The Vital Principle

Chapter One

Those whom God wishes to destroy, he first makes mad. —Euripides, c. 485-406 B.C.

Friday, October 9, 1818 - Rosecrest Manor, Surrey, England

Prudence Barnard concentrated and tried once more to contact the spirit realm. Either the incorporeal world didn’t exist, or the inhabitants were singularly uninterested in the living. The darkened room remained quiet despite the restlessness of the twelve other guests sitting around the table. Only odd currents of cold air moved with sly whispers through the gloom. The flame of the single candle in front of her flickered wildly and flared before nearly extinguishing.

“I—I feel a draft,” Miss Abigail Spencer said, in a soft, hesitant voice.

“Oh, for God’s—” Lord Crowley abruptly broke off his sharp rebuke to his betrothed as if suddenly remembering there were women present. He glanced at his mother and flushed.

The dowager, Lady Crowley, let out a long sigh. The sound indicated more clearly than words her disappointment and her lack of surprise at her son's outburst, even if he did manage to control it.

“Mother.” Lord Crowley frowned.

Her hand fluttered to her neck. “I beg your pardon. I didn't intend to criticize—”

“You never do.” He transferred his angry gaze to Miss Spencer. “What is it, now?”

“A draft!” Miss Spencer's nervous response increased her resemblance to a small mouse sitting uncomfortably close to a large, vindictive cat. She flashed a quick look at Lord Crowley before glancing over her shoulder. “The door is—”

“Closed,” Lord Crowley completed her sentence for her. “Now can we get on with it?”

“Certainly,” Pru replied, just as eager as he was to be done with this evening's entertainment. She hated to perpetuate the charade that she could contact the spirit world, but as a guest of the dowager, Lady Crowley, she was hardly in a position to refuse her fervent request.

“The door is directly behind me,” Miss Spencer blurted out. The brown mouse might be nervous, but she was also stubborn. “Something might come in—”

“Apparitions have no need of doors, do they, Miss Barnard?” Lord Crowley’s derisive tone made Pru’s back stiffen. “Assuming one shows up at all.”

“There’s no need to worry,” Pru reassured Miss Spencer.

“Perhaps we could change seats?” Mr. Knighton Gaunt, the man sitting next to Pru, suggested. He was almost as out of place in the small gathering of close friends as she was.

They were both relative strangers at Rosecrest, although she had a slight advantage. She was a guest and had an acquaintance with a few of the others. On the other hand, Mr. Gaunt was a lowly inquiry agent, most likely brought in by Lord Crowley to prove she was a fraud.

Lord Crowley had threatened to do so, at any rate, the day before Mr. Gaunt joined them.

Pru studied Mr. Gaunt, wondering just how observant he was. She’d spent a great deal of time preparing the room, including attaching a small bell under her seat. Although she’d since decided not to use it, she now felt uneasy. She didn't want to give up her chair and have someone else accidentally find it, or worse, ring it.

“Change seats?” Pru echoed his words with a frown.

“If Miss Spencer is uncomfortable, we could shift seats so the door isn’t at her back.” Mr. Gaunt’s dark eyes glinted maliciously as if he were perfectly aware of the source of her discomfort.