The Vital Principle (28 page)

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

He could hardly say he was curious if Mr. Hereford had suddenly developed a murderous desire to be a baron. “Merely trying to understand the family’s situation.”

“Lord Crowley’s father did indeed die ten months ago,” Mr. Timberlake confirmed.

“He would have been in his early sixties, wouldn’t he?”

“Sixty-five to be precise.” Timberlake picked up a worn leather case and slipped the scroll inside. He stood. “Is there anything else?”

“Was it a bad heart?”

“No,” Mr. Hereford cut in. “My brother died in an accident during a grouse hunt at his estate in Scotland.”

“Were you there?”

Mr. Hereford smiled grimly. “No. I wasn’t. In fact, I was here at the time.” The dowager reached over to touch his wrist as if to grasp it, but he shook her off. He followed the gesture with a quick shake of the head.

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

Watching the two, Knighton waited. However, Mr. Hereford added nothing more. He stared back, the wrinkled skin around his gray eyes tight with wariness.

“You did not accompany your husband to Scotland, Lady Crowley?”

“She did not,” Hereford said. “My daughter wished to visit Edith—the dowager. My wife passed away over ten years ago. My daughter, Ellsinore, looked to Edith for advice. She was due to be married. She
was
married, in fact, shortly thereafter. Edith was a great help to her.”

“She was fortunate, then, to have the dowager’s support,” Knighton commented.

“La! Is—
are
we done?” the young Lady Crowley interrupted. “Leastways, there's no call to continue sitting here, is there? I'd as leve not.”

Surprise, followed closely by disgust, suffused Mr. Hereford’s features. He hadn’t been told about May’s background, but her words made her origins clear as the sun in a cloudless sky.

“Now that I’ve been introduced, as the saying is, I ought to be stayin’ here. In a proper suite of rooms,” she announced.

“My dear,” Miss Brumbly said. “You’re not ready to assume your position. We still have so much work to do—”

“What is your background, young woman?” Mr. Hereford interrupted.

“Young woman? I'm Lady Crowley,
background
aside.”

Mr. Hereford turned to the dowager. “You can’t possibly believe your son would have married this female?”

“I’m sorry, Stephen.” She ran her shaking hands over her forehead, rubbing the temples wearily. “We found the papers. It is legal. Henry did marry the creature. We must all make the best of it. Miss Brumbly, if you please?”

“Certainly, Lady Crowley.” She stood and held out her hand toward May. “Come, child. We’ll return to Dower House, and you’ll concentrate on your studies. By spring you’ll return as a proper young lady.”

“Spring?” May stood up, quivering with indignation. Her veil whooshed outward with each sharp breath. “I has every right—”

“Yes, dear, but you want to make a good impression, don’t you? For your sake and that of your child.” She paused before her eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. “Think of your health, my dear, and the tranquility of our dear little Dower House. We’ll come to visit Lady Crowley every day. And we’ll all be quite comfortable.”

”I expect we shall…in the spring.” May allowed Miss Brumbly to guide her toward the hallway.

Knighton held the door for them, bowing as the two ladies exited. As soon as he closed it, Mr. Hereford stood, staring at him as if he held him personally to blame for the situation.

“You can’t expect to pass that trollop off as a lady!”

“We must,” the dowager stated miserably. “We have no choice. Henry
did
marry the girl, as I’m sure Mr. Timberlake will confirm.”

“What was in his mind to do so?” Mr. Hereford asked.

“I’m afraid we may never know. We must simply hope for the best,” she replied in a voice low with exhausted strain. Her face looked drawn and unwell in the late afternoon light.

“I should be off.” Timberlake stared at the scroll on the desk. “Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance, Dowager.”

“Let me accompany you.” Knighton opened the library door, again. When they neared the front door, the butler, Mr. Graham, flung open the door with a flourish and stood aside. “May I have a word?”

“Indeed. I don’t see my gig, yet.” Timberlake placed his brief case between his feet and crossed his arms over his narrow chest, preparing to wait.

“I have Lord Crowley’s wedding lines. I'll send the packet to you.”

The lawyer nodded and turned, eyes fixed on the side of the house nearest the stables. The rattling sounds of a horse being hitched to a vehicle could be heard clearly coming from that direction.

“I’ll also include part of a letter I found. Lord Crowley was apparently not entirely satisfied with his marriage. He was drafting a request to begin divorce proceedings.”

