Katherine had to lean back to look him in the eye. “The parlor,” she said faintly.
He nodded, and with Emma and Harriet trailing after him, he carried her to the front of the house. As he set her on the loveseat next to the chuckling fire in the hearth, he said over his shoulder to Harriet, “The bandage? And it might not be amiss to collect some ice from the garden. It will ease the swelling.”
As Harriet hurried out of the room, Emma turned in circles, seemingly at odds as to whom she should follow. When she finally made up her mind, she hopped onto the seat next to Katherine and laid her head in Katherine’s lap, whining. Katherine patted her idly, hissing in a breath as Wayland lifted her injured leg onto the low table they usually reserved for the tea service. Kneeling at her feet, he carefully folded the hem of her gown up to her calf, not taking his eyes from hers. “May I remove your slipper?”
The question sounded absurd, given the circumstance. Katherine nodded, but asked, “Why are you here?”
As he turned his attention to unfastening her shoe, he answered, “I was walking the distance from Lord Westing’s townhouse to Dr. Gammon’s. I wanted to see if it was a short enough distance for someone to have walked that night to kill him.”
“I see.” He didn’t sound convincing, but as he laid his fingers to her ankle bone, she forgot everything but the pain his touch induced.
“Breathe,” he said, his voice a pillar.
She drew in a ragged breath and focused her attention on him once more. If she had something to occupy her mind, the pain lessened somewhat. He carefully probed around the tender spots on her ankle.
Although she doubted his excuse was true—after all, Lord Westing’s daughter no longer lived at the house where her father had died—Katherine couldn’t help but wonder if he had another motive to linger on the path behind her house. Had he been there to watch over her? Katherine wasn’t certain if the notion should make her angry or warm her heart. No one seemed to believe her about this investigation. To have him not only trust in her judgement, but also go so far as to ensure that she wasn’t investigating alone… perhaps it was fancy, brought on by her muddled, pain-riddled thoughts.
“I saw a figure on the path perhaps half an hour ago. Was that you?”
Wayland looked up from his ministrations with a frown. “No.” He sounded surprised and no small part concerned.
Katherine nibbled at her lower lip. “I suppose it might have been Dr. Gammon’s son… He seems to be hiding something, but I thought I had left him at Lord Penhurst’s exhibition.”
Grimly, Wayland folded her skirt over her ankle once more. Only her toes, clad in her stockings, peeked out from the hem. “I’ll look deeper into the son’s motives. Your ankle doesn’t appear to be broken, but you should keep it elevated for the time being. You could worsen the injury with exercise.”
Katherine slumped against the back of the loveseat with an exasperated sigh. That was precisely the verdict she hadn’t wanted to hear. How was she to investigate if she couldn’t walk?
As Wayland unfolded his frame, he asked, “What were you doing out on the back path alone?” His voice was as cold as the ice outside.
Katherine brushed a strand of brown hair from her face and met his gaze. She hated to feel so small next to him and almost begged him to sit. “Dr. Gammon’s house isn’t far. I went to look for his notes on Lord Westing’s treatment. After all we’ve learned, I’m certain Lord Westing’s was the case that so concerned Dr. Gammon the other day when I visited. But I couldn’t find it… I’m not certain I accomplished anything.”
Harriet bustled into the room with a roll of bandages in one hand and a bulging cheesecloth in the other. Her cheeks were flushed, along with her nose, as if she had been out in the cold. She held up her prize. “I have the ice.”
Wayland stretched out his hand. “Hand it here.”
Katherine was about to protest that she could apply the ice herself when the rattle of carriage wheels on cobblestones roused Emma from her lap. The dog barked, lunging from the loveseat and hurrying toward the window. She silenced as she reached it. The carriage must have been one she recognized. But who would be calling so late? Katherine turned in her seat, peering at the mirrored glass that threw back her too-pale reflection juxtaposed over the shadow of a form beyond. Figures separated from the carriage, a man and a woman far enough in pregnancy for the curve of her stomach to begin to show.
Katherine bolted upright. “Oh no! It’s my father.”
