Pru frowned. “But your dress…”
Katherine shrugged. “I’ll stand by the fire instead.”
“I won’t hear of it.” As Wayland knelt in front of the grate, the tinderbox in his hand, his voice was gruff.
“I beg your pardon?”
He turned his face to meet her gaze. “What sort of gentleman would I be if I allowed a lady to stand while I sat?”
“Truthfully, we’re comfortable here.”
The grimace on Lord Annandale’s face belied Pru’s words.
“You’re my guests. Sit in the loveseat.”
“No.”
Katherine raised her gaze to the ceiling and bit back a sigh. She had never met a woman more obstinate than Pru. And in this case, it was her fiancé, not Katherine, who suffered the most.
“There,” Wayland said, sliding the tinderbox onto the mantel once more as the burgeoning flame in the hearth swelled. With a satisfied look, he turned and rested his hands on his hips. “Didn’t you ask us here to discuss the investigation?” He gestured at the seat nearest the fire.
Katherine gritted her teeth but took the spot he’d indicated. Once she did, Wayland rounded the back of the loveseat and claimed the seat next to her. For Pru and Lord Annandale to sit so close was of no matter, seeing as they would shortly be married. But the very last person Katherine wanted to be pressed against from knee to shoulder was Wayland. He was…
She didn’t have the energy this morning to speculate on what he was, so she turned her attention to where it should be—the murder. “Lady Dalhousie was forthcoming on one issue regarding Dr. Gammon’s murder.”
Indignant, Pru exchanged a glance with her fiancé. “Surely Lady Dalhousie didn’t believe it to be murder.”
Katherine bit into her lower lip. She tried to put space between her and Wayland, but it was impossible on this small sofa. “She didn’t say as much in so many words, but she did provide me with a suspect.”
Lord Annandale’s expression softened, the corners of his mouth disappearing into his beard. “A suspect for what case, lass? Yer Dr. Gammon might have died in his sleep. What has Lyle said?”
Katherine gritted her teeth. “He said nothing one way or another. I haven’t spoken to him since attending the musicale.”
The Scottish lord exchanged another glance with the woman by his side.
“That doesn’t prove that there is no murder. He’s still looking into the matter. And I’m certain it must have been poison.”
None of her friends appeared to be paying her the least bit of attention. Even Wayland, who had been her staunchest ally in this case, focused his attention on the dog.
Katherine continued, “You didn’t know him. I visited with him the night before, and he had a matter weighing hard on his mind. I believe Lady Dalhousie has shed light on that matter. This is a vital clue and one we must pursue.”
Wayland patted his knee, chuckling when Emma’s first attempt to jump onto his lap resulted in her tumbling back to the floor with a thump. Shaking herself off, she reached him on the second try and rolled onto her back to show him her belly. He scratched it dutifully. “I don’t know if there is any way to know for certain what had been weighing on the doctor’s mind, Katherine. He is dead, after all, and unless he confided with someone…”
“He told me he was concerned about an old patient. No, he didn’t discuss the details, but when we spoke with Lady Dalhousie last night, who did she immediately bring up? Lord Westing and his premature death. Dr. Gammon treated him. Don’t you think it’s likely that had been the patient weighing on his mind?”
Silence reigned in the room, punctuated only by the light sound of the scratches on Emma’s belly. The guests shifted in their seats, uncomfortable. None of her friends looked Katherine in the eye. They still didn’t think it was murder.
The silence was broken only as Harriet and McTavish returned to the room. The latter stopped in the doorway, carrying a dainty silver tea service between his large hands. “Och now, what are we discussing that has ye lot looking so grim?”
Katherine’s stomach gurgled at the smell of the warm scones Harriet carried in a basket. Enough of them towered precariously atop the mound to feed an army. She set them down on the table, leaving enough space for the tea service. As McTavish continued his task, Harriet set about passing out the plates.
Katherine answered, “Dr. Gammon’s death. His murder.” She glared across the table at Pru, who glared back.
