The Vital Principle (31 page)

Jekyll nodded to his wife but took a chair to the left of the dowager, at the table where Lady Howard, May and Miss Brumbly sat. Hesitating, Knighton stood with Lord Thompson, Denham and Hereford in the doorway, trying to decide which table to join.

“Oh, dear,” Miss Brumbly said, standing. “We must even our numbers out.”

“Since you’re standing, why don’t you sit at the third table?” the dowager suggested. When Miss Brumbly aimed a pointed glance at May, the dowager patted the girl’s hand. “May and I shall get along famously here. Won’t we?”

“Oh, yes,
Mama
.” May flushed with pleasure at the thought of sitting at the dowager’s table without Miss Brumbly’s censorious eyes monitoring her.

Mr. Hereford tottered forward and eased himself down with the delicate precision of the utterly drunk into the chair Miss Brumbly previously occupied. The dowager shot him a sharp glance, but didn’t remark on his damp, pink face and glassy stare.

As Knighton strolled toward the table where Pru sat, she stood up and moved to the third table, opposite Miss Brumbly. With a sardonic smile, Knighton followed and sat on her left.

Lord Thompson rapidly took the seat vacated by Pru, putting him opposite Miss Howard. When she glanced up and saw him, she scanned the room, spied the vacant seat next to Pru and started to rise. Before she could leave her place, Denham sat down at Pru’s right. Miss Howard slumped in her seat, staring fixedly at the top of the table.

“Shall we play ladies against gentlemen?” Knighton asked.

Pru turned a bland face toward him. One delicate brow rose.

But before she could speak, Denham said, “Oh, no. Let’s make it more even. If Miss Barnard will do me the honor of pairing with me for this game, Miss Brumbly can pair with you. Is that agreeable?”

Watching a flash of annoyance pass over Pru’s face, Knighton suppressed a grin. “Certainly. Miss Brumbly, will that suit you?”

“Oh, yes. Although I’m sure poor Mr. Gaunt would prefer a more astute player.” She glanced coquettishly at Knighton through her pale lashes.

After two rounds, Knighton had a pretty good idea of the strengths and weaknesses of the players at his table. Denham was no surprise. He was a slow, solid player who seldom took chances. This strategy kept them from losing too much, but they never won much either to Pru’s apparent disgust. She seemed to desire bolder tactics. A series of stifled sighs from her side of the table revealed her opinion of Denham’s tried-and-true stratagems.

The biggest surprise was Miss Brumbly. Knighton wondered if Pru recognized the older lady might be a Captain Sharp when it came to games of chance. In fact, Knighton, normally a rather daring and lucky player, found himself following Miss Brumbly’s lead more often than not. She was more flamboyant than her plain exterior indicated and had a good head for cards. She always seemed to know precisely which cards to discard and what their opponents might be holding in their hands.

They won the first round easily. Then the second, making a set. By the end of the first hour, Pru and Denham had only won four hands, and Knighton noticed her interest flagging. Her gaze wandered around the room, and Denham often had to prod her when it was her turn.

“Shall we take a break for refreshments?” Pru suggested, her voice a tired sigh.

Knighton glanced at the dowager’s table and noted they had also finished a set. From the petulant frown on May’s plump lips, her side had not won.

Jekyll stood and rotated his shoulders before fixing a stare on Hereford. “Is there any coffee?”

“Oh, I’d dearly love a glass of ratafia,” May replied. “I declare I’m parched.” She waved her ivory fan so briskly that the curls arranged in front of her ears blew straight back as if she faced a gale.

The dowager nodded and made a small gesture to a footman lounging by the doorway. He ran off while the rest of the players stood or chatted obsessively about the last hand and why they lost or won.

Gathering near the dowager’s table, everyone milled about. Finally, the butler entered, followed by a footman and maid carrying trays of fruit, cheese, and wafer-thin slices of pound cake. The butler laid a silver tray in front of the dowager, laden with a silver coffee pot, creamer, bowl of sugar, and May’s requested bottle of ratafia.

