her theories regarding this murder had been wildly off the mark? If the poison had already been in the house…
The night Katherine had visited, Dr. Gammon had informed her that Mrs. Campbell had stowed some food in the larder for him. But wait—hadn’t he also said that Mrs. Campbell came every other day? If so, why was she there the next morning? Unless she had gone deliberately to discover it and remove the evidence of poison… hence why the dishes had been washed and put away! Did I hear Emma growling the morning before Mrs. Campbell ran out screaming?
At this point, it didn’t matter one way or another. Katherine’s instincts were clattering, and they emphasized one particular truth. She was in the house with the murderer—alone.
When she focused on Mrs. Campbell again, the woman’s eyes were no longer friendly. Her expression cold and calculating, she stared at the caudle in Katherine’s hands. Katherine battled a shiver, wondering what poison was in the drink she had tried to foist off on Katherine.
Katherine was taller and broader than the other woman, but she was also hampered by her ankle. Emma was too small to be of any help, and Harriet had left. Katherine swallowed hard. If there was even the smallest possibility that she would die in the next minute, she had to discover if she was correct.
“You murdered Dr. Gammon, didn’t you?”
Although her voice was a hush, the words broke over Mrs. Campbell’s features like a cresting wave. They washed away all semblance of civility, leaving flared nostrils and the curl of her lip. “Yes, I did.”
Katherine couldn’t breathe. Even Emma stopped growling at the proclamation.
“I had to,” Mrs. Campbell snapped. “And if you weren’t so bent on putting your nose where it doesn’t belong, no one would have known.”
“But… why? He was such a good man.”
Mrs. Campbell’s mouth twisted in disgust. “I didn’t want to kill Dr. Gammon, but he was old, and he didn’t have many years left anyway. If you had stayed home…” She shook her head viciously. “Especially after I tried to hamper you forcibly with the ice on the back path.”
Katherine gaped, lost for words. If anything, her silence only egged the other woman on.
“Yes, I iced it over. That’s why I insisted that you come and go out the back.”
Had Mrs. Campbell been the figure Katherine had seen on the path that evening? It would explain the footprints. Mrs. Campbell would’ve had to stand in the snow in order to ice over the main walkway. But Katherine hadn’t slipped on the way to the house.
She’d been leaving when something wet slickened the ice. Mrs. Campbell had left her alone to search for the notes, and that would have been the perfect opportunity to run outside and throw water over the frozen walkway. It wouldn’t take long to freeze at these temperatures.
Feeling small and helpless, Katherine gripped the bottle. Mrs. Campbell stared at the caudle as though she planned on overpowering Katherine and shoving it down her throat. Emma growled low in her throat, dancing around anxiously but touching neither of them. The tension in the air thickened.
Katherine had to know the truth. “Why did you kill Dr. Gammon? You haven’t given me a reason.”
The woman took a step forward, brandishing her finger like a weapon. “I told you I didn’t want to! He didn’t know when to stop looking, either. He kept poring over those notes he’d taken about Lord Westing, and I knew he would figure out what I’d done to make certain that vile man never abused or forced himself on another maid in his household.”
Katherine recoiled at the vehemence in the older woman’s tone. Was she confessing to the murder of Lord Westing too? “You mean there wasn’t a problem with the medicine Dr. Gammon administered to the late Lord Westing?” At least she now knew that the two matters were, in fact, connected. It was some small solace in this terrifying moment.
“Yes. I took matters into my own hands. That vile lord had been abusing my niece, as well as some of the other servants. Somebody had to put a stop to it, so I did. I mixed up poison to put into his seedcake, and I gave the cake to Mary to give to him. I knew he had a weak heart; Dr. Gammon was treating him for that. I hoped the two physicians would think his heart gave out—and for a time, they did.”
“Until his daughter raised her voice.”
“Yes,”