The Vital Principle (33 page)

“Will Mr. Gretton arrive soon?” Pru turned back to him. She looked over her shoulder anxiously at the two women. “I’m afraid someone will pick up a glass and drink or eat something….”

“I don’t think anyone else is at risk tonight.”

“I disagree.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m convinced Lady Howard was not the intended victim. May is in danger. We must do something to protect her.” She cast another quick glance over her shoulder. “Have you considered that the dowager may have become unbalanced?” When she caught his gaze, she flushed. Then she continued doggedly onwards. “She seems so unsurprised by it all. I suppose it could be the shock. But I’m afraid the death of her son may have unbalanced her intellect. She could have poisoned May, thinking the girl killed Lord Crowley when he delayed acknowledging her as his wife. Please! Can’t we do something to protect her? She has Miss Brumbly with her, can’t we send her to one of the bedrooms upstairs? Even Lord Crowley’s room might be better than here.”

Knighton picked up her cold fingers and rubbed them between his palms while he searched her face. A sudden constriction tightened his chest in response to the worry in her dark eyes.

She was right. Evil stalked the room. He hated to see the tension draining her—draining all of them.

Earlier, he had teased her when she asked if he thought she was innocent. There was no doubt in his mind, now. Not when he stared down into her eyes, filled with nothing but concern for another woman.

Conviction touched his soul like dry land under a drowning man’s hand.

He nodded and snapped his fingers at the footman lounging by the door. “Take Miss Brumbly and Lady Crowley to the master's suite.”

“Lord Crowley’s room?” the servant asked, his eyes wide.

“Yes. And call a maid. Make sure they are comfortable for the night.”

Glancing at the dowager for confirmation, the servant shifted feet nervously. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his long neck as he repeatedly swallowed. But the dowager remained silent. She stared at the white linen tablecloth in front of her, apparently focused on an unseen world beyond them.

“Yes, sir,” the servant finally agreed when his employer said nothing.

Knighton strode over to Miss Brumbly and May. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get some rest?”

May stared at him, her mouth gaping.

“This footman will escort you,” he added. “He’ll stay outside your door in case you require any refreshments. I’ll let you know when Constable Gretton arrives.”

“But surely we won’t need to speak to him?” Miss Brumbly stood, smoothing her dark gray skirts.

“He’ll want to interview everyone, to ensure he understands the situation.”

May shrugged. “I’ve no objection to talking, mesure. Though what I can say about Lady Howard I’ve no notion.”

Stunned, Knighton stared at her in disbelief. She hadn’t realized the poison was added to her glass. She was the only one who had requested ratafia, the only one drinking the sweet wine. He cast a sharp glance at Miss Brumbly. She caught his gaze and shook her head slightly.

She knew but obviously didn’t want to upset May with the information. She slipped a thin hand under May’s elbow and turned her to the door. “We’ll just follow the footman, dear, and get some rest. I, for one, will be glad of a brief respite.”

“I suppose,” May said, sucking on her plump lower lip. She gave one last, long look at the circle of shocked and anguished faces and allowed Miss Brumbly to lead her away.

“What of the dowager?” Pru’s quiet voice whispered over his shoulder.

Nodding, he moved closer to the dowager and studied her gray face. “Lady Crowley?” When she didn’t respond, he touched her shoulder and called her name again.

Startled, she gasped and tensed, her trembling hand clutching the base of her throat. “What? What do you want, now? Haven’t you brought us enough trouble?” Her faded blue eyes focused on him. “If you hadn’t come here, my son—my Henry—would still be alive! And now you’ve killed my dear Lizzy! What am I to
do
? I can’t bear it! I just can’t bear it, any longer! What am I to
do
?” She covered her face with her hands. A small moan escaped through her fingers.

“Leave her be!” Mr. Hereford lumbered to his feet. “She’s suffered enough!” He wavered and flattened his palm against the table, leaning toward Knighton. Blinking, he wiped his free hand over his damp brow. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re nothing but a damn shopkeeper. You can’t order us about. I’m through with this…this
charade!
” He pointed at Knighton, nearly falling over the table. “You get out of here! Leave these poor women alone! We’re sick of your questions!” His voice slurred and dropped. “Sick of it. Leave us in peace!”

The dowager seemed to regain a measure of composure during Mr. Hereford’s outburst. She got slowly to her feet, using the arms of her chair to support herself. “Escort me to my room, Stephen. I’m tired.”

If they left, they could dispose of any evidence they had on their persons. Knighton glanced at Pru, who was standing so close he could have draped his arm around her shoulders without moving a step.

She watched Mr. Hereford take the dowager’s arm. “Let them go, Mr. Gaunt,” she said at last.

“But if there’s evidence,” he objected, his eyes on Hereford and the dowager. When the dowager stumbled, Hereford put his arm around her waist, supporting her. He looked for all the world like a caring lover.

Prohibited degrees of marriage. A man can not marry his deceased brother’s wife
.