After the butler unloaded the tray under the critical eye of the dowager, he instructed his underlings as to the proper placement for their items. Then he grandly shooed them out in front of him. The dowager spent a few minutes rearranging everything, her hand hovering over the coffee pot and creamer several times before she was satisfied.

“May, here is your ratafia.” The dowager poured the mild wine into a crystal goblet. “Anyone else?”

No one else requested the ratafia, leaving her to pour cups of coffee for the rest. Knighton picked up two cups and brought one back to Pru. She took it, steadying it between her hands. Knighton watched her, sitting alone, sipping her coffee, her eyes examining the others gathered around the dowager and May.

“Dowager,” Lady Howard said, picking up the crystal bottle of wine. “Is this the ratafia I sent last year at Christmas?”

“Yes, I believe it is.” The dowager glanced at her with a pleased expression on her face.

Lady Howard smiled and delicately placed the decanter back on the table. “I hope it lived up to its reputation. The merchant assured me it was of the highest quality.”

“It’s delicious,” May assured her, draining half the glass in one pull. She set the glass down and turned to speak to the Jekylls and Lord Thompson. They stood in a cluster next to her, occupied with a discussion of the merits of a trip through the Lake District versus the hunting trip to Scotland previously planned by Thompson and Denham.

Denham joined the conversation, adamantly in favor of Scotland. On the other hand, Miss Spencer argued that the beauties of the Lake District far-and-away eclipsed the attractions of the hunt.

The dowager’s smile did not push the tired sadness from her eyes as she gazed at Lady Howard. “You know me,” she replied. “I was never much of a judge of wine. Shall I pour you a glass?”

She lifted the bottle, but Lady Howard laughed and shook her head. “If I drink overmuch, I swear I’ll fall asleep standing here like an old, spavined horse.”

May placed her half-filled glass on the table behind her, just as Thompson related some amusing tale about a recent trip to Vienna. His audience laughed noisily, jostling the table. The movement nearly caused the wine and coffee pot to topple over amidst the rattle of china cups and saucers. The dowager gasped and various hands steadied the table before Thompson chuckled and turned away to begin another tale.

“Perhaps I could just have a sip from your daughter-in-law’s glass?” Lady Howard asked.

May was too engrossed in Thompson’s story to respond, but Knighton heard the dowager agree.

The sound of deep, masculine laughter boomed through the room. Knighton glanced over his shoulder. Jekyll clapped Thompson on the shoulder, still chuckling.

“I had no idea Thompson was so entertaining,” Knighton murmured, gazing down at Pru.

She nodded tiredly. “He certainly appears to be.” Her eyes sharpened as she focused on May, who had a hand on Thompson’s sleeve. The new widow gazed up at him with a smiling, dimpled face. “I hope May doesn’t—” She stopped abruptly and shook her head. “That was unforgivable. I’m a wretch to even think it, and I beg your pardon.”

He watched May flirt with Thompson before he replied, “Must you be so considerate and act the perfect guest all the time?”

“Actually,
yes
.” The exhausted bitterness in her voice made him aware of her status as an outsider, the perpetual guest.

“You don’t need to worry about what you say to me, Miss Barnard. Now, or in the future.” He studied her. But she ignored him and sipped her coffee, her dark, wary eyes focused on the laughing group a few yards away. “Why don’t you excuse yourself?” he suggested.

“I’m sure no one will mind,” she murmured, raising one brow. Then she glanced at Mr. Hereford who appeared to be nodding in his chair next to the dowager. “Perhaps it’s time, after all.”

He glanced over at the group clustered around the dowager, who was busy refilling cups of coffee. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Howard pick up May’s glass of ratafia and take a sip.

She grimaced. “This tastes odd. Is this truly what I sent? I’m very disappointed.” She took another, longer taste as if to make sure, almost draining the glass. “This doesn’t taste at all right—” She coughed and sputtered.

As if in a dreadful parody of a Greek tragedy, Lady Howard clawed at her stomach. Then she grabbed at her throat. Her face suffused with blood. She jostled the table with her hip as she slipped to her knees, clutching the white linen tablecloth.

