The silence in the wake of his evidence was stifling. Katherine struggled to keep her breathing even.
In a low voice, almost a whisper, Wayland added, “And that might explain why he did the dishes. One last act of cleaning up before he died.”
Katherine narrowed her eyes at him. Not him, too. He’d been her only ally in this! What happened to his avowal of her investigative instincts? Apparently, he had tossed those aside the moment it was no longer convenient for him.
Pru added, “He was a physician. He would have known about poisons and medicines, and that cherry-laurel water would have been the least unpleasant way to end his life.”
Lord Annandale patted her hand. “And did ye nae tell me he was seated in his favorite chair with a snifter o’ brandy? One last drink before he went. He likely wanted it to look like natural causes, so his son would nae be upset and tongues would nae wag.”
Katherine swallowed hard. She shook her head.
And that was when she inadvertently met Harriet’s gaze. The rings around her maid’s eyes were even more pronounced as she whispered, “Emma didn’t bark that night. She always barks if a stranger walks past the house.”
Katherine swallowed hard. “The notes,” she croaked. “Who took the notes?”
Lyle shrugged, unconcerned. “If it so weighed on him, he might have burned his notes himself so they would not be found and his son’s reputation marred.”
Everything they said made sense. Perhaps that was what made Katherine wholly resolute to reject the evidence. They had all wanted to give up this investigation from the beginning. They were only looking for a way out. Mr. Gammon had handed them one on a silver platter. But Katherine had a keen investigator’s instinct, and she knew that Dr. Gammon’s death was no suicide.
“So you want to give up the investigation?” she asked.
“Not at all, lass. I’ll look into the Picked Plum.”
Wayland cleared his throat. “I will send out more runners to search for Dr. Sumner’s whereabouts. We aren’t giving up. We’re contemplating all the options.”
For all his excuses, it felt like giving up to Katherine.
In a falsely cheerful voice, Pru asked, “Shall we reconvene tomorrow afternoon? That ought to give us enough time to search.”
Heads bobbed all around the room in nods before looking at Katherine. Reluctantly, she, too, nodded, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. “If we have nothing more to discuss, I should go back to bed. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
The tension in the room thickened, but no one argued with her. It hurt every bit as much as the throbbing ankle preventing her from pursuing this investigation with her whole heart. Her injury ached, weighing down her body and spirit. What if she couldn’t solve this case?
If her friends were to be believed, there was no killer to catch. Dr. Gammon would have no justice.
Chapter Twenty-One
Katherine didn’t know how Harriet could have undercooked the peas in her split pea soup and over-salted it, but somehow, the maid had managed. Seated in her armchair, where she had a peripheral look at the snowy street outside, Katherine lifted the spoon to her mouth again. She made a face, taking the smallest of sips before lowering it into her dish. Today’s soup was enough to chase away her appetite.
With Emma trotting at her heels as though Harriet had hidden bacon in her shoe, Harriet bustled into the room. She stopped short, frowning as she took in Katherine’s position. “You’ve hardly eaten! Are you not hungry?”
The hurt in her voice made Katherine’s stomach twist into knots. If not for those knots and the fact that her stomach had shrunk to the size of one of Harriet’s undercooked peas, Katherine might have wolfed down the meal in an attempt not to have to taste it. The thought left her nauseated. She tucked the bowl onto her lap and gave Harriet an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, no. It’s… it’s my ankle! The pain, you know. It’s interfering with my appetite.”
She pressed her lips together, willing her stomach not to growl.
Dubiously, Harriet whisked the bowl off Katherine’s lap. She narrowed her eyes, assessing Katherine before laying the back of her hand across her employer’s forehead.
Dryly, Katherine said, “I’ve injured my ankle, not my head.”
Harriet harrumphed. “Perhaps I should have taken Mrs. Campbell up on her offer.”
Katherine tensed. “What offer?”
“I went out for a walk with Emma earlier—no, I’m not talking about going out now. You have to wait.”
