The Vital Principle by Amy Corwin Page B

houseguest. The difference troubled Pru, but there was little she could do about it. It allowed her to survive.
    Pressing her lips together into a taut line, she resolved to speak to a lawyer at the earliest opportunity and make a will. Millie would get whatever remained after the costs of the trial. Pru could only hope it would be enough to support her maid’s retirement. There was nothing more she could do.
    As she neared Lady Crowley’s room, she paused at the sound of low, choking sobs. She tensed, fearing Lady Crowley was prostrate with grief and unsure if she’d be angry if Pru intruded. With her hand on the porcelain doorknob, Pru stopped to listen. The noises grew less violent as she pressed her ear against the door.
    Then she realized the heart-wrenching sounds weren’t coming from Lady Crowley’s apartment. Thinking it was Lord Crowley’s fiancée, Pru moved further down the hall toward Miss Spencer’s room. Again, the sobbing grew fainter as she approached that door. The woman crying was not the little mouse, Miss Spencer, either.
    Who is it?
    Pru retraced her steps until she was opposite her own room. Her heart sunk heavily. The crying was coming from her chamber. Millie ! Millie must be in a panic over Pru’s impending arrest. Flustered, Pru thrust the door open, prepared for the worst. She was still trying to compose her thoughts when she realized it was not Millie who sat, collapsed, on the floor.
    One of the maids huddled against the side of the bed, weeping onto the edge of the coverlet.
    “May!” Pru said, startled. “What’s wrong?”
    The young woman glanced up at her. A deep, wracking sob pushed out of her chest before she pressed her face once more against the bed.
    She hurried over and bent down, awkwardly patting the maid’s shoulder.
    May shook off her hand and gripped the coverlet in another burst of noisy weeping. “You've a-murdered him!” she exclaimed, the words broken and harsh.
    “May, I didn’t!” Pru stared at her, horrified.
    Another calamity rose to mind, as Pru struggled to make sense of May's distraught crying. Had Mr. Hereford decided to release the maid, simply because she’d been in the room when Lord Crowley died? Surely the dowager wouldn’t allow it. She’d continue to manage the house, despite Mr. Herford's pending ownership, wouldn’t she? Pru couldn’t imagine the dowager allowing the maid to be fired so quickly. Rosecrest needed experienced servants. Most of the staff would stay on as if nothing had happened.
    Wouldn’t they?
    Damp face mottled and suffused with red, May glared at Pru. “You did it—every soul here knows it! They was gamacking about it below—that you murdered him on account of his going to expose your wicked ways.” Clamping a rough hand on the edge of the bed, she pulled herself up. Her cap was askew, her apron dirty, and her blond curls flopped raggedly around her plump face, but even so, Pru was surprised at the girl's prettiness. Her lovely face looked almost incongruous against her tired, wrinkled clothing.
    “On my honor, May, I didn’t kill Lord Crowley. Truly. I wish he hadn’t tried to discredit me, but I didn’t kill him.”
    “But you was that angry with him, wasn't you? That angry that you went and killed my poor husband. And all on account of him refusing your lewd attentions!”
    “Your husband!” Pru blurted out, shocked. “His attentions? What on earth do you mean?”
    “Does you thinks he wouldn’t let on to me what you was getting up to? I saw your hands on his chest in the hallway, just outside your door—you—you light-skirt!”
    “May! I never!” Unfortunately, Pru remembered the incident only too well. It was just three nights ago, before Lord Crowley had sent word to Mr. Gaunt.
    But May had misinterpreted what she saw. Pru hadn’t been trying to seduce her host, far from it. She disliked Lord Crowley’s smug arrogance and his overweening assurance that all the women in his house would do his