Mr. Timberlake gave him a sharp glance and picked up his case as a groom led an elegant gig into view. “Indeed. I would appreciate a glimpse of such a document.”

“I think Crowley wished to wait until the child was born.”

“Of course.” Ever the astute lawyer, Timberlake waited an emphatic beat before continuing, “Do you think his wife knew?”

Knighton grinned. “And killed him because of it? No. From what I’ve learned about Lord Crowley, he appears to have preferred the easiest course. If he had told May—his wife—about his desire for a divorce, she would have caused an upset.”

“Not to understate matters. Of course,” the lawyer agreed, lips twitching. “The young lady would most assuredly have caused a great deal of turmoil in the household. Did the dowager know?”

“I don’t believe she did. I witnessed the scene where she was told her son had married. She was devastated. In case you haven’t guessed, the new widow was previously a maid in the household.”

“A
maid
? What on earth—”

“I believe she may have forced his hand when she became pregnant. It’s my understanding she may have threatened to make his life miserable by going to his mother with the information that Crowley had seduced her while engaged to Miss Spencer.”

“But good heavens! Why not just turn her out. There was no need to marry her, pregnant or not.”

“The dowager would not have approved.”

“No. She wouldn’t. The dowager has always believed in responsibility. She is a most proper lady. This must have come as a dreadful shock to the family.”

“Yes.”

“So where have your inquiries led you?”

“They haven’t led me to the murderer’s doorstep, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But you have an idea?”

“I have a great many ideas. No proof, yet, for any of them.”

“What of this Miss Barnard? I had heard….”

“In truth, I originally thought she was the guilty party. However, since then….” He shook his head. Attraction and even a kiss was no proof of innocence, and yet…. “I must admit Lord Crowley seems to be a man who begged to be poisoned. Nearly everyone in the house had one reason or another, with the possible exception of the Jekylls. Although after that will, I should think even Mr. Jekyll might have reason to be glad of Lord Crowley’s demise.”

Timberlake climbed into his gig and seated himself before catching Knighton’s eye again. “I was relieved no one needed to see the actual will. I may have, er, edited it slightly during the reading.”

He laughed. “So I gathered. Crowley really was an unpleasant lad, wasn’t he?”

“I don’t normally speak ill of the dead, particularly if they are my clients. However, Henry Crowley had a nasty side. Weak men often do. He could charm a bird out of a tree if he wished, but once it was in his hand…. Well, it would not be an exaggeration to say I was not surprised by the news he had been poisoned.”

“Did you have any bird in particular in mind?”

“I have nothing in mind. I’m a lawyer. I’m not interested in guilt.” He picked up the leather reins before flicking a whip well above the head of a lovely dappled gray mare. “I may attend a few days of the inquest, however. It's going to be a complicated case. And I’ll be fascinated to see who is judged to be the culprit.”

“So will I,” Knighton replied. “While a verdict of murder seems inevitable, we’ve yet to face the real difficulties of discovering the truth.” He shook his head. “I cannot see where this will end.”

Another such victory over the Romans, and we are undone.
—Pyrrhus, c. 318-272 B.C.

Knighton stood on the front stoop watching Timberlake drive away. When the gig disappeared behind the huge oak tree at the bend in the road, he glanced up at the darkening sky. The sun would set soon. Streaks of orange blazed to the west. The day was coming to a close, and he felt no closer to a solution than he had the night Crowley died.

In fact, he felt further away with too few clues and to many motives. Rosecrest was rotten with them. He went back into the house and stopped in front of the butler.

“Where is Mr. Denham?” he asked.

“He went to fetch the missing ladies, sir,” the butler replied, nose in the air, staring at the clamshell carved above the door lintel.

“Please let Mr. Denham know I wish to speak to him upon his return.”

“Yes, sir.”

Knighton hesitated in the hallway. The library doors remained closed. The dowager and Mr. Hereford apparently remained inside, commiserating. Probably trying to determine what to do with Crowley’s awkward widow.

But there was still Lord Thompson wandering around somewhere. Knighton ordered Mr. Graham to send a footman to locate Thompson and request a meeting in the large sitting room. Then, he strode up the stairs two at a time, sure he would find the room empty. No one relished using the dreary place after Crowley died there.

The household staff still maintained it, however. He ran his hand over the large table. It was clean and smelled freshly of beeswax laced with turpentine. He moved to the windows, staring out at the driveway. A few minutes later, he saw Denham drive up in a gig with two ladies, Miss Barnard and Mrs. Marley.