As McTavish offered the contents of the basket to each person in the room in turn, Katherine helped herself to three. Each appeared to be a different flavor, judging by the flecks of color baked into them. Meanwhile, Harriet filled the teacups. She worked seamlessly with McTavish in silence, each of them serving the group without resorting to coordinating themselves with speech. Katherine bit her tongue, unwilling to point out the congruency between the pair, considering Harriet’s dislike of the man.
“Oh yes,” Harriet said without looking up from her work. “What did Mrs. Ramsey have to say? Did she see anyone suspicious?”
Katherine sighed. “She did not. She told me she didn’t see any carriages stop the night before last.”
As she added sugar lumps to the tea, Harriet said, “Emma didn’t bark that night. I was up with her, as you know.”
“Emma was lethargic from her illness. Perhaps someone arrived on foot rather than by carriage.”
Having offered his spoils to the entire room, McTavish returned to her side and offered her the basket once more. Katherine had yet to take a bite, despite the scrumptious smells of berries, spice, and even chocolate wafting from the warm baked goods. She shook her head.
“Och now, ye need to keep up yer womanly figure. Have another,” McTavish said with a wink.
Wayland stopped scratching Emma’s belly and coughed into his fist.
Although McTavish’s forwardness had initially caused Katherine some alarm, she’d since grown accustomed to his character. He was harmless. She helped herself to another scone, the most expedient means of convincing him to retreat. He did, helping himself to two of the remaining treats before stepping back.
As Harriet finished doling out the tea, McTavish held out one of his two prizes for her. She accepted it with reluctance and took up position next to him.
Katherine tore off the end of the scone and put it in her mouth. It had a light citrusy taste that made her sigh in happiness. After she swallowed, she informed the group, “This is a valid clue to a valid investigation. If Lord Westing’s death was premature, his daughter might have killed the physician responsible out of revenge for her father.”
Wayland half-turned to raise his eyebrow at her. “If so, why would she wait so long? Lord Westing died over a year ago.”
Katherine opened her mouth and shut it several times. To buy herself time to think, she shoved another piece of the scone into her mouth. “Perhaps it’s because of Dr. Gammon’s worries. Perhaps new evidence came to light, and Lord Westing’s daughter confronted him. Or he was taking notes—they contain all the evidence, even if I didn’t read them. He might have found something in his records, felt guilty, and approached her in order to make amends.”
In the silence that followed her statement, nearly everyone suddenly seemed consumed by tasting the scones Pru had brought. Wayland, however, spent the bulk of his energy keeping his scone away from Emma, who was still on his lap. Although no one contradicted her theory, no one endorsed it, either. Katherine chewed angrily, practicing her next attempt at persuading them that she was, in fact, correct. Of those in the room, the two professional detectives—she and Wayland—were the two who thought the matter bore investigation. The others could stuff their heads beneath their pillows and ignore the facts, for all she cared.
A light knock at the door drew the room’s attention. Harriet hastened to answer it. She was halfway across the room as she said, “I’ll get that.”
At the sound of the door opening, Emma perked to full attention. Sh
e yipped with enthusiasm as she lurched off Wayland’s lap. She hit the ground hard, her little feet scrabbling for purchase on the wood as she followed Harriet out to greet the newcomer.
A moment later, Lyle stepped into the room. He stopped short, eyeing those gathered as he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. “I didn’t realize you had guests.”
“It’s perfectly all right. Come—” She started to rise, only for Wayland to press firmly on her shoulder, settling her back into the seat.
“Sit. I’ll stretch my legs.” The moment he rose, cool air filled the void once heated by his body.
Katherine found she missed the contact, though she tried not to show it as she beckoned Lyle closer. Her friend glanced dubiously at the loveseat, but perched on the edge.
McTavish hefted the basket and offered it to Lyle. “Scone?”
Harriet turned for the door once more, Lyle’s greatcoat in her arms. “I’ll fetch another cup.”
Lyle raised his hands, fending both of them off. “No need. I’m only here for a moment before I return to Bow Street. I have another case awaiting me, but I wanted to provide Katherine with some closure.”
