Katherine wrinkled her nose. “That’s different. I only second-guess myself when we’re working an investigation and I haven’t yet found the answer. Often, that very misery has been what has led us to a solution.”
Harriet jabbed her spoon in Katherine’s direction before dipping it into her porridge once more. “And what makes you think he won’t find equal value in perusing his patient files again?”
“Perhaps the way he steadfastly refuses to return to the profession.” She stirred her porridge again, trying not to look at the way the lumps revolved in the milky liquid. “I want to do something to help him, to ease his mind, but he refused my help when I offered to look over the files with him for inconsistencies. I don’t know what to do.”
Harriet scraped the bottom of her dish and eyed the pot as if considering helping herself to seconds. “Perhaps there isn’t anything you can do. Dr. Gammon is a grown man. He will do whatever he pleases.”
Harriet hadn’t been in the retired physician’s house last night. She hadn’t seen the way the lines in his face had deepened or how tired he looked. No, something was wrong with Dr. Gammon, and Katherine was determined to discover what ailed him. She owed him far more than he would ever accept for his kindness in helping Emma.
“Shouldn’t you be worrying about the wedding rather than your neighbor?”
At that, Katherine pushed her bowl away. She leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling with a sigh. “I suppose. I can’t muster the same enthusiasm for planning a wedding as I do for good detective work.”
Harriet chuckled. “That’s an understatement. Have you thought that perhaps the wedding is why you’re so worried?”
Frowning, Katherine met Harriet’s stubborn gaze. Her maid pursed her lips, refusing to look away despite the white-knuckled grip on her spoon.
“You’re grasping at anything to distract yourself. Well, anything save for decorating the house. Heaven knows we could use a few more things.” Pointedly, Harriet gestured to the barren room. Even the table was scarcely large enough to fit their two bowls and the pot of porridge. It had been the only table in her father’s house that wasn’t in use.
Almost everything Katherine currently owned had once belonged to the Earl of Dorchester. Perhaps Harriet made a valid point, but if there was anything Katherine abhorred more than planning her dear friend’s wedding, it was shopping, regardless of the state of the room—indeed, of the house!
Reluctantly, Katherine said, “Perhaps you’re right. I should focus more on Pru. She has asked me to help, after all.”
For a woman who had been bemoaning the lack of an investigation only a few months past, Pru had suddenly devoted herself to the wedding with a fervor. Searching through the newest fashion plates from Paris was agonizing. Katherine had never been one to care overmuch about the state of her clothing, so long as it was clean and in an inoffensive color.
“I hope they don’t cart McTavish with them today. We haven’t enough seedcake in the house to feed them.”
Why would Harriet bring up Lord Annandale’s valet? Come to think of it, their past few encounters had seemed particularly fraught with tension. In fact, Katherine suspected that she had earned her maid’s help with her last investigation simply at the promise of showing McTavish who was better. The women had won, of course. But it hadn’t seemed to satisfy Harriet…
Katherine pressed her lips together to keep from smirking. “You’d best learn to get along with him. When we travel to Lord Annandale’s holdings in Scotland for the wedding, I have no doubt you’ll find yourself spending a lot of time in each other’s company.”
Harriet grimaced as she leaned forward, transferring her dish and spoon onto the mirrored tray she’d used to bring them from the kitchen. Her mouth thinning, she muttered, “If you think I’ll be taking orders from that lobcock while we’re in Scotland, you’re wrong. I’d rather keep the house here.”
“It won’t be as horrible as you think. You’re under my purview, not that of Lord Annandale’s servants.”
Harriet sighed. “You don’t know the way of it, Lady Katherine. You’ll be a guest, but I’m still a servant. I’ll have to report to Lord 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.