He’d nearly forgotten that he had left them at Dower House.

After a groom ran out to hold the horse, Denham leapt down and assisted the women to disembark. Mrs. Marley stumbled and gripped the side of the curricle. Mr. Denham took her arm and led her into the house.

How could a man as decent as George Denham maintain a close friendship with a man like Henry Crowley?

He frowned, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window. The slight scent of the vinegar and water used to clean the panes lingered. The acid aroma seemed to help clear his head. He straightened.

“Were you looking for me?” Lord Thompson’s cool voice broke the silence. He closed the door and walked into the center of the room. His gaze rested on the spot where Lord Crowley had died before he moved to stand behind one of the armchairs, facing the fireplace instead of the table.

“Yes. I have a few more questions.”

“I should think you’d have more than enough information, already. Miss Barnard poisoned Crowley. I’m sure the magistrate will come to the same conclusion after the inquest tomorrow.”

“Perhaps.” Knighton strolled forward, his hands clasped behind his back. “Nevertheless, there are other matters which interest me, now. And perhaps you, as well.”

“What matters?”

“Miss Howard, for example.”

Lord Thompson gripped the back of the chair. “Miss Howard is none of your affair.”

“I agree. Nonetheless, I can’t help but wonder if she’ll be entirely pleased with Lord Crowley’s behest.”

An ugly expression rippled over Thompson’s face. “That was a filthy thing to say! She’s not to know!
Ever
. If I find you’ve mentioned it….”

“Why would I tell her? I leave that to you and Denham.”

“Denham? That prosy bore!” A sharp laugh ended Thompson’s exclamation. “He’d be the last man to hand a lady any of those books. He plans to burn the lot of them.”

“And you?”

He shrugged. “Frankly, I’ve lost interest. I can’t say I care what happens to that shelf of filth.”

“You misunderstand me.” A half-smile curled Knighton’s lips. “I wondered if Miss Howard would
want
one of those books?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and studied Thompson, waiting for a response to his provocative question. The man looked worn. Exhaustion had etched sharp lines around his eyes and mouth, making him look old and dissolute. Guilt was eating at him, but for which sins? Perhaps he sincerely regretted what he’d done to her and it had only required Crowley’s murder to awaken his conscience.

Thompson’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the chair back. He lifted the chair slightly and slammed it down with a sharp thump, clear evidence of his barely controlled emotions. The sound repeated. His gray eyes grew shadowed and dark under twisted brows.

“How
dare
you!” He thrust his head forward as he lifted and smashed the chair down again. “I’d call you out if you were a
gentleman
instead of a fool who has lowered himself to the status of a common merchant. A
cit
!”

“At least I’m not common enough to rape a drugged woman.”

“Enough!” Thompson thundered. He shoved the chair into the edge of the table with such force that the table jerked forward and caught Knighton sharply on the thighs. “I would never have done such as thing if she hadn’t—my God—I loved her! I found her in another man’s bed! I told you, I was angry—”

“And so you punished her.”

“Yes—no—it was unintentional!”

“But you were angry. So tell me, were you also angry with Lord Crowley after you had time to consider? To realize what he'd done?”

“Of course I was upset, but we were friends!”

“So you would never consider revenge? Even after what he did to Miss Howard?”

“No. We were
friends
. He made a mistake. When I confronted him, he admitted it was an error in judgment.”

“An error in judgment? Such as the one he made in his will? Or do you believe Crowley truly thought Miss Howard would enjoy reading that material?”

“Your questions are
intolerable
!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Miss Howard agreed. Unless Crowley was right about her predilections.”

Thompson hit the table with his fist. “I shall complain of you to your brother! Your behavior has been nothing short of a disgrace!”

“Oh, I feel positively angelic in comparison to some here,” Knighton replied softly, hoping to finally push Lord Thompson into a clear revelation of his guilt. Or innocence. “However, I don’t wish to trade insults, regardless of how entertaining it has proven to be. In light of your previous conduct, what I seek is a reason to believe you didn’t kill Lord Crowley out of revenge.”

“I give you my word—”

“Of honor? Would an honorable man have raped Miss Howard?”

“No.” Thompson’s face crumpled. His anger bled away, stumbling like a stag shot through the heart. “I give you my word, I did not poison him. No matter how much he deserved it. Good God, will this nightmare never end?” He pressed his fingers into his eye sockets. “I already gave the coroner my statement. I had nothing to do with Crowley's death.”