Her stomach sank. The soft citrusy taste of the scone that had so delighted her a moment before suddenly felt soggy. She swallowed hard and placed the remainder on the pile on her plate balancing in her lap.
“Then Bow Street is not opening an investigation?” She braced herself for the answer.
Lyle’s grimace spoke volumes. He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. We found no sign of foul play, no signs of a struggle, and no motive. Dr. Gammon’s son has not risen the cry that his father has been murdered, so the magistrate is content to let it lie. I’m sorry, Katherine.”
The edge of the plate and saucer bit into her palm as she struggled to contain her disappointment. They were wrong. The breadth of Bow Street was wrong.
Tentatively, Harriet asked, “Is that all?” She sounded disappointed, too.
When Lyle hesitated, a seed of hope rooted in Katherine’s chest. She studied his face, holding tight to the edge of her plate. “Lyle?”
He sighed and slumped against the chair. Offering a wan smile to Wayland, who stood sentinel next to him, he confessed, “I searched further. I didn’t find enough proof for Bow Street to act, you understand, but…”
“But?”
Lyle met her gaze. “I examined the body on your suggestion that the victim might have been poisoned. I noticed the slight smell of almonds, which might have been unusual.”
Under his breath, Lord Annandale muttered, “Unless ye’ve been eating almonds.”
Lyle continued overtop of him. “So I searched the archives, and I discovered an old poison that has the smell of almonds. In the 1730s, a pair of women drank too much cherry-laurel water—at that point, it was used as medicine as well as flavoring in brandy—and died. This led to a lengthy study on the benefits of the water, and by 1740, it was determined to be a poison. The crushed cherry-laurel leaves smell similar to almonds. It’s only a theory, but…”
Still juggling the greatcoat in one arm and Emma in the other, Harriet took a few tentative steps closer. “The medicine was a water? You don’t think…”
He met her gaze with a smile. “I do.”
“Harriet?”
Her maid blushed. “I didn’t think it of any use at the time, or I would have told you, but when Lyle and I were asking around yesterday, we discovered that Dr. Gammon has been prescribing a medicinal water as a cure for pneumonia.”
Lyle added, “And if it’s the same water, from what I’ve read, it acts as a sedative and blood coagulant. It’s safe in small amounts. It’s possible Dr. Gammon took a little too much and simply fell asleep and never woke again.”
Silence descended again as everyone digested this information. At last, Pru shook her head as if dismissing the notion. “If you’re certain it’s poison, why isn’t Bow Street investigating?”
“I told you,” he snapped. “We haven’t enough proof. The smell of almonds and the missing plate is not enough to open a murder investigation, and even if it were, we don’t know that Dr. Gammon didn’t ingest it on purpose. Maybe too much of it by accident. In either case, it’s not enough for an investigation. Not like the slit throat of the woman whose death I will be investigating after I’m done here.”
Pru’s eyes widened, and she gasped.
Harriet, looking like she might regurgitate her scone, took a few shuffling steps back as Emma licked the underside of her chin.
McTavish cursed. “What sort of gallus tripe are you exposing the womenfolk tae? We’re in mixed company.”
Lyle gave him a puzzled look. “If you mean Katherine, I assure you she is—”
McTavish waved one hand toward Harriet, who still looked pale. She regained her color with alacrity and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not some weak-willed milksop who will fall to pieces at the mere mention of violence.”
McTavish spluttered. “I… I did nae mean tae say ye were, lass. But ye have to admit, it is nae the sort of thing fit for mixed company.”
Harriet glowered at him. “Oh? And what sort of thing is fit for mixed company? Rainbows and wedding dresses?”
As McTavish struggled to regain possession of his tongue and dignity, Pru raised her voice. “If Dr. Gammon was poisoned on purpose, then why? Is there a reason someone would want to kill him?”
Katherine relaxed. At long last, her friend seemed to be supporting her in this endeavor. She leaned forward. “As I said, it might have been Lord Westing’s daughter. If Dr. Gammon was responsible, purposefully or not, for her father’s death, she might have wanted revenge.”
Wayland brushed the crumbs off his fingers and said, “To that, I repeat, why now? A lot of time has passed.”
