The Vital Principle (24 page)

“Sorry, miss, but you must.”

“But I didn’t murder Lord Crowley! You have to believe me!”

He shook his head. “They’ll listen to you at the inquest.”

“What about—what about Millie?”

“Who is Millie?”

“My maid.”

He smiled. “I was just a-going to fetch her. She can abide with you 'til it's done.”

“That’s not what I meant! I meant, what is she to
do
?” She realized to her horror they both assumed the inquest would find enough evidence to bind her over for trial. Despite what she’d discovered, she couldn’t honestly identify who was responsible for Lord Crowley’s death.

That just left her.

The chemical scents saturating in her clothing made her stomach clench. Her mouth felt dry and tasted bitter with the odor of sulfur. She was trapped and suddenly felt unbearably tired. How could she fight this accusation from prison?

A grinding sense of futility devoured the last of her energy. As she stared dazedly at her feet, an overwhelming need to set her affairs in order filled her. Paying lawyers would use up the remnants of her tiny inheritance. There’d be nothing for Millie unless one of the other guests hired her. So she had at least one more thing to do. She had to make sure Millie had a position.

The new Lady Crowley! She had no maid of her own, just Miss Brumbly.

“Wait! May I have paper and ink? I must send a message to Lady Crowley.”

“Yes, Miss.”

She glanced at the chair, again. “I can’t…I’m not going to stay overnight, am I?”

“Sorry, Miss,” he said, shutting the door. “Depends on the magistrate.”

“You can’t possibly—”

The sound of a key clicking in the lock replied that he could indeed leave her locked in overnight. And for many nights thereafter.

It is tedious to tell again tales already plainly told
. —Homer, c. 700 B.C.

At the coffee shop, Knighton was surprised when Mrs. Marley entered without Pru. He stood up and escorted Mrs. Marley to their table, concerned about the waxy tinge to her skin. She appeared exhausted and her breathing wheezed, but she assured him she was quite well.

“Mrs. Marley, where is Miss Barnard?” he asked after she sat down.

Miss Spencer poured a cup of coffee for Mrs. Marley. She took a sip while Knighton stood near the chair he had previously occupied, his hands gripping the back.

“Mrs. Marley, where is Miss Barnard?” he repeated.

She finally glanced up at him. “She went off with that man.”

“What man?”

“Your friend, the inspector.”

“The
inspector
? The constable? Mr. Gretton?”

She nodded, taking another sip. “I’m sorry, yes, dreadful thing. I was so sure Miss Spencer was correct and a vengeful spirit had poisoned Lord Crowley.” She glanced at the others as if fearing they would blame her for abandoning Miss Barnard.

“Excuse me!” Knighton picked up his hat and rushed out.

The squat building housing the local authorities and gaol was only a few blocks away, but it seemed closer to a mile. What could Miss Barnard be thinking? Surely, she would be in a panic.

Hand on the door, he halted. Had Mr. Gretton learned something from a distant apothecary? Maybe she was guilty. If so, a night in goal might encourage her to confess.

On the other hand, the over-eager constable might just have muddied the waters. Knighton couldn’t believe Prudence Barnard had poisoned Lord Crowley. Her motives were laughable compared to the others, although many had died for less.

“Mr. Gaunt?” Mr. Gretton opened the door and almost stepped on Knighton’s toe. “What brings you here?”

“I understand you’ve taken Miss Barnard into custody?”

Gretton stepped aside. Knighton pushed past him into the office, glancing around. Two very relaxed-looking officers sat with their feet propped up on the edge of their desks. When they caught Knighton’s gaze, they sat up abruptly, their worn boots hitting the floor with thumps as dull as their faces.

After shutting the door, Gretton stepped around Knighton. “I’m sorry, sir, but you heard the magistrate.”

“So I did. He told you to leave Miss Barnard alone. We can’t prove she’s the murderess. You know that.”

“She tried to buy more poison.”

“Buy poison? What are you talking about?”

“Three ladies saw her in the apothecary shop, a-buying Prussic acid. I’d be seriously remiss if I was to let her go and murder another gentleman up at Rosecrest Manor.”

“Where is she?” Knighton asked impatiently.

Gretton motioned to the door at the back of the office. When Knighton flung it open, he noticed Gretton followed him with a frown on his face.

“Miss Barnard!” Knighton called.