Katherine blinked before she realized that the latter part of that conversation was addressed to the dog dancing around her heels.
“We saw Mrs. Campbell,” Harriet said as she brought her attention back to the conversation. “I gather she was closing up Number Four. She asked about you and offered to fix a special poultice for your ankle.”
Katherine groaned, laying her head back against the top of the chair. “I can scarcely wash with the pain. The last thing I want is to have a greater stench about me.”
Harriet tapped her toe. “If you’re in this much pain, it might be worthwhile. Lord Westing’s maid, Peggy, seemed to swear by it.”
“I hate…” Katherine trailed off as she recalled the maid in question. More importantly, as she recalled what the maid had said about another young woman who worked for Lord Westing—and the woman’s aunt, Mrs. Campbell.
Mrs. Campbell had seemed extraordinarily upset when Katherine mentioned her suspicion that Dr. Gammon had been murdered. The woman was loyal to him. And she had cleaned the entire house, closing it for his son. Perhaps she had uncovered something in the house—or her niece had informed her of a plot unfurling from within Lord Westing’s household. Either way, speaking with her might be useful.
Heaven knew Katherine wasn’t able to make any other sort of progress from her chair.
“If you see her again, tell her I accept.” As much as Katherine hated the idea of a reeking poultice on her ankle increasing her misery, it might be worthwhile for the information Mrs. Campbell could impart.
Harriet nodded. A knock sounded on the door, and Katherine sat up straighter.
“That must be Pru.” She and Lord Annandale had promised to return today, after all.
Harriet frowned at the bowl in her hands before she turned away. “Let me dispose of this, and I’ll get the door. You stay there.”
With a sigh, Katherine slumped against the seat cushions once more. When would her sarding ankle heal?
Pru had only to knock one more time before Harriet rushed down the corridor, her hands now free, to usher the guests inside. Three sets of voices thanked Harriet before the door shut. Had Lord Annandale brought McTavish again?
The first man to enter the room was not McTavish but Wayland. He met Katherine’s gaze and nodded diffidently. When he searched the room—Harriet had removed the dining room chairs and set his against the wall, out of the way—he quickly reclaimed the piece of furniture he seemed to have left in her house permanently. Perhaps she should take her father and stepmother’s offer to help her furnish the house. Not to save her the expense, since Papa would insist upon paying if she gave him carte blanche, but so that her guests wouldn’t have to bring furniture with them whenever they came to visit.
Then again, how would Papa feel to know he’d purchased a chair for Wayland? Katherine shifted in her seat uncomfortably.
Oblivious to her discomfort, Wayland deposited the chair next to hers. Rather than sit, he waited for the others to enter. Pru and Lord Annandale seemed content to chat with Harriet for the moment. Much to her chagrin, Katherine was likely the topic.
“How is your ankle?” Wayland asked. He sounded genuinely concerned.
“Better.”
He nodded, flexing his hand over the back of the chair. “You haven’t been taxing yourself overmuch?”
She cocked one eyebrow. “We saw each other yesterday. How much taxing could I do in one day?”
His mouth twitched,
but he didn’t press the issue as their friends entered the room, still clothed in their outer things. Didn’t they intend to stay? Perhaps they had only come to inform her that they had caught Mr. Gammon in a lie and now intended to fetch Lyle to make the arrest.
That would be a pity, though. James Gammon seemed so aggrieved at his father’s death, and what of his courtship of Miss Ball? If he was arrested, Katherine would have to take even longer to find her a suitable match. Though that assumed she was as interested in him as her barrage of questions had made it seem.
There was only one way to know for certain. As Pru and Lord Annandale took their allotted seats on the loveseat, Katherine leaned forward. “Did you confirm Mr. Gammon’s whereabouts on the eve of the murder?”
Lord Annandale seemed taken aback at her decision to begin the conversation with business, but he nodded. “McTavish and I went out last night. The manager confirms that Mr. Gammon was there Wednesday last.”