Lord Annandale added, “And did ye nae say there was no sign of a carriage? I would think a baron’s daughter would nae be out without her carriage.”
“She might have parked it a couple of streets away and walked the rest of the way by foot. We should ask on other streets, broaden our search area.”
At Emma’s insistence, Harriet lowered the dog to the floor once more. After straightening the dog’s pink bow, she asked, “Didn’t you say that Dr. Gammon had other visitors that day?”
Katherine nodded. “Yes. His son, James, and Dr. Sumner.”
“Do you think either of them would have wanted him dead?”
Slowly, Katherine nodded. “If this murder was connected to Lord Westing’s death, I’d assumed that Dr. Sumner might be in danger of becoming the next victim. But you’re right, Harriet. Perhaps it wasn’t Dr. Gammon who had made the mistake, but Dr. Sumner. If Dr. Gammon had confronted him about what he learned, perhaps Dr. Sumner had some motive to silence him. Whether the blunder was intentional or not, I imagine causing the death of a baron would not be good for one’s reputation.”
Wayland frowned. “So he could have returned on foot that evening, so as not to be seen?”
Katherine nodded.
Lord Annandale, on the other hand, shook his head. “You do nae know if this had anything to do with Lord Westing’s death. You should nae fixate upon it. Are there other suspects or motives?”
Katherine picked at the scone in her lap as she thought further. “Mr. Gammon acted odd when he found me in his father’s study yesterday. Perhaps this is about money, his inheritance.”
Pru nodded. “We need to discover if Dr. Gammon’s son has any debts.”
Lord Annandale shifted on his uncomfortable seat to look at her. “What do you suggest, love?”
Pru beamed at him. “Katherine, Harriet, and I will find out about Lord Westing’s daughter. I know we cannot ask her directly; that would be far too suspicious as none of us has been introduced. But, Harriet, do you happen to know anyone in the household?”
Harriet hesitated then shook her head. “I don’t, but it might not be too hard to find an introduction at the market or on laundry day.”
Katherine smiled. “It
’s settled. We’ll introduce ourselves to one of the servants.” She raised her eyebrows at Lord Annandale. “And you?”
Her fiancé looked pensive. “If James Gammon has any debts, they’re like as not accrued at one of the gambling halls. I’ll make my rounds tonight.”
“I’ll accompany you,” McTavish volunteered. “Men’s tongues wag more with a friendly drink, and ye haven’t the tolerance I do. No offense meant, m’laird.”
Lord Annandale did not look impressed, but with his future wife in the room, he saved his reprimand. Instead, he turned to Wayland. “And you?”
To Katherine’s surprise, Wayland declined helping Lord Annandale with his task. “I’ll sit that one out and look into Dr. Sumner instead. I still have some connections from my days in the military and know altogether too many veterans in need of treatment for their injuries. Someone ought to have heard of him and can secure me an introduction.”
Wearily, Lyle stood and held out his hand for his greatcoat. “It sounds like you have things well in hand, then. Be sure to keep me apprised if this proves worth taking to the courts, if only to make the final rest.”
Katherine smiled sweetly at him. “We always do.”
Chapter Nine
“Katherine, what do you think?”
Katherine paused her perusal of the servants milling in the market to glance at her friend out of the corner of her eye.
Pru scowled like a thundercloud. “Were you woolgathering?”
“I was searching for our quarry.” Katherine had an excellent memory, and one of the few things she’d been taught by her mother before her unfortunate demise had been to recognize the crests and colors of everyone of import in London. Because of Papa’s penchant for investigating, Katherine had been raised in this bustling city rather than in their sprawling country estate. Truthfully, she was so much like her father that if she ever found herself outside of the city, she might perish for lack of work to do. “I haven’t been able to spot Lord Westing’s livery thus far.”
Wrinkling her nose, Pru cut off the explanation. “Not that! I’m sure Harriet will point it out. I was asking your opinion about the gift.”
Murder on Charles Street (Lady Katherine Regency Mysteries Book 5) Page 7
