The Vital Principle (20 page)

Knighton studied it, trying to see how Denham managed to convey his subject’s inner life. He couldn’t pinpoint any specific quality. However, the overall portrait was uncannily, and unpleasantly, accurate.

A large, wooden box rested on the chest opposite the bed. Knighton opened it and found small pots of water colors, charcoals, and pencils. Several bottles of ink in rainbow colors of red, green and blue were tucked into small wooden compartments, and there was even a very thin, fragile roll of gold leaf.

He examined the gold curiously before replacing it in the case. Turning to the bed, he found nothing hidden under the mattress. He was just smoothing back the covers when the toes of his shoes hit a wooden object.

Beneath the bed was another wooden case like that on the chest. Knighton pulled it out and sat in a chair by the windows. Resting it on his knees, he flipped it open. Inside were numerous bottles and packets of powders. The sharp, astringent scent of oil and turpentine filled the air, revealing Denham’s oil painting supplies.

Knighton carefully opened each packet until he found one at the bottom. It was printed with the apothecary’s seal from the village and a description of the contents, Prussic acid.

The note from Mr. Gretton had indicated that the apothecary had sold Prussic acid to a gentleman passing through, but he didn’t have a name. The man had been a stranger who stopped and requested it less than a week ago.

Just in time to murder Lord Crowley.

And the murderer could have mixed the powder in the small brown bottle Knighton found. Checking the packet again, he found the small, red bob of wax intact. It did not appear to have been opened.

He hesitated and then placed the packet in his pocket before slipping the case back under the bed. Denham could have resealed the packet. It was a simple matter to reheat the red wax and squeeze it into place. If so, Knighton didn’t want him to have the poison at his disposal to harm anyone else, particularly Knighton himself, if Denham suspected anything.

As he slipped out of the room, he caught the distant murmur of voices. The mourners were returning, raising loud, masculine voices as they shed their cloaks.

Knighton looked down the corridor with regret. The rest of the rooms would have to wait, although he rather thought he’d just found the murderer.

The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves
. —Sophocles, c. 495-405 B.C.

When the funeral ended, Pru left the dowager to the care of Mr. Hereford and walked to Dower House. May had not been allowed to visit the main house, although she had sent the dowager a badly scrawled note begging her for permission to come and sit with her while the men attended the funeral.

At least May could write, albeit badly, Pru reflected as she slapped the swan-shaped brass knocker against its metal plate on the door to Dower House.

After several minutes, the door was yanked opened. A sharp-nosed little woman confronted Pru with a knot of gray hair precariously pinned on the top of her head beneath a tipsy white cap.

“Yes?” the lady asked.

“Oh, hello. I beg your pardon, but….” Pru tried not to stare, but her eyes repeatedly returned to the crown of the lady’s head. Her hands twitched, wanting to re-pin both the hair and the cap. She couldn’t drag her gaze away as part of her breathlessly waited for the hair to come tumbling down.

A sudden breeze blew past Pru’s shoulder. The cap quivered like a bird about to fly away. Even though it wasn’t her hair, she could sense gray strands slipping out of the pins to float around her cheeks and neck.

“Yes, Miss?” the lady asked. “May I assist you?”

“Ah, yes. I beg your pardon. Is May, that is, Lady Crowley available?”

“I shall endeavor to find out. Who, may I ask, is calling?”

“Miss Barnard.”

The tiny lady ushered Pru to a parlor at the front of the house. “Miss Barnard? Oh, yes, my cousin, the dowager, has spoken of you. You’ve been so kind to her.”

“Thank you. And you are?” Pru tried to stop eyeing the woman’s hair. A tortoise-shell hair pin trembled and then fell, only to be caught by the lady’s lacy neckline. The pin precariously perched there, threatening to fall with each movement.

The lace trembled as the lady took a breath. “I beg your pardon, I thought you knew. I’m so sorry. I’m the dowager’s cousin, Miss Brumbly.” The pin tumbled to the floor.

They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes. Finally, Pru reminded Miss Brumbly in exasperation that she wished to see the Lady Crowley, if at all possible.

Miss Brumbly’s pale, gray eyes opened wider. “But she’s at the manor house, surely….”

“That is, May. The
new
Lady Crowley.”

“Oh, yes.” She laughed. “Yes, of course. How silly of me. Yes. Shall I ring for the maid to bring her?”

“That would be lovely.” Unable to control herself any longer, Pru retrieved the hairpin from the carpet. She handed it to Miss Brumbly.

“What is this?” Miss Brumbly turned it over in her thin hands as if she had never seen it before.