“Lady Howard!” The dowager screamed and surged to her feet. “Stephen! Stephen, do something!” She covered her face with her hands, emitting small screams that ended in a mewling cry. “I can’t bear this—not again! Why is this happening?
Why
?”

Mr. Hereford snorted and sat up, blinking blearily while the others clustered around Lady Howard.

Fanny dropped her porcelain cup and saucer. It shattered against the marble fireplace apron. She ran to her mother and collapsed on the floor next to her. Wrapping her arms around her, she sobbed. “Mama! What is it, Mama? Mama,
please
!”

Gasping, Lady Howard wavered on her knees, struggling to breathe. She gagged. Her throat rippled with spasms. Miss Spencer and the other ladies knelt to wipe Lady Howard’s damp forehead with their handkerchiefs.

Knighton stood and thrust Pru back in her seat when she started to follow him. “Stay here!”

“Why? Do you think I plan to hasten her end by slipping a knife between her ribs in front of her daughter?”

“No.” He gripped her shoulder and forced her to sit. “You had nothing to do with this. You never went near that table. So stay here. I want your position, at least, to be unambiguous.”

Her gray eyes focused on him, as huge and fathomless as the ocean on a moonless night. “Get the bottle and glass, if you want to prove my innocence. Before someone spills it. Or knocks it over.” Her voice was low, urgent.

The china cups on the table in front of the dowager rattled as the guests crowded around Lady Howard, trying to help her. Moving swiftly, he strode to the table. He scooped up the bottle of ratafia and May’s nearly empty glass.

“What are you doing?” Thompson asked, his voice sharp with anger. “Get some help, damn it!”

Knighton knelt and shouldered aside Denham to examine Lady Howard. She lay curled on her side, her head in her daughter’s lap. Miss Howard brushed back the sweat-saturated curls as she rocked back and forth, weeping over her mother. Already, Lady Howard’s breath was coming in short puffs with longer and longer intervals between them.

He gently picked up one of her wrists. The skin was clammy to his touch and felt as if it were already cooling, although another harsh gasp fluttered past one of the silk ribbons dangling from Lady Howard’s cap. Knighton held his own breath, waiting, concentrating on hearing her breathe.

There was silence as they all crouched, watching. The small whispers of air grew fainter. And then, finally, a soft, last exhalation passed through her blue lips.

“Mama!” Miss Howard screamed. She shook her mother’s shoulder, bending over her. “Mama,
please
!”

Lord Thompson gripped Miss Howard’s forearm. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.” He tried to lift her, but she wailed and clung to her mother.

“Leave the child alone!” the dowager demanded. After a pause, she asked in a quavering voice, “Is she—is she really gone?”

Knighton nodded. “I’m afraid so. We’ll have to send word to Mr. Gretton.”

“Must we? Again?”

“Yes,” he replied gently, standing and surveying the small clusters of people whispering in shocked voices.

Mr. Jekyll was the first one to recover. He nodded at Knighton and went to the door to speak in a quiet, authoritative voice to the footman. When he returned, he eyed the bottle and glass clutched in Knighton’s hands.

“Shall I take those for you?”

“No,” Knighton replied gruffly. “I’m sorry, but no.”

Jekyll shrugged, a small, sad smile on his face. “I just don’t understand,
why
? Why would anyone want to poison Lady Howard?”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense.” Knighton sniffed the glass in his hand.
Yes
. There was the faint odor of bitter almonds, the same poison that had killed Lord Crowley.

After all his efforts, he’d failed to identify the murderer before he struck again. And while Lord Crowley’s death was tragic, it was understandable. He’d ruined one woman’s life and made several others’ lives utterly miserable. But why would anyone kill Lady Howard?

Knighton glanced at Miss Howard’s bowed form. Lord Thompson stood behind her, one palm hovering over her head just inches from her hair in a curiously protective gesture. He looked as if he wanted to stroke her hair to comfort her, but didn’t dare. His lean face was drawn with pain, clearly reflecting Miss Howard's confused emotions even though from his position, he could not see her expression.