She met Wayland’s gaze, terrified. She couldn’t let her father see her alone, unchaperoned with a man he abhorred. Her voice a croak, Katherine snapped, “You have to go. Now—out the back. Before he sees you!”
Wayland hesitated. If anything, he seemed ready to argue. Katherine bit her tongue, fear choking her. Her father’s good opinion meant everything to her. He had raised her ever since she was small and her mother had died. He had taught her everything she knew about detective work. And how had she repaid him? By becoming increasingly more friendly with his rival.
The knock echoed ominously through the house. Harriet, uncertain, backed away. “I’ll get that.”
“Please, Wayland. Go out the back.”
His expression shuttered. If anything, Katherine thought for a moment that she had wounded him with the request. But despite what she had told Mrs. Campbell, they weren’t friends. Not in the same way she was friends with Lyle, Pru, or even Lord Annandale. No, Katherine’s association with Wayland was far more… complicated. And it wasn’t something she could explain to her father. Not now.
Her pleading must have shone in her eyes, because Wayland laid the cheesecloth-covered ice over her ankle and fled without another word.
It wasn’t a moment too soon.
Chapter Fourteen
Katherine shifted her weight, trying for a more comfortable position before her parents descended upon her. She hated to lie to her parents, but she didn’t have a choice. Susanna, her stepmother, might understand her association with a fellow detective, but Papa never would. Why are they visiting now, of all times?
Susanna, round with child and bigger than Katherine expected, given her figure a month ago when Katherine had left Dorchester House, stepped into the room and gasped. She turned several shades paler despite the yellow glow of the fire, a fact made more evident by the black curls framing her cheeks.
The Earl of Dorchester, still dressed in his greatcoat, stepped forward and clasped Susanna’s arm. “What is it, my dear?”
Susanna pulled her arm free of her husband and rushed over. “Katherine, what have you done to your leg?”
Katherine grimaced. She would have pulled it aside, hidden the injury, if the heavy cheesecloth stuffed with ice had not weighed it down. The pain had ebbed marginally with the cold.
As Harriet hovered around Papa, collecting his greatcoat, he frowned. His keen blue-gray eyes surveyed the scene, shrewdly picking out the details. He was, after all, a detective.
Katherine held her breath. Could he sense that someone had been here?
The faintest of noises deeper in the house drew Emma down the corridor in a mad scramble of claws on wood. Pensive, Papa looked after her. “What was that? Did someone go out the back door?”
Harriet curtsied, turning her face away as she mumbled, “I must have left one of the shutters open, my lord. Let me attend to it.”
She disappeared before Katherine’s father could say another word. As he turned his gaze onto her, she almost spilled her every secret. She pressed her lips together instead.
Thankfully, Susanna seemed not to pay a whit of attention to the sound that had drawn Papa’s curiosity. She lowered herself onto the table next to Katherine’s ankle. The wood groaned but held. Despite the fact that it wasn’t meant as a seat, it was a sturdy table.
Susanna brushed her fingers along Katherine’s ankle, the sensation more tender than usual. Katherine hissed.
Papa turned to her, a brooding look on his face. “What have yo
u done to yourself?”
“I slipped on a patch of ice and fell. It happened only ten minutes ago. I’m certain I will heal before too long.”
Rather than take the armchair, Papa loomed over Katherine and his wife. He examined her ankle. “What is it you have on your leg?”
“More ice,” Katherine mumbled. “Harriet wrapped some in cheesecloth.”
“Ah.” Papa nodded and straightened. “Should I send for the physician?”
The nearest physician would have been only two doors down, if not for the horrible tragedy. Katherine swallowed hard. “There’s no need, I’m sure. It’s just a twist.”
He nodded sagely. “I can see that. But my dear, why did you slip? It isn’t like you to be so clumsy, and we haven’t had rain or sleet in days, nor has it thawed to create the ice.”
Katherine bit the inside of her cheek. Not everything was a mystery. “It’s winter, Papa. The ice must have been there already.”
Susanna plucked at the ice on Katherine’s ankle, slipping two fingers underneath to feel along her skin. “How long have you left the ice here?”