“Then who did?”

“Miss Barnard—”

“You
saw
Miss Barnard pour cyanide into Lord Crowley’s brandy? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“What I meant to say was, Miss Barnard was in the correct position to do so. I didn’t specifically see her poison him. However, she was close to him. She had good reason.”

“As good as yours? Or Miss Howard's reason?”

Lord Thompson shook his head, staring at the table's gleaming surface.

“Do you think Crowley's feeble attempt to discredit her was enough of a reason?”

“How should I know?”

“What she does is simply entertainment, much like playing a pianoforte or singing. Why would it matter if I managed to prove she couldn’t provide a conduit to the spirit world?”

“Do you think that’s the only reason?” He lashed back. “Have you learned nothing during your inquiries?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Then let me ask—Miss Barnard is relatively attractive, don’t you agree?” Thompson asked as if casually changing the subject.

“What has that to do with murder?”

A slight smile appeared on Thompson’s face. “She's bit old, perhaps, but still attractive.”

“What of it?”

“Tsk, tsk,” Thompson clicked his tongue and shook his head. “So sensitive. Still, considering what you know of Lord Crowley, don’t you think it interesting he would go to the trouble of hiring you to discredit her? It almost smacks of frustration. Or anger. Doesn’t it?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Crowley tried to seduce Miss Barnard before you arrived.”

“He
what
?”

“Indeed. Crowley decided if she wished to stay as a guest at Rosecrest, than his mother wasn’t the only Crowley she ought to please.”

Knighton took a step forward. His hands balled into fists before he noticed what he was doing. He took a deep breath. Lord Thompson had used Knighton's own technique against him.

“How do you know this?” Knighton asked at last through stiff lips. He caught the edge of the table. The smooth surface felt cool and waxy under his fingers.

“You forget, I’ve been here three weeks. Crowley, Denham, and I had planned to meet here before traveling to my estate in Scotland for Grouse season. We’ve already missed starting day, but the hunt should still be good, even this late.”

“So you were a party to this seduction? As you were with Miss Howard?”

“No.” Thompson managed a grim smile. “Never again. No. I only happened to see a slight…tussle in the hallway. Outside her room. Very undignified, but your Prudence managed to give a good account of herself. She quite unmanned him.”

So, she’d sent her knee into Crowley’s groin. No wonder he’d been so insistent that Knighton publicly expose her in as humiliating a way as possible.

It was difficult for Knighton to keep from smiling. “I see,” he said at last. “Did he try again?”

“Not to my knowledge. That was just a few days ago.”

“Is this why you believe Miss Barnard poisoned him?”

“My, my, so formal,” Thompson drawled. “Yes. He behaved abominably toward her. I’m sure she had no wish to repeat the episode.”

“Murder seems somewhat drastic, though. If I believe what you say, she defended herself ably. There was no need to resort to poison. She didn’t have to remain here. She wasn’t in a dependent, powerless position like a governess would be.”

“But she’s rather cool isn’t she? Probably doesn’t care to be touched. Women like that get odd notions, as you must know after your own experiences with the fairer sex. Perhaps she even felt justified and imagined she was doing a service for other ladies who might not be able to defend themselves quite so ably.”

Cool! Knighton had never considered her that—not after the warmth of her kiss. Miss Barnard was not a cold woman. She was calm and level-headed, perhaps, but not cold. And she was also kind-hearted. She thought of others like the dowager and May.

“No,” he replied. The strength of that simple word surprised even him. “For one thing, I can’t find any indication she had access to cyanide. It isn’t the sort of thing one carries around for no reason.”

“Have you found proof that
I
had access to poison?”

“No,” Knighton admitted. “I have not.”

“Have you found any evidence that
anyone
here had cyanide in his possession?”

Knighton shrugged. He still hadn't spoken to George Denham. He had cyanide in his possession, and he appeared to be fond of Miss Barnard.

Was it possible Denham poisoned Crowley because he was attracted to Miss Barnard? Knighton rubbed the back of his neck. The complexities made him feel as if a horsefly had landed on him and worked its way under his collar, biting him as it searched for warm blood.

“Did Denham witness the scene with Miss Barnard?” Knighton asked finally.

“Denham? I have no idea. You’ll have to ask him.”

“Rest assured, I will,” Knighton said. Indeed, he would.