“I was wrong, hysterical. I don't know why you should suddenly listen to me. You never have before,” Pru replied. “She didn’t murder Lady Howard. They were friends.”

“But she wasn’t friends with May.”

“No. But May could be carrying the heir. I was wrong. The dowager is simply distraught, I should never have mentioned my doubts.”

“I wasn’t concerned about the dowager,” he replied. She was so close he could not stop from placing a hand in the small of her back. Her body felt warm through her woolen shawl and silk dress. “It’s Mr. Hereford I don’t want leaving.”

She glanced after the pair. The couple paused in the doorway, the dowager speaking to the butler before moving toward the stairway. “Do you really believe Mr. Hereford would do such a terrible thing?”

“It means the title for him. And Rosecrest.” A new thought struck him. “And he could provide a home for the dowager, since that fool Crowley barely left her enough to live on.”

“They can’t marry,” she replied quickly. She caught his eye and blushed. “I’m sorry, but they look—”

“Very much in love. I thought so, myself.”

“It’s dreadful that they can’t marry. And particularly after the dowager’s first marriage was so miserable.”

No one paid them any heed. Knighton’s arm slipped further around her until he could feel the long length of her back against his side. “How do you know they were miserable?”

“I talked to her,” Pru replied, blushing. Her chin rose enough for him to focus on her mouth. Her cheeks flamed more brightly. “Before you came.”

“And that’s how you knew what to write on your little slate, isn’t it?”

She dropped her gaze and turned her head, glancing at the others before answering quietly, “Partially.”

“Only partially?” One disbelieving brow soared upward.

“You can’t expect me to give away all my secrets, can you?”

“Under the circumstances, I’d have to say, yes. I do expect it of you.”

“As this in no way relates to our present sad situation, I’m afraid you’ll simply have to remain in the dark.”

“One day, you’ll answer with something other than evasion. I only hope my heart can survive the shock.” He laid a hand against his chest in a mocking gesture.

“Oh, come now. I’m not such a ninnyhammer that I believe you actually have a heart! That’s doing it rather brown, don’t you think?”

The brief flicker of pleasure her teasing evoked faded as he remembered their situation. “Nonetheless, we’ve let Mr. Hereford leave. And he’s the most likely suspect.”

“Surely, not.” She studied the remaining occupants of the room. “He can’t be.”

While they spoke, Mr. Jekyll picked up the tablecloth from one of the card tables and laid it over Lady Howard’s still form. Then he moved to sit near the fireplace with his wife and daughter, Mrs. Marley.

Lord Thompson remained on the settee with Miss Howard, his arms around her. One hand stroked her rich, chestnut hair. She seemed to have quieted for the moment and sat motionless with exhaustion, cradled within his embrace.

Mr. Denham and Miss Spencer were… Where
were
George Denham and Miss Spencer?

Knighton grabbed Pru’s wrist and pulled her along after him. He stalked toward the door. “Mr. Graham! Graham, where are Mr. Denham and Miss Spencer?”

“Why they went up to their rooms, sir.”

“Up to their rooms? When?” Were the two of them trying to escape? Had George Denham, or worse,
Miss Spencer
, been the culprit all along?

If so, what possible reason could they have for poisoning either May or Lady Howard?

There is no medicine to be found for a life which has fled
. —Ibycus, c. 580 B.C.

“What happened?” Knighton asked the butler.

“Why, Mr. Denham and Miss Spencer left just ten or twenty minutes ago, sir. Shortly before you sent young Lady Crowley and Miss Brumbly up to the master's suite,” Graham replied. His rather florid countenance flushed even deeper burgundy as if he feared he’d be blamed for the absence of the two guests.

Pru, busily trying to pry her wrist out of Knighton’s grasp, interrupted, “We can’t leave the others alone! What if one of them poisoned Lady Howard?”

“Send a footman to find Mr. Denham and Miss Spencer. Bring them back,” Knighton ordered.

“Yes, sir.” Graham hurried away, muttering under his breath about the ways of quality folk and worse, those who believed they were quality, but weren’t.

Knighton heard him quite well. He fought down the urge to pick up the bust of Wellington resting on a half-pillar by the door and throw it at Graham’s stiff back to prove how low a former member of the quality could sink.

Instead, he released Pru and shut the double doors. After turning the key in the lock, he placed it in his pocket, along with the key to the chest containing the poisoned glass. No one else was going to escape into the British countryside if he could help it.

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Jekyll approached Knighton. He stared at the closed doors and frowned. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I don’t want anyone else leaving until Mr. Gretton arrives.”

“I see.” Jekyll frowned. He glanced at his wife and daughter before stepping closer to Knighton. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Do you think Mr. Denham is responsible, then? I thought I heard you mention his name to the butler.”

“I don’t know,” Knighton replied. “Apparently, he escorted Miss Spencer to her room.”

“Perhaps the lady was simply overcome by the shock of seeing poor Lady Howard expire at her very feet.” He shook his head. “Dreadful business, that.” He glanced at Pru who had moved away from Knighton when Mr. Jekyll approached. “I can’t imagine why
she
felt it necessary to poison an innocent woman. Do you believe it was because the Howard woman thought Miss Barnard murdered Lord Crowley?”

