Murder on Charles Street - Leighann Dobbs Page 0,66

she couldn’t solve this case?

If her friends were to be believed, there was no killer to catch. Dr. Gammon would have no justice.

Chapter Twenty-One

Katherine didn’t know how Harriet could have undercooked the peas in her split pea soup and over-salted it, but somehow, the maid had managed. Seated in her armchair, where she had a peripheral look at the snowy street outside, Katherine lifted the spoon to her mouth again. She made a face, taking the smallest of sips before lowering it into her dish. Today’s soup was enough to chase away her appetite.

With Emma trotting at her heels as though Harriet had hidden bacon in her shoe, Harriet bustled into the room. She stopped short, frowning as she took in Katherine’s position. “You’ve hardly eaten! Are you not hungry?”

The hurt in her voice made Katherine’s stomach twist into knots. If not for those knots and the fact that her stomach had shrunk to the size of one of Harriet’s undercooked peas, Katherine might have wolfed down the meal in an attempt not to have to taste it. The thought left her nauseated. She tucked the bowl onto her lap and gave Harriet an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, no. It’s… it’s my ankle! The pain, you know. It’s interfering with my appetite.”

She pressed her lips together, willing her stomach not to growl.

Dubiously, Harriet whisked the bowl off Katherine’s lap. She narrowed her eyes, assessing Katherine before laying the back of her hand across her employer’s forehead.

Dryly, Katherine said, “I’ve injured my ankle, not my head.”

Harriet harrumphed. “Perhaps I should have taken Mrs. Campbell up on her offer.”

Katherine tensed. “What offer?”

“I went out for a walk with Emma earlier—no, I’m not talking about going out now. You have to wait.”

Katherine blinked before she realized that the latter part of that conversation was addressed to the dog dancing around her heels.

“We saw Mrs. Campbell,” Harriet said as she brought her attention back to the conversation. “I gather she was closing up Number Four. She asked about you and offered to fix a special poultice for your ankle.”

Katherine groaned, laying her head back against the top of the chair. “I can scarcely wash with the pain. The last thing I want is to have a greater stench about me.”

Harriet tapped her toe. “If you’re in this much pain, it might be worthwhile. Lord Westing’s maid, Peggy, seemed to swear by it.”

“I hate…” Katherine trailed off as she recalled the maid in question. More importantly, as she recalled what the maid had said about another young woman who worked for Lord Westing—and the woman’s aunt, Mrs. Campbell.

Mrs. Campbell had seemed extraordinarily upset when Katherine mentioned her suspicion that Dr. Gammon had been murdered. The woman was loyal to him. And she had cleaned the entire house, closing it for his son. Perhaps she had uncovered something in the house—or her niece had informed her of a plot unfurling from within Lord Westing’s household. Either way, speaking with her might be useful.

Heaven knew Katherine wasn’t able to make any other sort of progress from her chair.

“If you see her again, tell her I accept.” As much as Katherine hated the idea of a reeking poultice on her ankle increasing her misery, it might be worthwhile for the information Mrs. Campbell could impart.

Harriet nodded. A knock sounded on the door, and Katherine sat up straighter.

“That must be Pru.” She and Lord Annandale had promised to return today, after all.

Harriet frowned at the bowl in her hands before she turned away. “Let me dispose of this, and I’ll get the door. You stay there.”

With a sigh, Katherine slumped against the seat cushions once more. When would her sarding ankle heal?

Pru had only to knock one more time before Harriet rushed down the corridor, her hands now free, to usher the guests inside. Three sets of voices thanked Harriet before the door shut. Had Lord Annandale brought McTavish again?

The first man to enter the room was not McTavish but Wayland. He met Katherine’s gaze and nodded diffidently. When he searched the room—Harriet had removed the dining room chairs and set his against the wall, out of the way—he quickly reclaimed the piece of furniture he seemed to have left in her house permanently. Perhaps she should take her father and stepmother’s offer to help her furnish the house. Not to save her the expense, since Papa would insist upon paying if she gave him carte blanche, but so that her guests wouldn’t have to bring furniture with them