The Vital Principle Read Online Free PDF Page A

to her. “What’s wrong with my son? Henry—Henry! What is happening to my son?”

Chapter Four
    His limbs were cold in death; his spirit fled with a groan, indignant, to the shades below . —Virgil, c. 70-19 B.C.
    Knighton glanced at Miss Barnard before focusing on Lady Crowley. As if aware of his concern, Miss Barnard placed an arm around the older lady’s shoulders and drew her back, giving him more room.
    “Bring more light,” she requested in a firm voice as she took quiet control. She glanced toward the butler and nodded.
    Knighton’s respect for her increased, much to his dismay.
    “Lord Crowley!” Miss Spencer leaned over and tried to push the chair out of the way to see what was happening to her betrothed.
    “Miss Spencer, let Mr. Gaunt attend to him.” Mr. Denham drew her away. He started to wrap an arm around her but stopped, flushed, and settled for patting her forearm.
    The butler retrieved a silver candelabra from a nearby chest and placed it on the table in front of Lord Crowley’s vacant place. The wavering light only made the scene more eerie as the table blocked most of the light. The floor remained draped in gloom. Along the windows, the curtains shifted in the fitful illumination and created a sense of movement in the shadowed corners of the room.
    Knighton reached up impatiently and moved the candelabra to the edge of the table to see more clearly.
    “What is it? What’s wrong?” Lady Crowley asked. “Why don’t you help Henry, young man?”
    “You ought to sit, Lady Crowley.” Miss Barnard led the lady to her chair and pressed her firmly into the seat.
    “Is he ill?” Miss Spencer’s voice shook. She held a trembling hand over her mouth as if to prevent a scream from escaping.
    Mr. Denham drew her even further away and dragged a chair away from the table so she could sit down. She glanced around uneasily and gripped his hand. “Is it safe here? It’s so dark! Why don’t they bring more lights? There could be anything in the shadows—anything or anyone!” Her voice rose with incipient hysteria.
    “Shush,” Mr. Denham said, his face mottled with confusion and dawning horror. “You're safe.” He failed to reassure anyone, including himself. He stared around the room, his gaze dwelling anxiously on the blackest corners.
    “Perhaps he fainted?” Miss Barnard knelt on the other side of Crowley’s still form, gazing hopefully at Knighton.
    He pressed his fingers into Henry Crowley’s thick, sweaty neck although it was clear to him that he would find no pulse.
    Nothing .
    Crowley’s protuberant blue eyes remained open and sparkled with a strange luster imitative of life although he stared sightlessly at the ceiling.
    There was no breath of life.
    Knighton pushed the eyelids down. He’d seen sparkling eyes like that before in a lifeless face. A whiff of a peculiar odor caught his attention. He leaned over to sniff the air above Lord Crowley’s slackened mouth. The faint scent of bitter almonds remained, confirming his suspicions. He stood up abruptly.
    He picked up Crowley’s brandy snifter. A silver chain hung around the stem, with the initials ‘HC’ dangling from it. He glanced at the other glasses. They all had similar silver chains.
    Swirling the amber liquid, he held it up to examine it. The light from the candles glowed through the brandy, highlighting the unnaturally dark hue. After rotating the glass with a practiced movement of his wrist, he sniffed at the fumes before placing it back on the table.
    “Well, what’s wrong?” Lord Thompson stared at Crowley as if he suspected a trick. “Crowley, get up, damn you. Quit playing the fool.” He nudged Crowley’s flaccid arm with his toe.
    “Stop!” Knighton pushed Thompson back. “This isn’t a joke.”
    “What’s wrong with him? Is he having some kind of a fit?” Mr. Jekyll asked.
    “No. It’s not a fit.” Knighton glanced at the dowager. He was reluctant to inform her that her son was dead, most