“Only a few moments.”
“Maybe it is time for a bandage. Your skin is cold, and I don’t want you to freeze your foot.” Katherine didn’t protest as Susanna gingerly removed the ice and probed Katherine’s swollen ankle further. “Do you have any bandages?”
Katherine gestured at the table and the roll sitting behind Susanna’s right hip. She twisted, laying one hand on her round stomach as she searched for it. When she found the bandages, she laughed. “Oh, there it is. You wouldn’t imagine the sort of things I lose now that I’ve gotten a bit bigger.”
As she lifted the roll, Papa laid his hand on her shoulder. “My dear, why don’t you leave that and sit over here? Harriet can apply the bandages to Katherine’s ankle.”
Susanna scowled and pulled her shoulder free. “I can do it. I am a mother, you know.”
His gaze dropped to the swell of her belly. Dryly, he said, “Yes, that is abundantly clear, my dear.”
Susanna had given birth to Katherine’s two younger sisters, but everyone in the family was hoping that this child would be a boy to carry on the family name.
As Susanna lifted the injured appendage to rest it on her lap, Katherine gritted her teeth against a wave of pain. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Susanna looked surprised as she started to unwind the bandage around Katherine’s heel. Her curls bobbed at her temples, threatening to swing into her eyes. “We sent you a letter last week. You told us this was one of the nights you have free. We’ve all been so busy…”
Katherine grimaced. She’d forgotten about that letter. If not for her eagerness to check Dr. Gammon’s house for clues, she would have remained at Lord Penhurst’s exhibition and missed her family’s visit. Was she not making enough time for them? Soon, their time would be consumed with the new baby.
Katherine gestured at the armchair across from her. “You can sit, Papa. You don’t have to loom so.”
He ignored the suggestion and her resulting hiss of pain as Susanna shifted her ankle again. As he peered around the room, Papa’s frown deepened, turning his face craggy to match his graying hair.
“You still haven’t furnished the townhouse. You’ve been here a month.”
Katherine avoided his astute gaze. “I’ve been busy. Especially lately…”
“Would you like Susanna and I to do it for you? It would be no bother. We could have this place furnished inside a week.”
“No.” Katherine bit her tongue to stifle a yelp as she sat upright. The movement jostled her ankle. Susanna raised her eyebrows but appeared to understand that Katherine hadn’t moved on purpose. Her stepmother continued her gentle ministrations, pulling the bandages tight but not so tight that Katherine lost circulation in her foot.
“Thank you for the offer, Papa, but I want to pay my own way. I have the money. I simply have to make time. And I will, I promise.”
The silence turned thin and plaintive as Susanna finished with the bandage. She pulled Katherine’s skirt over her ankle again and gently laid her foot on the table once more. “There you are. That should help with the pain somewhat.”
Should it? Since the pair had arrived, the shadow of pain had deepened, seeming to hook itself into her bones. If she didn’t move, her ankle no longer stabbed with pain, but the dull, vicious ache made it a wretched task to entertain.
Papa added, “Perhaps you should return home while your injury heals. You’ll need someone to care for you.”
“I will do that, my lord.” Harriet had returned, bringing with her a plate of seedcakes and a pot of tea. She eyed the table, but when she didn’t find a proper place to put the tea service, she opted for the floor. She herded Emma away with one foot as she fixed the cups and plates.
“There you have it,” Katherine added, jumping to their defense. “Harriet will care for me. She’s done a fine job so far.”
Papa didn’t look convinced. He exchanged a glance with Susanna as he helped her to stand and move to the armchair. Once there, she blew out a breath and rested her hand on her belly.
“We do miss you,” her stepmother said.
Katherine looked away, guilty. “I miss you too. But I have a home of my own, and a small injury like this is not going to make me leave it.”
“Well, if you ever change your mind, please know that you are welcome in our home anytime. You can move back and make it your home too, if you’d like.”
Aside from craving her independence, Katherine would not willingly subject herself to a house that would eventually have a screaming infant. She’d been in residence for that experience already.
