Katherine didn’t have an answer for that, either. A moment later, she found herself swept by all three of her friends into the house.
Wayland dropped his hold on her to open the door, throwing his head back and hollering, “Harriet!” Apparently, in the face of near frostbite, he wasn’t about to stand on ceremony.
Harriet bustled out of the front parlor with Emma wriggling in her arms. The dog barked happily, tail wagging as she strained toward Wayland, who always seemed to be her favorite person in the room. Harriet deposited her unceremoniously into Wayland’s arms.
“There’s a fire in the hearth.” She took one look at Katherine, lips thinning, then added, “I’ll put on some tea.”
Her gaze lingered, traveling past Katherine’s shoulder to the soon-to-be-married couple who entered after her and shut the door. After a heartbeat, Harriet turned on her heel and bustled down the corridor toward the kitchen.
With his arms full of Emma and the battle to avoid having his chin washed, Wayland didn’t have the attention to usher Katherine farther into the house. That pleasure fell to Lord Annandale, the great, jovial, bearded bear of a man who had given his heart to her dearest friend. “Och now, lass, go on in and warm yourself before ye catch a chill.”
Katherine barely felt the cold or the numbness receding as she moved closer to the hearth. As with the rest of the house, the furniture in this room was supremely sparse. In fact, the parlor contained only three seats—the pink armchair that had once resided in Katherine’s room and a short paisley loveseat that had seen finer days. Between them was an oval table with a spindly potted plant.
The loveseat was closest to the hearth, which nursed a small crackling flame. But Katherine couldn’t sit there. Thus far, Pru and Annandale had always claimed that spot when visiting. This was the first time they had brought Wayland with them. Katherine stood in front of the fire, staring and wrapping her arms around herself as she struggled to stop shaking. It wasn’t cold in here. Why am I still trembling?
“Katherine.” Pru’s sharp tone captured her attention.
When Katherine turned, she found Lord Annandale impotently holding his greatcoat and Pru’s pelisse over his arm, watching her with a frown. Pru had moved close enough to claim one end of the loveseat, but she hesitated, her attention rapt on Katherine.
“What’s gotten into you this morning? Are you ill?”
Katherine shook her head. “No.”
Harriet trotted back into the room. Absently, she informed, “The tea will be a moment. I’ll take those.” She plucked at the garments on Lord Annandale’s sleeve, but didn’t take her eyes off Katherine. “Who screamed?”
All eyes impaled Katherine with a single-mindedness. She swallowed against her dry mouth, but when she answered, her voice emerged as a croak. “Mrs. Campbell.” She cleared her throat, gathering her wits. She had frequented far more murder scenes than any other person in the room, save perhaps for Wayland. She ought to be inured to the sight. In fact, if she hoped to find the answers, she must be impartial. Emotionless.
She must not think of Dr. Gammon as her friend in this moment, but as the victim of a suspicious death, perhaps even a murder. When she drew herself up, taking a deep breath, her shivers abated. From a position in Wayland’s arms, Emma cocked her head and whined. Katherine spared a slim smile for her dog, all the reassurance she could manage.
She announced, “Dr. Gammon is dead.”
Harriet’s brown eyes widened. She crossed herself. “How? Is it murder?”
Looking down at her tightly clasped hands, Katherine bit her lower lip. “It must be. While I visited last night for Emma’s sake, he confessed that he was worried, though he wouldn’t confess the details. Now he’s dead.” She shook her head, locks of her hair falling into her face from her ill-made braid. “That is awfully conspicuous timing.”
“Have I missed something?” Lord Annandale asked. “Who is this Dr. Gammon?”
Katherine raised her gaze to the marquess. Over the past several months she’d known him, Lord Annandale had developed a taste for investigating along with his wife-to-be. He nurtured a deep curiosity, not to mention a devilish competitive streak.
“He’s my neighbor, two doors down. A retired physician—he no longer treats human patients, but he treats animals, like Emma.”
Pru’s lips parted, and she glanced at the dog, who happily showed Wayland her belly. “Did something happen to Emma?”
Katherine managed a wan smile. “She ate something she ought to have avoided. Dr. Gammon fixed her right up; she’s as good as new this morning.” Her voice threatened to break on her friend’s name. She pressed her lips together instead. She must hold herself together.
“I think I’ve seen him,” Pru said slowly. “Wasn’t he quite old?”
Katherine nodded. “In his sixties, at my guess.”
Lord Annandale raised his eyebrows. “A man that old might have cocked up his toes of natural means. It happens, lass.”
As gentle as his voice happened to be, Katherine averted her gaze, her mouth settling in a mulish line. Her gaze fell upon Wayland, who stood next to the pink armchair. He gestured toward it with his chin.
She turned away from him too. “When I entered and found the body, he was in his study with the remnants of a glass of brandy next to him and crumbs on his shirt and face. But there was no plate. Where was the plate?”
Pru’s eyes turned limpid, her mouth softening as she reached out for Katherine’s hand. “He might’ve put it away, Katherine.”
“I know where he leaves his dishes. They weren’t there.”
“Then it might be that this Mrs. Campbell—that’s his servant, yes?” She glanced to Harriet for confirmation. Harriet nodded. “Then perhaps Mrs. Campbell washed it and put it away before alerting everyone to his demise.”
Katherine snatched her hand away. “She was screaming her bloody head off! She wouldn’t wait until after she washed the dish in order to fall apart.”
Lord Annandale strode forward to lay his hand on Pru’s shoulder, granting her his full support. They struck quite the pair, both tall and broad, though Annandale had a good deal more red in his unfashionable beard than Pru had in her brown hair. Both were dressed plainly, in functional clothes not meant to impress.
“Och now, it might well be that this Mrs. Campbell washed the dish before she found him.”
Katherine sat heavily in the pink armchair, still vacant. A quick glance at Wayland found that he had lowered Emma to the floor and was now playing with her, coaxing her into chasing his pocket watch in circles. He didn’t appear to be paying the least bit of attention to the conversation.
With the oval table between them, Pru lowered herself onto the end of the loveseat closest to the fire. Her fiancé squeezed onto the space next to her, stretching his arm over the back and crossing his legs at the ankle.
“I know you’re restless. It’s the middle of winter, and I don’t think I’ve seen so much snow in my entire life, not even when the Thames froze over. Not to mention you’ve been closeted in this house for over a month, settling in.” Pru shook her head, chagrined. “I understand why you want this to be a matter worthy of investigation, but wishes alone will not make it so. Chances are, Dr. Gammon moved peacefully to the next life. Whatever the case, please leave it for the Runners to decide.”