Murder on Charles Street - Leighann Dobbs Page 0,45

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