“I doubt it,” Knighton replied, impatiently stepping back to increase the distance between them. Jekyll’s breath reeked of rotting teeth and brandy fumes. “Several others thought she poisoned Crowley and were even more vehement in their opinions. None of them are dead.”

“Perhaps she didn’t get the opportunity—”

“She didn’t have the opportunity this time, either. Miss Barnard never left the back table.”

“Then it was one of the others?” Jekyll’s thick gray brows rose. “It must have been Denham, then. Or Miss Spencer. Perhaps Lady Howard saw them together and accused them of killing Crowley so they could marry.”

The theory wasn’t unbelievable. However, Knighton found himself rejecting it for the most illogical reason of all—Mr. Jekyll’s foul breath.

“We’ll wait for Mr. Gretton,” Knighton repeated. He turned on his heel and strode over to Pru who had taken her original seat at the furthest table in the room.

They didn’t have long to wait before Mr. Graham pounded on the locked door. In a muffled voice, he announced Mr. Gretton. Knighton hurried over and unlocked the door, allowing Mr. Gretton inside.

“Beg your pardon, sir,” Graham said, sticking his toe in the door when Knighton started to shut it. “I have information from Tom, the footman I sent after Mr. Denham and Miss Spencer.”

“What is it?”

Graham produced a folded bit of thick writing paper sealed with a red blob of wax. The thick wax was still warm and soft under Knighton’s fingers. “Tom indicated Mr. Denham and Miss Spencer have departed.”

“Departed!” Knighton stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him. “What do you mean?”

“Departed, sir. In Lord Crowley’s best curricle.”

“How did they manage that?”

Graham drew himself up and tried to stare down his nose at Knighton. However, since Knighton was six foot three inches and Graham not even six feet tall, he was unable to pull it off.

“It appears he and the lady approached one of the stable lads and requested the vehicle,” Graham said. “As we had been given no orders to the contrary, the curricle was prepared.”

“Never mind.” Knighton broke the seal on the letter. The contents covered most of the page, and he was surprised to find it addressed to him.

Dear Mr. Gaunt:

I’m well aware of how this will look, but I could not allow Miss Spencer to remain in this place a moment longer: I feared for her life and very soul. It is obvious to me that a tormented spirit is wandering these hallways, and there is no indication that these dreadful deaths will cease until all of Henry’s guests are murdered, one by one.

Perhaps Miss Barnard can lay this apparition to rest, although I fear even she may be unable to help the poor soul. I can only hope you will support her through these trying times and attempt to assist her to discover what this vengeful spirit wants.

Miss Barnard is innocent, despite what any of the others think. I believe you know this. Certainly, your actions and disposition of late give ample evidence of your realization that Miss Barnard is not capable of the foul deed of murder.

And after our conversation, I realized you somehow discovered the love I can no longer hide for Miss Spencer. Therefore, I concluded I must rescue her from this place. Although it may appear to some that we are fleeing, in fact, we are not. I hereby place my final destination in your hands as an indication of our honest purpose in our hasty departure.

I have, with the assistance of my family, obtained a special license to wed Miss Spencer. We are traveling to my home in order to do so. You may send after us if you wish, although I would hope you would grant us the courtesy of allowing us a few weeks so I may make her my bride before embroiling us again in the unhappy affairs at Rosecrest.

Your humble servant,

George Denham, Esq.

Knighton thrust the note in his pocket.

When he glanced up, he found Graham staring at him. “Do you wish for me to send a lad to fetch Mr. Denham and the lady?”

“No. Let them go,” Knighton replied.

He had Denham’s Prussic acid. Despite his recent doubts and the turmoil during the last few hours, he didn’t think Denham had additional poison, or had managed to obtain any from the village.

Which meant, despite his flight with Crowley’s ex-betrothed, Denham was most likely innocent.

Of course, Miss Spencer could have duped them all. She might have murdered her betrothed in order to run off with George Denham. But it seemed a little excessive to kill Lady Howard as a diversionary tactic to allow them time to escape.

In any event, he’d soon know for sure if Mr. Gretton managed to get the information he requested. Knighton strode back through the doors and locked them once more. He eyed the remaining guests.

Then, he pulled Mr. Gretton into a quiet corner. “What did you find out from the apothecary?”

Mr. Gretton pulled out a torn piece of foolscap and handed it to Knighton. Then he peered around Knighton’s shoulder as he unfolded the paper and read what the apothecary had written. “That lady, Mrs. Marley, acquired some just the other day,” Gretton commented.

That information sent Knighton’s mind racing as fast as a storm petrel flying over distant oceans. He’d viewed the scene from the wrong angle, entirely.

He’d been a fool.

“Would you be willing to indulge me in a brief experiment?” Knighton asked.

“An experiment, sir? What would you like to test?”

“Come with me,” he replied, striding back to the door. “I want to see if we can flush out a murderer.”