Katherine sighed under her breath and leaned back, satisfied that she’d been correct. But if Mr. Gammon had not killed his father, who had?
Wayland added, “And I sent my runners to the hotels in town, as well as to Lord Westing’s residence to query the staff. It seems the late lord’s daughter, Mrs. Eden, truly does live out of town. I cannot place her in London at all this month.”
Katherine nodded, her stomach sinking. “We have only one suspect, then. Dr. Sumner.”
Wayland made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat.
Turning in her seat, Katherine glared at him. “Did you have something to add?”
He cleared his throat and fiddled with his cravat, looking nervous. “I’m afraid we have none.”
“None?”
“No suspects. Dr. Sumner could not have killed his former partner, and I know that for a fact. I managed to track him to his daughter’s residence in London.”
Katherine’s stomach dropping, she sighed. “He was out of town?”
But that didn’t make any sense. After all, Dr. Gammon had claimed to have had a visit from Dr. Sumner the day Katherine had visited him. If Dr. Sumner had claimed to be out of the city, it must be a lie!
“I’m afraid he isn’t able to get around on his own. He’s limited to the use of a sedan chair or a bath chair, neither of which are stealthy enough vehicles with the retainers needed to propel them in order for him to visit without anyone knowing.”
Katherine opened her mouth, then shut it. “You’re certain?”
He looked sympathetic as he nodded. “I met with him myself. His limited mobility is why he doesn’t frequent the men’s clubs. He confirmed that he did visit Dr. Gammon on the Wednesday in question, but he denied any knowledge of the secrets Dr. Gammon might have been keeping. Of course, he might have been lying on that account, but he certainly would not have been able to kill his friend without several witnesses to bring him to and from the house.”
“And Emma did not bark,” Harriet reminded her.
Katherine swallowed hard, sinking down in her chair. “Then we have no suspects? None at all?”
With her eyes dark and sympathetic, Pru said gently, “I think you know what happened, Katherine. You simply refuse to admit it.”
Dr. Gammon did not kill himself. It must have been murder. He said himself how well he enjoyed life! Katherine bit her tongue rather than air an argument she had a half dozen times in the past two days.
Briskly, Pru stood and straightened her skirts. The two men stood simultaneously.
“I’m afraid we cannot stay. Wedding business, you understand. I’ll tell you all about it later, but now, we have an appointment to make. Don’t fret yourself to death, will you?”
As the door shut behind them, Katherine’s spirits drooped with disappointment. She was left with no leads or suspects, and her only helpers, save for Harriet, seemed to think there was no case at all. But Katherine was sure they were wrong. An entire lifetime spent honing her investigatory skills at her father’s side told her that Dr. Gammon had been murdered.
Perhaps the most compelling thing of all was that her father had put his faith in her ability to solve the case even with her twisted ankle. How in the world was she going to do that without anyone to help her?
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Promise me that you will never allow me to marry.”
Harriet hummed under her breath, a noncommittal sound as she tilted her head to better see her needle in the light of the fire. She was mending a tear in Katherine’s dress, one that Katherine had unfortunately made this morning when she’d stepped wrong on her weakened ankle and caught the hem.
“Are you listening?”
Harriet settled the garment on her lap and raised her gaze with a mild expression. “I heard something about your impending wedding.”
Katherine narrowed her eyes. “Or lack thereof. Heaven forbid I should ever become like Pru and think that planning a wedding is more important than solving a murder!” Katherine shook her head, disappointment and hurt mingling in her belly yet again. Perhaps it was just as well that she hadn’t been able to stomach tonight’s supper. “Pru is usually so eager to investigate. If not for the wedding, I’m certain that she would have supported me.”
Harriet gave her a sympathetic look. Katherine turned her face away, clenching her jaw and rejecting Harriet’s pity. If that was Pru’s and even Lord Annandale’s excuse, what was Wayland’s? She sank her teeth into her lower lip, using the pain to keep a rising tide of dismay at bay.