“It fell. Out of your hair. You were going to ring for Lady Crowley….” When Miss Brumbly’s eyes focused beyond Pru’s shoulder in the general direction of the main house, Pru clarified, “May.” Miss Brumbly appeared even more confused. “The new Lady Crowley. Her given name is
May
.”

“Oh, yes.” Miss Brumbly glanced around the small sitting room in a helpless way.

Finally, Pru strode to the bell-pull and rang for the maid, who should have answered the door in the first place. A young girl, no more than sixteen, arrived out of breath. Her face and arms were smudged with flour, and she wiped her hands on her apron as she looked at Pru expectantly.

Pru repeated her request to see the
new
Lady Crowley. The maid curtsied and fled while Pru returned to the parlor. She stared at Miss Brumbly as they both stood in the center of the room. Finally, Pru gestured to two chintz-covered chairs flanking a low oak table.

“Would you care to be seated?”

“Oh, yes. How kind of you.” Miss Brumbly beamed and took the seat closest to the fire. “What a delightful room.”

About to sit, Pru examined Miss Brumbly, sighed with exasperation, and then moved behind her. She reached over the lady’s shoulder, gently took the hairpin out of her hand and studied the mass of gray hair. While Miss Brumbly chatted about the weather, Pru deftly re-pinned the soft curls. The texture of the hair was so fine that she had to add an extra twist to the long rope of hair to anchor it with the thick pins.

When Pru was done, Miss Brumbly touched her cap. She grinned at Pru as she took the seat opposite.

“Oh, thank you. That feels so much more secure. I have a dreadful time with my hair. Do you?”

Pru resisted the urge to touch her own thick bun, firmly pinned at the nape of her neck. “Yes,” she lied, to the evident delight of Miss Brumbly. A surge of jubilant satisfaction surprised Pru at her small departure from the truth.

Take that, Mr. Gaunt
!

He was so irritating with his single-minded pursuit of the truth. As if that alone would grant him happiness. There were many answers and many truths arrayed in a wide variety of hues.

The strict truth was not always the answer.

May finally joined them, wearing a dark blue silk dress trimmed with a thick black braid down the front and around the hem. A black sash was tied under her ample breasts, and she completed her ensemble with a black velvet Spencer. The clothes were not cut in the latest fashion, the skirts were too narrow for one thing, but the addition of the black trim down the front made the dress much more modish than it might have originally appeared.

With surprised approval, Pru noted the elegant attire. May wore clothes very well with a natural grace and confidence that gave her the appearance of a lady.

At least until she spoke.

“How—are—you, Miss—Barnard,” she said. The words were spaced in a careful, labored way that bespoke of enormous concentration.

Miss Brumbly clicked her tongue and shook her head. Pru held her breath, her eyes locked on the lacy cap. However, the pins in Miss Brumbly’s hair remained secure. When Pru dragged her gaze away, she noticed a flush turning May’s smooth cheeks a deep, apple-red.

“Isn’t that correct?” May asked.

“Yes,” Miss Brumbly replied. “However, you must strive to speak with a more natural cadence. It shouldn’t be so painful to the ear. Now try again.”

May sat straighter, if possible, as she was already perched rigidly on the edge of her chair. “How—
are
—you today, Miss Barnard?” The words were a trifle smoother, although the rhythm was off enough to reveal her effort. She glanced at Miss Brumbly.

Miss Brumbly sighed.

“You look wonderful, Lady Crowley,” Pru said. “How are you settling in?”

With a quick flick of her eyes at Miss Brumbly, May took a deep breath and enunciated carefully, “I’m doing—quite—
well
, thank you—for—
asking
.”

Pru leaned forward slightly, “You’re doing splendidly. And indeed, even this old place looks wonderful. I hardly recognized it. What a difference you’ve made in just a few days!”

“Thank you.” May’s blue eyes lit with pleasure. “There was—there—
were
—all manner of things in the lumber room up at the main house. It’s right snug—very—
comfortable
here.”

“And you’re feeling well?”

“I be middling, thank ye.” She laid a hand briefly on her rounded belly. “Not a bit sick. Not like some as—that is, not like some I know.”

Miss Brumbly shook her head.

Pru smiled. “You’re doing very well. The dowager will be proud of you, I’m sure.”

“Oh, do you think so? I’ve worked ever—so—
hard
.”

“Your work is paying off, I believe. And in such short time, too!” Pru glanced at Miss Brumbly. How could she get rid of her without wounding anyone’s sensibilities? “Would you care for a walk, Lady Crowley?”

