The Vital Principle (32 page)

A movement to Knighton’s right caught his attention. Pru stood by the third table, isolated in the corner of the room.

“Stay there!” he commanded.

“Mr. Gaunt!” Denham interrupted. “We must get help.”

“Mr. Gretton is coming.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Mrs. Jekyll said suddenly. She ran to her husband and clutched his arm. “We had no reason to hurt Lady Howard. We only knew her as a guest of the dowager’s. Daughter, come here!” When Mrs. Marley joined her, Mrs. Jekyll put an arm around her waist, holding her daughter and husband close.

“None of us had any reason to harm Lady Howard,” Mr. Hereford replied, his voice clear with shocked sobriety.

“Come away,” Miss Spencer coaxed Miss Howard. She tried to ease an arm around her waist and lift her to her feet.

“No! Leave me alone!
Mama
!” Miss Howard pushed Miss Spencer away with her elbow and crouched closer to her mother. She cradled her against her breast and rocked, oblivious to those around her, trying to draw her away.

“Graham!” Knighton called to the butler. “Bring a box that can be locked. One that can hold this bottle and glass.”

“Yes, sir. Will there be anything else, sir? Anything we can do?”

“Have you sent someone for the coroner and Mr. Gretton?”

“Yes, sir. The lad left fifteen minutes ago.”

“Mr. Gaunt!” Pru called to him. She gestured impatiently although she remained in her corner of the room.

When he joined her, she gripped his forearm. He involuntarily shook her off, his eyes flashing down to the glass he held in that hand.

“I apologize,” he said, ruefully. “But I don’t want to spill anything.”

She stared at the glass. Her pale skin stretched tautly around her eyes and over her cheekbones. “We must do something. Now!” Her dark, frightened gaze focused on the shifting crowd hovering near Miss Howard and her mother. “That poison was not meant for Lady Howard!”

Knighton glanced down at the glass he held and then over his shoulder at the others. She was right. He nodded, understanding.

She touched him, more lightly this time, on the knuckles of the hand holding the glass. “It must have been meant for May. To murder her and her unborn child. We must get her away from here.”

“I’ve asked for a—”

“The chest, sir,” the butler interrupted them. He placed a rosewood box on the table in front of Pru. The chest had two handles and an elaborate brass key and lock. Mr. Graham opened it for Knighton’s inspection and displayed the green felt lining. “It is the box the dowager uses to transport the silver coffee service, sir. Will it do?”

“Yes. Lord Thompson! Please join us,” Knighton called, still holding the decanter and glass.

“What do you want?” Thompson asked in an irritable voice as he strode over. He stopped a yard away and stood sideways, glancing over his shoulder as if trying to get a glimpse of Fanny Howard over Lady Crowley’s head.

The dowager remained oblivious to the activity around her. She sat gray-faced and hunched over the table, staring into space, her left hand in Mr. Hereford's clasp.

“Pay attention,” Knighton responded. “I want you to witness this.”

“Witness what? What could possibly be that important?” Lord Thompson asked.

“Just observe.”

Knighton placed the crystal bottle and tumbler inside the box, making sure they were both stable before releasing them. There was a great deal of space around the glass objects, enough for them to knock around and break. “Bring some tea towels, Graham, so I can pack this more securely.”

With a flourish even a master magician might envy, Mr. Graham pulled several linen towels out of various capacious pockets. “Will these do, sir?”

“Yes. Good man.” Knighton flashed him a quick smile before tucking the towels around the contents.

“Is that all?” Thompson interrupted.

“No. I want you to wait here
with your eyes on this chest
until I lock it.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want anyone to suggest that these two objects have been tampered with in any way.”

Lord Thompson gave Knighton a shrewd look. Then he glanced once more over his shoulder in the direction of Miss Howard before turning back, pointedly. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood, legs braced shoulder-width apart.