“Dr. Gammon was murdered.”
“Of course he was. I’m certain you’ll discover the reason in time.” Despite her reassuring words, Harriet didn’t sound as though she believed them. Had Pru convinced her that this investigation was not worth their time?
Katherine yelped as Emma jumped onto her lap, jostling her ankle in the process. The dog bounced off again onto the floor, hackles raised as she growled at thin air. Sighing, Katherine leaned forward, bracing herself against the renewed throb of her injury as she beckoned the dog closer. The ornery animal pranced toward Harriet instead and started to chew on a length of thread.
“Stop that, you.”
With a much-aggrieved sigh, Emma lowered herself onto Harriet’s feet for a nap.
Katherine informed her, “There is one other possibility that they did not entertain.”
Harriet set a few more deft stitches, her fingers working quickly through the cloth.
“Lord Westing’s daughter must have had one of her servants perform the deed. Or, if she cannot spare one of her servants from the country house, perhaps she had one of Lord Westing’s servants deliver the poison.” Katherine brightened, liking her new theory. She sat straighter and expounded on the point. “No one will suspect a woman who lives out of town. And not only do the servants know of Lord Westing’s untimely death, but they would have known Dr. Gammon as well. That maid… Peggy was her name? She said he treats their ailments at night. So a very loyal servant might have taken it upon themselves to commit murder despite the fact that Dr. Gammon’s error had been an accident.”
Wordlessly, Harriet examined her work and folded the dress neatly. As she stood, Emma grumbled, unwilling to give up her makeshift bed. Harriet paid her no mind.
“Why don’t I run over to Lord Westing’s house and see what I can glean from the servants? The footman I spoke with last time was rather forthcoming, and I imagine he will be if I approach him again.”
Katherine struggled to her feet. “That’s a grand idea! Let’s go at once.”
With a glare, Harriet pointed at the armchair. “You are in no shape to accompany me. Sit and rest your ankle.”
With a weary sigh, Katherine lowered herself into the seat once more. “Must I?”
“You must. But don’t fret. Mrs. Campbell will be here shortly with the poultice.”
Katherine groaned under her breath.
That only gained her another look of censure. “You told me to ask Mrs. Campbell to make one.”
; “I know. That doesn’t mean I’ll enjoy it when she slathers it onto my skin. It will probably take me a week to wash the stench off.”
“Be that as it may, she is going out of her way to help you heal. You should be grateful.”
Katherine nodded, but the motion contained no feeling whatsoever.
“I’ll wait until she arrives. I don’t want to leave you alone.”
Katherine batted her hand. “I won’t be alone. I’ll have Emma with me. I can fetch the door just as good as you. When did you say Mrs. Campbell will arrive?”
Harriet glanced at the window with a frown. “Any minute now. She said shortly after dusk this evening.” Although twilight still gathered in wide swaths around the street, night would soon befall them.
“Then you’d best go quickly, before the servants go to bed.”
Although Harriet didn’t answer directly, she mumbled something about the resiliency of servants on little sleep as she exited the room. Moments later, the door shut. Emma, who had trailed Harriet out of the room, trotted back and lowered herself to the floor next to Katherine’s chair. Apparently, she didn’t care to risk Katherine yelping again should she jump into her lap.
Katherine returned to the book in her hand, but the words didn’t hold her attention. Her mind turned over the mystery she had not yet been able to solve—not for certain, in any case. With luck, Harriet would have the last piece to the puzzle.
A knock at the door sent Emma into a frenzy of barking. Katherine set aside her book, stood with difficulty, and limped to the front of the house to answer the door. It wasn’t far, but it felt like a league away.
Mrs. Campbell, bundled against the cold, blinked rapidly as she beheld Katherine in front of her. “Lady Katherine! Dear me. It was my impression that you are unable to move around.”
Murder on Charles Street (Lady Katherine Regency Mysteries Book 5) Page 17