Murder on Charles Street - Leighann Dobbs Page 0,26

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. She 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