“Knighton? Mr. Gaunt?” Prudence called, sounding distant and muffled.

“Where is she?”

Gretton eased around him to a door halfway down the corridor and unlocked it. “Here, Mr. Gaunt. And here she’ll abide 'til after the inquest.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Knighton muttered, striding past him. “Miss Barnard!”

Miss Barnard sat in the center of a dismal room. When she rose, the action tipped over her rickety wooden chair. She flinched and rushed forward to grip his hand, her face pale in the dim, gray light.

“What happened?” He moved to brush a dark curl out of her desperate eyes, but remembered in time and dropped his hand. Gretton stood nearby, watching.

“I—I don’t know. I went with Mrs. Marley to the apothecary’s shop, and Mr. Gretton arrested me.” There was a strained quality in her voice that made Knighton think of a bottle of alcohol thrown into the fire, bubbling and about to burst.

He turned to Mr. Gretton. “Why did you detain her? Didn’t the magistrate warn you?”

“Yes, sir, but there's the inquest, isn't there?” he replied with stony insistence. “And she tried to buy poison.”

“I didn’t! I
told
you I was
not
buying anything!”

“You asked Mr. James about that Prussic acid.”

“I only wanted to know
why
one would purchase Prussic acid. What it might be used for, and who had acquired some recently. I did
not
try to buy any!”

“I’m sorry, Miss Barnard, but that’s enough proof for anyone, isn't it?”

Knighton studied her briefly. He’d noticed her wariness toward him and he put down to his refusal to share the details of his investigation with her. Not that there was much to share. In any event, her initial warm reaction of relief was rapidly cooling. She stood back and studied him, crossing her arms at her waist.

Had she really tried to purchase more poison? It seemed absurd, and yet….

As she stared at him, her gray eyes grew angry, her mouth compressing into a tight line.

Maybe a night in goal
would
be beneficial. Maybe she was the sort of female who felt the need to poison any man who showed an interest in her. She admitted Lord Crowley had.

“Why did you want that information?” Knighton asked at last.

“No doubt to explain the Prussic acid in her possession,” Gretton answered for her. “Why else?”

“I don’t
have
any in my possession. I've never purchased any.” Her voice shook, and she stopped, her brow wrinkling with a frown.

“Why
did
you want to know?” he asked.

“I didn’t want that information to
use
. I—I was hoping to bring the conversation around to who had purchased Prussic acid recently.”

“It don't matter much what reason she gives. We already have information on how it's used,” Gretton interrupted.

Her eyes caught Knighton’s glance. Desperation flared in their depths, seeking understanding. He stepped forward and inserted himself between her and Mr. Gretton.

“Then you know it wasn’t me.” She grabbed Knighton’s wrist. “I have no reason to carry it. And, I thought if I knew what it is used for, I might be able to discover who had it with them when they arrived at Rosecrest.”

“We—” Knighton started to say.

“Ha!” Gretton said, ignoring him. “So you'd know who to steal it from!”

“No! Wouldn't I have already known that and have stolen it if I was the murderess?” She turned to Gretton but kept her fingers wrapped tightly around Knighton’s wrist.

He covered her hand with his. “Miss—”

“Ha!” Gretton cut him off. “Because you was intending to hide the poison in that person’s room to shift the blame!”

“I already told you, I don’t
have
any poison! And I’m trying to determine who might have Prussic acid in their possession for some innocuous purpose. I simply refuse to believe anyone arrived here with poison
in their possession
, planning to murder Lord Crowley. The idea is preposterous!”

“That does make a strange sort of sense,” Knighton said before Gretton interrupted.

Gretton shifted his feet. He eyed Knighton and then Miss Barnard. Knighton waited. When Miss Barnard opened her mouth, he pressed her fingers in warning. She frowned at him but didn’t speak.

Mr. Gretton shook his head. “I—”

“You see the point, Mr. Gretton. Of course, we’ll both continue to investigate this dreadful affair. And Miss Barnard will remain at Rosecrest until her presence is requested at the inquest. It ought to be easy enough for you to question the chemist and verify Miss Barnard’s story.” He gestured for her to move ahead of him.

The constable reluctantly stepped aside. Miss Barnard ran through the doorway as if the devil himself sat on the chair behind her. As she passed, Knighton caught her wrist. He held her while he turned toward Mr. Gretton, who stood, key in hand, his face a study in conflicting emotions. Knighton ushered Miss Barnard down the hallway.