Miss Barnard studied the chest anxiously, but kept her slender hands clenched at her sides. “We should pour the contents of the small glass into some sort of clean bottle. They must have what remains of the liquid if they are to perform any analysis. What it if spills out and is absorbed by the towels?”

“Don’t touch anything, Pru—Miss Barnard,” he said for benefit of Lord Thompson. “Mr. Graham?” Knighton faced the butler.

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Graham turned away in search of a container without requiring any additional instructions.

“Why me?” Lord Thompson asked. His shoulder muscles bunched with tension under his deep blue evening jacket as if he had to force himself not to cast his eyes back toward the others. And Miss Howard.

Knighton shrugged. “Why not? Unless you wish to admit you just poisoned Lady Howard?”

“How dare you?” Thompson leaned forward, his cheekbones stained a dull red under lowering brows.

“Perhaps she refused to allow you near Miss Howard?”

“Mr. Gaunt,” Pru whispered, her eyes on Thompson. “Please!”

At the soft sound of her voice, Lord Thompson seemed to get a firmer grip on his composure. However, two patches of ruddy color remained near the corners of his eyes. “No,” he said at last through thinned lips. “In fact, this is the last thing I wanted. Lady Howard and I came to an understanding just before dinner.”

“Really? How foolish of me,” Knighton replied smoothly. “I thought you were interested in the daughter, only to find it’s the mother you love.”

Lord Thompson almost rose to the bait Knighton cast his way. Finally, he compressed his lips and took a deep breath. He expelled it deliberately before replying. “You’re trying to provoke a response, aren’t you?”

“And you’re apparently more intelligent than I thought.”

Lord Thompson eyed him and then smiled, although there was no mirth in the expression. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it’s merely that I am innocent.”

“Then I picked the right man to watch us secure these things, didn’t I?”

Mr. Graham finally returned with a small cobalt blue bottle and a cork stopper. “Will this do, sir?”

Knighton took it from the butler and sniffed the bottle before turning it upside down. A few drops of water leaked out onto the oak flooring. “Did you wash it?”

“Yes, sir. I watched one of the maids do it. There was nothing in it except a few drops of peppermint oil. She placed it in a kettle of boiling water. I hope that was correct, sir?”

“Very good.” Knighton carefully picked the small wine glass out of its linen nest and poured the few drops remaining into the blue bottle. After inserting the stopper, he put both the glass and the bottle into the rosewood case before locking it.

“What will you do with the key?” Thompson asked. When he caught Knighton’s eyes, he smiled. “If that question doesn’t make me sound too atrociously guilty.”

“I’ll keep it,” Knighton said. “Until Mr. Gretton arrives. Then the chest and key will go into his care.”

He tucked the brass key into a small pocket in his waistcoat, under the combined scrutiny of Pru, Lord Thompson and Mr. Graham.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” Graham asked, with a bow aimed somewhere between Knighton and Lord Thompson.

“No.” Knighton turned back to the other occupants of the room.

The ladies had finally managed to ease Miss Howard to her feet. Miss Spencer led her over to a settee near the windows. She draped her own gray cashmere shawl over Miss Howard’s white lacework wrap. Weeping hopelessly, Miss Howard buried her face against Miss Spencer’s neck. Denham stood between the ladies and the body, blocking their view.

“This is abominable,” Thompson said in a low voice. “Abominable.”

“I agree,” Knighton replied, studying Lord Thompson. There was no conceivable motive for the man to have attempted to murder May and her unborn child. And certainly no reason to kill Lady Howard.

And two murderers using the same method seemed unlikely, and Knighton was inclined to look for the simplest solution. With so many suspects and so many motives, it was complex enough without deliberately making it more so by believing that two murderers lived at Rosecrest.

The first victim had been Lord Crowley. The second was Lady Howard, although the intended target may have been May and her unborn child. It was this last fact that made Knighton study Mr. Hereford and his state of inebriation more closely. If May delivered a healthy son, Hereford would be unlikely to inherit the title. If the child survived, married, and produced heirs, Mr. Hereford’s line would remain on the periphery of the family, at least for Hereford’s lifetime.

