Murder on Charles Street - Leighann Dobbs Page 0,19
Dr. Sumner, both treated his ailments.”
Could that be the mistake that had consumed Dr. Gammon before his death? Katherine swallowed and tried to keep her voice even as she asked, “And you think Dr. Gammon k-killed him?”
The woman’s eyes widened. “A physician? No, dear me! I simply mean to say that perhaps he wasn’t as skilled in his trade as most people think. Besides, I hear he’s retired and doesn’t take new patients.”
Katherine nodded slowly, digesting that information, which offered Lady Dalhousie the perfect excuse to add, “Though in Lord Westing’s case, it’s good riddance, if you ask me. What a lecherous, mean old man. I wouldn’t suffer him near a member of my family, I tell you.” She sighed, ruefully shaking her head as she put a respectful distance between them again. “But his daughter doted on him. She was remarkably angry about his death. She told everyone who would listen that it was premature. Married shortly after, I believe. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard from her in quite some time…”
Katherine opened her mouth, but the old woman spoke overtop her.
“Why is it that you’re asking after Dr. Gammon? If not for yourself…” Her gaze drifted toward Wayland.
Katherine bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “No reason.”
Wayland added, likely to preserve his reputation, “He was found dead in his study this morning. You haven’t heard?”
Lady Dalhousie’s eyes gleamed with a predatory light. She turned her full attention upon Wayland and peppered him with questions. Although Katherine had been Dr. Gammon’s neighbor and had indeed seen the body before Bow Street carted it away, she left Wayland in the hostess’s clutches and slipped farther into the house.
She was so absorbed in her thoughts by the time she found the large parlor with the pianoforte that Lady Dalhousie’s niece was set to play upon that she’d halfway forgotten she was at an event. She returned to the present abruptly when a short, round woman with auburn hair and a suspicious expression stepped into her path.
“Lady Katherine. I’m surprised to see you alone.”
Katherine mustered a smile. “Mrs. Fairchild, it’s nice to see you. I attend most of these events alone.”
The woman’s knuckles cracked as she clasped her hands in front of her stomach. Her face betrayed none of her annoyance. “I’m afraid we’ll have to disagree. I usually see you with a debutante… or at times, a spinster.”
Katherine spread her hands. “Not tonight.” Truthfully, if she had her way, she would never take up matchmaking again. Not the least because Mrs. Fairchild made for the most irritating rival she had ever encountered—including the men who believed women were unfit for detective work. No matter how Katherine tried to dissuade her, Mrs. Fairchild constantly presumed more meddling and scheming on Katherine’s part than existed in the whole of Napoleon’s army. From the very beginning, Katherine had aimed to use her matchmaking clients as an excuse to gain her entry to the events she needed to investigate and attended to them only as secondary matters.
“I believe we have the Graylocke-Glandore wedding to thank you for?”
Katherine opened her mouth to protest, but sighed instead. “In a roundabout way, I suppose so.”
“If you ask me, she settled too low. She had a duke in her grasp, for heaven’s sake.”
She’s happier now. Katherine bit the tip of her tongue and fought to keep her smile in place. She tried to step around the smaller woman, but Mrs. Fairchild refused to let her pass.
“And who are you matching tonight?”
“No one.”
It felt deuced good to say.
Mrs. Fairchild scowled. “I do hope you’re not angling to represent Lady Dalhousie’s niece.”
Had that been what Lady Dalhousie had been about to say before Katherine had asked after Dr. Gammon? She suppressed a shudder. Her neighbor had just died, and the very last thing she needed was to facilitate a romance. No, for once, there would be no romance in her life at all. Aside from Pru and Lord Annandale, that was.
“I will have that match, I assure you,” Mrs. Fairchild said.
“You’re welcome to it.” As Mrs. Fairchild glanced over Katherine’s shoulder, Katherine used the distraction to step around the woman and into the room proper. The light play of music and chatter washed over her as she took her bearings. Lord Annandale was frightfully easy to find in the crowd, and she started toward him at once. Her shoulders remained tense, an ominous feeling she couldn’t seem to shake enveloping her.
When Katherine reached the soon-to-be-married pair by