not. Katherine clenched her teeth tighter to keep from giving voice to the childish refrain. Instead, she seethed, her fingers clenched around the glass of port in her hand. It might relax her, if only she sipped. She forced herself to swallow a mouthful of the sweet liquid.

  “I don’t think it’s helping at all. I can feel my ankle turning numb.”

  That launched him from his seat with alacrity. He haphazardly left his tumbler on the low table before he crossed to her and snatched the ice off her ankle. He set the dripping cheesecloth on the floor next to the stool and grazed his fingers against her skin. “The swelling has gone down. Your color looks good.”

  For now. Katherine was in such a cross mood that she didn’t trust herself to say anything. Wayland was only trying to help. Even if what she wanted most was to be left alone.

  No, not alone. She needed her friends here if they were to apprehend Dr. Gammon’s killer. Why had she decided to go out tonight, of all nights? Even being carried to and from the carriage hadn’t saved her ankle entirely.

  Emma sprang to her feet, barking and leaping off the loveseat in pursuit of the door. Pru and Lord Annandale must finally have arrived. Evening had fallen hours ago.

  “Would you like some more port?” Wayland asked. “Or laudanum?”

  Katherine shook her head. “I need my wits about me tonight.”

  He covered her ankle, his hands lingering around the bruised area of her skin. Rather than cause her pain, his light touch chased away the numbness left by the ice.

  The door opened, evidenced by Emma’s claws clicking against the floor as she danced around the visitors’ feet. Harriet murmured as she took the overcoats of the new arrivals.

  Wayland straightened just as Pru entered the room. She stopped short in the door. Her eyes widened as she lifted her hand to her lips. “Katherine, I must say, I expected to find you here alone.”

  Gruffly, Wayland answered, “We went out earlier. It seemed a fool’s errand to leave and return again.”

  Pru raised her eyebrows, but she held the curiosity evidenced in her eyes between her pressed lips. When her fiancé joined her in the room, he greeted Wayland warmly. Lord Annandale, at least, didn’t appear to think anything untoward of Wayland’s presence.

  Sweat trickled behind Katherine’s ear at the considering look Pru gave her. As the two men pumped arms, Katherine blurted, “We went to the theater in pursuit of alibis for the investigation. Our box was next to Lord Westing’s box, you see.”

  Amused, Pru and Lord Annandale exchanged a glance. Smirking, Pru asked, “And did you find anything?”

  Katherine raised her chin. She felt altogether too small, sitting in the armchair with everyone looming around her. “I did, in fact. Lord Westing was out of town at the time of Dr. Gammon’s death. He could not have killed him.”

  Pru made a small, dismissive noise in the back of her throat. “That’s one less person to expect to materialize tonight, then.”

  She d
idn’t sound convinced that anyone would come at all. That much was particularly clear when she crossed to the loveseat and took the place recently vacated by Wayland. Her fiancé followed her.

  Katherine sat up, wincing when she jostled her ankle in the process. “You can’t sit here. I must be here alone when the killer arrives! Otherwise, you’ll only scare him off. Not to mention, a murderer will hardly be likely to confess to the matter in a room full of strangers.”

  “Don’t fuss,” Pru chided. “We will move to our hiding places whenever someone arrives. You’ll have your confession.”

  Katherine would have argued further, but Harriet puttered into the room bearing a tray of seedcake and a pastry concoction she had made herself. They looked tidy, but Katherine reserved judgement until she’d tasted the result.

  “I’ll return with the tea.” As she reached the threshold, she tried to sidestep McTavish’s form, his bulk eating up the space. He stepped at the same time, and she nearly collided with him. She stepped to the other side, impeded there as well. With a bow fit to deliver to a queen, he stepped aside to let her pass. She did without comment, her shoulders stiff.

  Wayland broke the tension. “If we’re to stay in here, I suspect we will require more chairs.”

  “Try the breakfast room down the corridor door,” Katherine advised. “I keep two at the table.”

  Wayland and McTavish returned within moments, each carrying a wooden chair from the breakfast room. Wayland set his between Katherine’s armchair and the loveseat, with the low table in easy reach. He moved his tumbler, remnants of amber liquid in the bottom, nearer to the chair. McTavish, on the other hand, positioned his chair slightly behind the loveseat. Included in the gathering, she was also apart from it. He claimed the seat immediately.

  “Oh.” The small squeak of noise from the threshold was cut off as Harriet pressed her lips together. She glanced from McTavish to Wayland, who stood with his hand on the back of his chair. With Emma trotting on her heels, Harriet crossed to the table and set down the tea service. She busied herself with the cups.