“Oh, yes. That’s just the thing! I’ll just fetch my shawl. I’ve found the loveliest cash-
mere
shawl you ever set eyes on….” May rushed from the room before Miss Brumbly could rebuke her.

When the older lady started to rise, Pru put a hand on her shoulder, surprised at the fragility of the bones under her fingers. “Don’t trouble yourself, Miss Brumbly. We’ll return soon. And I’m sure you have better things to attend to than dawdling about in the cold garden.”

“But, surely—”

“Don’t worry. We won’t go far.”

The two younger women escaped into the pale, afternoon sunshine. Pru delicately steered them down one of the myriad paths leading through the fields towards a copse of trees. A rocky stream bubbled between the swaying trunks, swirling in sparkling eddies around the rocks and thick roots. There would be less likelihood of meeting anyone and almost no chance of being overheard in the blustery weather. Fleecy clouds scudded across the pale, clear sky, blown by a chilly breeze.

“How are you getting along with Miss Brumbly?” Pru asked, picking her way carefully along the narrow path.

“She’s nice enough,” May replied, heaving an exaggerated sigh. “I thought it ‘ud be different, though. Somehow. After I got to be a lady, that is.”

“I expect if your husband was still alive, it might be.”

May snorted inelegantly. “If Lord Crowley—Henry—was alive, I’d still be a-serving wine to his guests at the grand house.”

“Well, it was an awkward situation, to be sure.”

“You sound just like him. Always 'awkward' and the like.
To be sure.
”

“It can’t have been easy for either of you. He must have loved you very much, though.”

“Love? So it seems, mesure.” She laughed.

“Wasn’t it love? I remembered you saying—”

May cut her off. “So, I did. But not to speak ill of the dearly departed, Henry was always a bit
conscious
of his position, like the old dowager. But that didn’t stop him from a-coming up to my room when he wanted a tickle or two.”

“I’m sorry,” Pru said, not knowing what else to say.

“Never you mind. He did marry me, when all is said-and-done. Set everything to rights, though he'll never come anigh me no more.” She took a deep breath. “I'll miss that, I expect.”

“It must be difficult.”

“Perhaps, but he went and married me, so that's alright, then.”

“Yes, he was a decent man….” Pru noticed the further they strayed from the cottage, the more May's conversation reverted to its customary pattern.

She had a hard road ahead of her. Her own social class would reject her for her willful arrogance in marrying above herself, and the class she had married into would never accept her if they learned of her humble origins.

Another harsh laugh interrupted Pru’s thoughts.
“Henry
? Oh, Miss, you do make me laugh. If he was decent, he wouldn’t be a-going up the backstairs to see me, would he?”

“I suppose not. But didn’t he offer to marry you when you told him about the baby?”

“Nay. I weren’t good enough, no-how, no-ways. Not even when I carried his heir, ‘nuther.” She smiled, although her expression was smug, verging on the mean, rather than cheerful. Her hands rested on her belly. She caressed it although only a faint curve revealed her pregnancy. As her hands moved, her face assumed a softer, more wistful cast. “Though he said he loved me, other-while, and I'll miss that, I expect.”

“I suppose so.” Pru hesitated before reminding her, “And you must be aware, it could be a girl.”

“Oh, no. 'Tis a boy, mesure. And Lord Crowley, he know'd it, though he mayn’t have given the babe his good name if left to his own.”

“Then why did he decide to marry you?”

She pulled her soft shawl closer around her shoulders and turned her back to the wind. “All along of me persuadin' him it were honorable. And for the sake of my unborn babe, I expect. And he didn’t like things to be uncomfortable-like. Always the easy way with him, even love.”

The easy way…yes.
She’d seen that side to him even in the short time she’d known Lord Crowley. He liked things easy and his way.

“Lady Crowley,” Pru said, changing the subject. “Something was found in your room, after you left.”

“My old gowns?” May snorted inelegantly. “I don’t need ‘em no longer, now do I?” Her restless hands ran up her arms, smoothing the cashmere shawl over her velvet Spencer. “Oh, please say my name again, do! Please, Miss, it's so lovely hearing it.”

“Lady Crowley,” she repeated before she continued, “Yes, your old gown was there. However, I was referring to the contents of the pocket hanging beneath it.”

May stopped and gave her a hard stare. “Well, and what of it?”

Pru shrugged, watching her angry face.

“I expect you read them notes, then, didn't you?”

“Yes, I saw them,” Pru admitted, refusing to feel embarrassed by the admission.

“Well, you've no call to do so. He sent them to me, didn't he?” she said in a rush. “So you needn’t be thinking he was such a proper, decent gentleman as all that. No matter what the dowager tries to let on.”

“I see.”