Murder on Charles Street - Leighann Dobbs Page 0,6
Annandale’s housekeeper, at the very least.”
The thought of anyone making Harriet uncomfortable made Katherine queasy. She’d always considered herself more intimate with her lady’s maid than her peers, but over this past month of living together, they’d grown closer still. Was there anything Katherine could do to ease her plight? Or would anything she tried only make it worse?
They weren’t in Scotland yet. And even when they visited, it wouldn’t be for long. They had an independent life here in London, after all. Katherine intended to continue it once her friend was happily settled in her new home. Besides, Pru and Lord Annandale would undoubtedly relish a honeymoon alone once their grand wedding had concluded.
To lighten the atmosphere and Harriet’s dour look, Katherine leaned forward and whispered, “If you dislike McTavish to that depth, feed him porridge today instead of seedcake.”
Harriet snapped her gaze down to Katherine’s untouched dish. “You haven’t eaten a bite!”
Emma, finished licking her plate, tottered closer with the click of her claws on the floorboards, as if she, too, condemned Katherine for ignoring Harriet’s delicious food. Katherine’s stomach bucked as she contemplated shoving that gruel into her gullet. She reached for the spoon nevertheless. Just as she would never insinuate that Pru’s incessant wedding planning bored her, she would never insult Harriet, either. And so soon after Emma’s recovery, she didn’t dare slip the meal to her dog.
As she lifted the spoon to her lips, fighting a grimace, the air split with a distant bloodcurdling scream.
Katherine had never reached a crime scene as quickly as she did that morning, save perhaps for Lady Dalhousie’s ice ball, when a woman had been killed in front of her eyes. However, in that case, she hadn’t had to move—the victim had landed at her feet. Her heart lodged in her throat, she forgot about Emma and Harriet in the rush to bolt two doors down. Her house slippers skittered over the crunchy snow. She flung out her arms for balance, not daring to slow down until she nearly toppled into her neighbor, Mrs. Ramsey.
Katherine had first met Mrs. Ramsey when investigating the aforementioned murder at the ice ball. In fact, that very investigation had drawn her to Number Two Charles Street, where she now lived. Mrs. Ramsey, a zealous gossip, always kept her eyes on the street in the pursuit of learning every last secret of those who lived there. She had been a wealth of information in the past.
As she slipped, Katherine clasped the woman, at least ten years her senior, by the upper arms for balance. The cold numbed her fingers and nose. Blades of the wind stabbed her through the thin wool of her dress. Mrs. Ramsey also was not braced for the winter, having thrown a cloak over her wrapper. Her hair was hidden beneath a scarf.
“What happened?”
Mrs. Ramsey turned toward the growing thicket of neighbors. They encircled Number Four—Dr. Gammon’s house. A lead weight in her belly, Katherine didn’t wait for her neighbor’s answer but hurried to the scene.
She found Mrs. Campbell, a woman with fifty years in her dish and a surprisingly youthful complexion despite her graying hair, on her knees in the snow in front of Dr. Gammon’s house. She wailed, tears streaming down her face, likely to freeze there. Katherine’s breath fogged in front of her face. She elbowed her way past the busybodies clustered around the scene.
Heedless to the cold, she dropped to her knees in front of the housekeeper and forced Mrs. Campbell to look at her. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Dr. G-Gammon. He’s de-dead!”
Katherine’s blood turned to ice. Her breath froze halfway out of her throat. “Where?”
She barely heard her own voice over the thunder of her pulse in her ears.
“His study.”
Katherine abandoned the woman to the charity of the gathering neighbors and bolted inside the house. The front door was ajar, gaping a morbid invitation. Dr. Gammon couldn’t be dead. She’d spoken to him only last night! Mrs. Campbell might be mistaken. He was old; perhaps he was simply in distress. Katherine might be able to help or to save him…
Her snowy shoes slipped on the stairs as she scrambled to the top, where the study was located. Memories haunted her as she careened to a stop in front of the door, her heels bunching up the runner. He must still be alive. Only yesterday, he’d found a pill in here for Emma, to cure her. Katherine swallowed thickly, pushing the door open. For a moment, she couldn’t