“If you don’t need me, I’d like to return to the ladies,” Thompson said, his attention focused on Miss Howard.

“Just a minute.” Knighton placed a firm hand on his sleeve. “What do you intend to do?”

“Do?” Thompson’s eyes flickered in Pru’s direction. He moved a short distance away and dropped his voice. “What do you mean,
do
?”

Knighton nodded toward Miss Howard. “About her. With her mother gone and no father….” He let his voice trail off. It was unnecessary to go into details.

Thompson understood the situation well enough.

Lord Thompson ran a hand through his brown hair and rubbed his neck. “I’d ask her to marry me, but she refuses to speak to me. Nonetheless, as I said, I spoke with her mother, earlier. Lady Howard looked with favor on my offer. If I’d had more time, we could have convinced Fanny—Miss Howard.”

“Did Lady Howard know what happened?”

“Not unless Miss Howard told her. No.” As he studied the girl, the grooves bracketing his mouth sharpened with frustration. Then, in a sudden burst, he raised his head and said, “I never stopped loving her, you know. Despite what Crowley said, despite how it looked when she lay in his bed. I couldn't stop loving her.”

“Despite what you did to her?”

“
Yes!
I kept hoping she’d forget.” His voice was hollow with despair.

“Unlikely. But it might help if you tell her how you feel. And apologize.” Knighton resisted the urge to look to his right where Pru stood, watching them. “She’s alone, now. She’s going to need someone’s protection. You can make sure it’s your protection she receives.”

Thompson ran his hand over his face one more time, kneading the back of his neck before turning away. Knighton studied Thompson as he walked stiffly over to Miss Howard. She sat clasped in Miss Spencer’s arms, crying piteously. When Thompson reached them, he touched Miss Spencer’s shoulder and spoke to her.

She stood up uncertainly, hovering near Miss Howard. The grief-stricken girl covered her face with her hands, oblivious to everything except her own pain. Lord Thompson sat on the edge of the settee and gently touched Miss Howard's chestnut hair. With an exhausted sob, she crumbled into his arms. He clasped her tightly, one hand at the back of her head, the other around her shoulders, while he lowered his head to murmur into her ear.

“That was rather cruel. Even for you,” Pru remarked.

Knighton looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“Lord Thompson did something terrible to Miss Howard, didn’t he? And yet you as good as threw her to him, like a bone to the dogs.”

“On the contrary, I threw him to
her
. I have every expectation that once they marry, and Miss Howard realizes she has the whip hand, she'll make his life every bit as miserable as he deserves.”

“As I said, very cruel.” She shook her head. “You no longer suspect Lord Thompson?”

Knighton glanced away from the couple on the settee and stared down at her. Her eyes were focused on Thompson and Miss Howard and her brows furrowed with puzzlement and concern.

“I suspect everyone,” he replied.

“Even me?”

A smile played over his mouth although he was too tense for it to establish itself. “Everyone.”

“I thought you’d finally decided I was telling the truth?”

“I’ve put you at the bottom of the list.”

“Along with Lord Thompson, I suppose.” A puff of irritation escaped her lips. “I’m excessively grateful, I’m sure.”

Before he could answer, she turned away to examine May and Miss Brumbly. Curious, he followed the direction of her glance. The two women had returned to their seats at Lady Crowley’s table. Miss Brumbly was dreadfully pale. Her thin fingers picked at the corners of the playing cards strewn over the table in front of her. She cast furtive glances toward May as if half afraid the young lady would vanish or keel over without warning.

May, on the other hand, seemed entirely oblivious to any danger. She fluffed the black lace at her neckline, twiddled with a few curls hanging in front of her ears, and finally stretched one lock until she could get it to her mouth. After brushing her lips with the end of the curl, she proceeded to chew on it with a vacant expression on her face.