The Vital Principle by Amy Corwin Page A

agent.
    Despite the warm glow of the sun on his face and shoulders, he couldn’t stand outside forever. With a great deal of reluctance, he strode back into the house and up the stairs to the drawing room.
    He didn’t expect Miss Barnard to still be there, but she was. When she saw him enter, she picked up the items she’d gathered for the dowager and brushed past him.
    “Don’t you want to see what I found?” he asked.
    “I saw enough of it to guess,” she replied. “Without even being the guilty party who threw it out the window.”
    “What makes you think it was thrown out the window? Was the window open last night?”
    “If you think my guess proves my guilt, you’re wrong. It's just rather obvious, isn't it? It was directly under the window. But I don’t really know if the window was open, or not. The drapes were pulled tight when we entered the drawing room.” She stopped. Knighton had the feeling her mind galloped forward, surging past him while he stood there sneezing in the dust of her passing. “It would make sense, however, wouldn’t it? It must have been open. That’s why the candle went out, wasn’t it? A breeze from the open window.”
    The point was so obvious he wanted to choke her for thinking of it before he had. “And—”
    “And that’s what Miss Spencer felt, too, isn’t it? A draft from the open window, a swirl of chill air brushing past her. That must be what touched her in the dark.”
    “You disappoint me. Surely, you must believe it was a spirit and not merely a draft?”
    “Like you, Mr. Gaunt, I have a strong regard for the truth,” she replied sweetly. “And I really think I must bring these things to the dowager before she sends the maid after me. I don't want to give her the impression I’m so lacking in courage that I’d run away.”
    “No one would ever call you cowardly, Miss Barnard,” Knighton said. “Far from it. Believe me.”

Chapter Ten
    It is to be believed because it is absurd . —Quintus Septimius Tertulian, c. A.D. 155-225
    Clutching the embroidery basket and periodical, Pru left the drawing room hurriedly. When she stopped to close the door, she caught Mr. Gaunt staring after her, his dark eyes unfathomable.
    That was utterly brilliant . She had made one mistake after another, and all because she wanted to talk to Mr. Gaunt instead of leaving immediately and returning later to search after Mr. Gaunt had vacated the room.
    Not that it mattered now.
    How he managed to discover the bell was beyond her. She sighed with disbelief at her foolishness.
    First, she’d admitted she was a charlatan who used a spirit bell, thereby confirming Mr. Gaunt’s worst thoughts about her. Then, although she managed to convince him she might be innocent, she’d immediately created fresh doubts by explaining how easy it would have been to place poison in Lord Crowley's snifter earlier in the evening.
    She must have been quite mad to point out the seals on the glasses to him.
    Just because he looked like a member of the Inquisition didn’t mean she had to turn to wobbly jelly and babble witlessly in his presence. She berated herself as she hurried up the stairs and along the corridor. If matters continued along their present course, she wouldn’t have enough time to put her affairs in order before they arrested her.
    No matter what happened to her, she had to set aside something for her maid, Millie. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be much. Only a small portion remained of the sum left by her father, and those remnants were safely deposited in the funds. The interest allowed her to clothe herself and her abigail, with very little left over for other luxuries.
    Just as her father before her, Pru and her maid relied on their hosts and hostesses for room and board. The only difference being that while Mr. Barnard was regarded as a slightly eccentric scholar performing research into the spiritual realm, she was seen as a mildly entertaining charlatan-cum-professional