“A
sort
of sense?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Knighton’s brow rose. “Doesn’t it?”

“It makes a great deal of sense if you’d simply consider it. And what do you mean the
two
of you will investigate? Hasn’t it occurred to you that I may wish to be included? That I could help?”

“You can hardly expect to be included when you’re a suspect.” Knighton pulled her after him, striding quickly into the outer room before Gretton changed his mind.

“She'll be questioned at the inquiry!” Gretton followed them. “Even you admit she be our most likely suspect.”

She shook off Knighton’s hand on her elbow. “You see? I
must
be included. I’m innocent! How can I prove it if I can’t participate in the investigation?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s not up to you to prove, or disprove. You can’t be impartial if you’re emotional.”

“Emotional?” Her voice was soft, very soft and full of scorn.

“If you’re innocent, you have nothing to fear. I assure you, I’ll find the truth.” Knighton grabbed her elbow and ushered her toward the outer door.

“I’m sorry, sir, but she belongs in custody. But you'll discover that, won't you?” Gretton dashed around them and stood in front of the door, obviously regretting his previous decision.

Miss Barnard paid no attention to Gretton. She stared up at Knighton. “You’ll find what it suits you to find,” she declared bitterly.

“No. I’ll discover the truth. Which reminds me, what did Mr. James have to say to your question?”

“What question?”

“About the uses for Prussic acid.”

She pushed back a dark curl from her forehead. “The information was not helpful. It’s used to create etchings and architectural drawings.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all he said,” she amended. She gazed at Gretton. “I promise to present myself at the inquest when necessary.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but if something were to happen—”

“You can’t honestly expect me to poison someone this evening! No one would be that idiotic!”

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t run away, Mr. Gretton.”

“And do you guarantee the safety and well-being of those at the manor?”

Knighton smiled sardonically. “Miss Barnard is correct. No one would be that foolish.”

Lord Crowley’s death had exposed the fragility of the golden layer hiding the sordid underbelly of Rosecrest, rather like the tissue-thin gold gilt in Denham’s art box. But without Lord Crowley to focus the ugliness, there were very few reasons for another murder to occur.

“Then she is in your custody, Mr. Gaunt. You’re the responsible party.”

Knighton steered Miss Barnard outside. “I understand,” he replied to Gretton before shutting the door in his face. He took Miss Barnard's elbow. “Come. A cup of coffee, and then we should return to the manor.”

They rapidly navigated the narrow streets, coming to the coffee shop just as Mr. Denham opened the door.

“There you are!” Denham exclaimed. “We’d given up on you.”

Knighton held the door open and ushered Miss Barnard inside. “We were delayed. I apologize, but Miss Barnard requires some refreshments before returning to Rosecrest.”

“No, I—” She spoke while trying to walk backwards out the door.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He pulled her forward, past Denham. The other ladies clustered around her with the sole exception of Miss Howard. She clutched her reticule and stared at Miss Barnard as if she had sprouted a forked tail, horns and pair of leathery wings. Knighton stepped between the two women, hoping Miss Barnard didn’t notice.

He remembered only too well how it felt to be treated like an accused murderer. Humiliating and frustrating were just words until you were greeted at the door to White’s club and refused entry while your supposed friends brushed past you with furtive glances.

Or you spent a few lonely nights in gaol, waiting to prove your innocence.

“If Miss Spencer wants to stay, Mr. Denham can accompany the rest of you ladies back to Rosecrest. I’ll see to Miss Barnard and Miss Spencer.”

“No, there’s no hurry. We’ll stay,” Mr. Denham replied.

“Thank you.” Miss Barnard stared at the chair Knighton had pulled out for her.

“Where have you been?” Mrs. Marley asked. “What did that Mr. Gretton want with you? Did they call you to the inquest?”

When everyone turned to stare at Miss Barnard, Knighton stepped next to her, although he refrained from touching her. “Mr. Gretton required Miss Barnard’s assistance on a few matters. They are still going over Lord Thompson’s statement.”

“Oh, I see.” Mrs. Marley nodded, holding her reticule at her waist with both hands. “Perhaps he hoped you’d had word.”

Knighton eyed her in disbelief.

“I beg your pardon?” Miss Barnard replied, her face growing pale. Knighton clasped his hands behind his back to keep from placing a steadying palm on her waist.