Free The Vital Principle by Amy Corwin Page A

rampant speculation. His tension increased, however. The valet’s statement about the inquest reminded him that someone needed to be held accountable for the tragedy. The coroner's jury had to view the body before it could be buried. Chances were good they would hold the inquest on Monday, therefore, they would come to Rosecrest today to view the body. Unless he could find more than a tiny thread of black silk, it was likely their findings would be murder by person or persons unknown.
    “Yes, quite so,” Knighton replied evasively. “Are any of the other guests awake?”
    “You are the first of the gentlemen.” The valet cleared his throat discreetly behind his fist. He nodded in the direction of the tray bearing the remains of a roll and marmalade. “A more substantial meal is laid out at nine-thirty in the breakfast room. You could have a canter 'till then. His Lordship often arose early-like for a ride.”
    “No, thank you. That’ll be all.” Knighton felt slightly uncomfortable with the continued misunderstanding that he was a guest and not a mere employee of the late Lord Crowley. However, it was convenient for his purposes so he did not bother to disabuse the valet of his misapprehension. The man would find out soon enough, anyway.
    Knighton left his suite and paused in the hallway, unsure of his plans. There was a distant hum and muted clatter as the other guests rose and gave orders to their servants. A maid hurried by, carrying a ewer of water while another servant knocked at a door a few yards away.
    On impulse he turned and went downstairs to the drawing room where Lord Crowley had died. There might be additional evidence he had missed previously, and he wanted to see the room in daylight.
    The drawing room was much larger than he had realized. The previous night, shadows had hidden the far walls. Heavy red and gold brocade drapes now hung open, letting in the watery sunshine and casting a pale grayish pall over the furnishings. He glanced around and briefly studied the grandeur of the gilt moldings and ceiling frescoes of clouds and very substantial-looking angels encircling the central chandelier.
    The Oriental rug had been cleaned of all traces of the wine, leaving the air smelling faintly of ammonia. The round table they used the previous night remained in the center of the room and its gleaming surface bespoke of an early morning waxing by some industrious maid. The unknown girl had even filled a large crystal vase with yellow chrysanthemums and placed it in the center on a scrap of lace. The chairs had been rearranged and stood along the walls, flanking the wide doorway. The rest of the furniture was rearranged to form several intimate sitting areas near the huge fireplace.
    He walked over to the window and stood there, letting the light stream over his shoulder as he examined the room, trying to see if anything caught his attention. Everything looked blandly normal, awaiting the pleasure of the guests. As he shifted to the right, the light picked out an odd, silvery gleam just under the seat of one of the chairs lining the opposite wall. He smiled. The fanciful Mr. Denham might suggest the reflection came from the tiny, glittering wings of a fairy, accidentally trapped in the room overnight.
    Knighton thought there might be a much more prosaic explanation. He strode over, turned the chair on its side, and laughed. Someone had clamped a clever little contraption consisting of a “V” of heavy wire into the corner of the wooden frame supporting the seat. A tiny silver bell hung suspended between the arms of wire. An additional lever of wood connected by a spring to the “V” kept the bell from ringing unless someone pressed the lever against the chair leg to release the bell. Knighton depressed the lever and shifted the chair slightly. The bell rewarded him with a high, silvery ting.
    Thinking with amusement of Miss Barnard's reluctance to change seats the previous evening, he gently removed the