“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” She accepted a cup of tea but turned away the seedcake that Harriet offered. At Harriet’s frown, Katherine whispered, “My ankle. I’m not hungry.”
Papa’s eyebrows knit together. “Is the pain so terrible? Perhaps you should take a few drops of laudanum and go to bed.”
“I will,” Katherine promised. Without the laudanum. She didn’t yet have a well-stocked medicine cabinet, but she didn’t dare admit as much to her father. Apparently, having a new son or daughter on the way had turned him into a nursemaid around his existing children.
“Where did you slip on the ice?” Susanna asked. “This looks fresh, and I didn’t see any ice on your walkway.”
“I slipped on the path out back. You see, my neighbor, Dr. Gammon, died a few nights past. He was old, so Bow Street is not investigating further. That leaves no one but myself to find the truth. I went over tonight to search for clues.”
“And did you find any?”
Katherine shook her head. “I was there a couple nights previous, shortly before he died, and he told me of an old patient that worried him. He was looking over his notes, and I have to wonder if he found something that might have gotten him killed. But I couldn’t find the notes in question.”
“Do you have suspects?”
Katherine nodded. “Three or four. One may not have been in London at the time in question, but we’re searching for the whereabouts of the others on the night of the murder.”
Papa raised his eyebrows. “We?”
Katherine swallowed hard. Tarnation! She hadn’t meant to let that slip. “Pru and me, of course.”
Harriet cleared her throat.
Katherine amended, “And Harriet is helping, too.”
Emma jumped up onto the loveseat and curled into a ball on Katherine’s lap. Katherine stroked her fur, grateful for the pug’s presence. It didn’t lessen the pain in her ankle, but it soothed her somewhat. Katherine sighed gustily. “How am I going to investigate now? I can’t walk.”
A shadow fell across her, and when she craned her neck back, Papa gave her a fond smile. “An investigator’s largest asset is not her legs, but her brain.” He tapped gently at her temple. “I have confidence in your abilities. If you have Miss Burwick and Harriet to help, you will certainly sol
ve this mystery without needing to visit the suspects and scenes in person. I’m sure of it.”
She swallowed back a lump of tears, warmed by her father’s confidence in her. After all, he had taken her under his wing and taught her everything she knew about investigation. If he was certain of it, then so was she.
“Thank you, Papa.”
He scooped Emma out of her lap, replacing her on the seat next to Katherine. “Now, to bed with you before that ankle swells beyond all reason. I’ll help you upstairs, and Harriet can do the rest.”
Katherine knew better than to argue. At least he wasn’t insisting that she move back to Dorchester House. And in the morning, she would turn her mind to solving Dr. Gammon’s murder once again. This matter was far from buried.
Chapter Fifteen
Katherine squeezed her eyes shut against the waves of pain emanating from her ankle. It had taken all of her strength this morning and a good deal of Harriet’s help to get her dressed and down the stairs into the parlor. At the moment, her ankle felt as if it were trying to tear itself free. She gritted her teeth, trying to center herself. After all, if Emma’s impatient barks and scrabbling claws on the wood floor were any indication, her friends had arrived at the door.
Voices drifted from the vestibule, too muffled for Katherine to make out the words, but the timbre was identifiable. There was Pru’s voice—and Lord Annandale’s—followed by McTavish with a suggestive tone and Harriet’s crisp answer. And Wayland. Despite the way she had all but tossed him on his ear last night when her parents arrived, he didn’t sound as if he held a grudge. Katherine didn’t know if that was for the better. As footsteps approached, she lifted her head and hoped her smile didn’t resemble a grimace. She couldn’t afford to indulge her pain if she was to solve this murder. And she wasn’t about to let one twisted ankle hamper her goal.
Pru stepped through the door first, her fiancé in her wake. When she stopped short, he bumped into her. He rested one hand lightly at her waist to steady himself. She didn’t appear to notice the casual contact. Her eyebrows knit together, her mouth dropping open as she stared at Katherine.
Murder on Charles Street (Lady Katherine Regency Mysteries Book 5) Page 12
