Murder on Charles Street - Leighann Dobbs Page 0,31
this afternoon.” Before Lady Dalhousie launched into another long-winded supplication, Katherine hurried away. She hoped she wasn’t too late to join the conversation between Pru and the Westing maid.
Katherine nearly broke into a trot to reach her friend’s side. As she approached, the wisps of conversation drifted through the cacophony of the market place.
Pru’s voice carried. “He had a daughter, did he not? I imagine she must have been angry about his death.”
Katherine reached the pair just as the maid, a small young thing not yet Katherine’s age, scoffed. “That, she was. I can’t fathom why, though. Lord Westing was a beast—” She paused, scowling at Katherine. “Who are you? Run along now.”
Perhaps Katherine was so accustomed to being recognized as her father’s daughter that she hadn’t conceived of anything but welcome. Her lips flapped as she tried to regain the use of her tongue. No one in all her life had spoken to her in as dismissive a tone. And this from a maidservant!
Pru waved her hands. “She’s with me. Ignore her. She can keep a secret.”
Katherine glared at her friend. If Pru had not abandoned her to Lady Dalhousie’s wagging tongue, she would have been privy to the entire conversation. As she turned her attention back to the maid, she asked, “Why would you call Lord Westing a beast?”
The paper in the maid’s hand crinkled as she clenched it. She scuffed the toe of her boot against ice crystals on the cobblestones. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business. I wouldn’t speak out against my masters.”
Tarnation! If only Katherine had been here from the start of the conversation. She leaned closer, touching the arm nearest to her. The other, which the girl held to her side, was wrapped tight with linen cloth. As Katherine leaned closer, even the crisp winter air and the savory smells of cooking food couldn’t banish the lingering odor. The maidservant smelled like old leaves.
Katherine tried to breathe through her mouth so as to inhale as little of it as possible. “Speak freely. This won’t go any farther than you and I. That, I promise.”
The woman still glanced at her warily until Pru chimed in. “Peggy, this is Katherine. She means what she says. We’re only curious. And if Lord Westing is dead, is he no longer your master.”
Peggy hummed under her breath and scuffed the ground again. “I’m not saying as you heard this from me, but suppose Lord Westing used to abuse the staff. None of us liked him. So, I’d say when he died, his daughter was the only one who mourned him.”
Katherine retracted her hand. “How so?” She was afraid to press too hard, lest the maid decide she didn’t trust her over Pru. However, the young woman barely met her eyes before answering the question in a mumble.
“The lady suspected foul play.”
Kindly, Pru asked, “Do you think she had reason to?”
Peggy’s head shot up, her eyes wide. “No, of course not! Dr. Gammon would not have done anything to hurt anyone, especially not a patient. He is too kind. In fact, he’s the reason my wrist isn’t paining me more.”
Katherine dropped her gaze to the bandaged arm. Leaning forward surreptitiously, she sniffed. Yes, that must be where the smell was emanating from. Was the poor girl’s hand rotting off? Katherine shuddered.
“What happened? Did someone hurt you?” Pru asked.
On the heels of Pru’s concern, Katherine probed, “It couldn’t have been caused by the late Lord Westing. He’s been dead a year.”
Peggy glared at her. “Yes, it is from Lord Westing’s hand. Nigh on two years ago, he yanked my arm so hard, it broke. It healed up fine, but now the wrist slides off the joint if I carry too heavy a load.” She scuffed the cobblestone, now bare of snow.
“So you hurt it again recently?” Pru looked sympathetic. “You poor dear. Should you be out doing the shopping?”
Peggy shrugged one shoulder. “Jarrod came with me to carry the lot. I only handle the money. And it doesn’t hurt so bad. I shouldn’t have carried so many logs for the fire. But I went to Dr. Gammon with it, and he fixed me right as rain.”
Katherine exchanged a glance with Pru. “You could afford to hire Dr. Gammon?” Physician’s fees, even one who turned away most patients, were notoriously high. Had Harriet taken ill, Katherine would pay for the expense herself, since any treatment would cost Harriet a year’s wages or more.
“I did. Mary—she works with me at