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reluctant to reveal what might be his first real evidence, other than the poisoned brandy in Lord Crowley's snifter.
    As he looked around, an even stronger sense of unease crept over him. Aside from the cork and brandy, he had very few facts. He hadn’t seen Miss Barnard poison Crowley, although he’d been watching her closely. An ugly, niggling voice said he had no proof of anything, just Lord Crowley’s desire to expose Miss Barnard as a charlatan.
    As a motive, it seemed a trifle weak.
    “I can’t say I blame Henry for requesting assistance,” Mr. Hereford said. “I’ve always thought that woman shady. I hated to see her here, taking advantage of the dowager. Particularly when Lady Crowley was so distressed over losing her husband. Frankly, I was relieved when Crowley said he’d contacted you.”
    Knighton grunted.
    George Denham stepped forward. “How do you know Miss Barnard is not genuine? Miss Spencer felt something brush past her. And even I admit I felt the presence of something inexplicable. It must have been a specter bent on vengeance. Certainly, that’s the evil that poisoned the brandy, not Miss Barnard.”
    Ah, the gallant believer .
    Earlier, Knighton had thought the young man might be interested in Miss Spencer. His attention had been on her for most of the evening. And despite the girl's status as Crowley’s betrothed, Denham had supported her by defending the possibility of spirit communications in the face of Crowley’s displeasure.
    However, Miss Spencer was upstairs now, so she didn’t need Denham’s assistance in defending her superstitious views. Perhaps he’d been protecting Miss Barnard all along and merely agreed with Miss Spencer because she obviously believed Miss Barnard.
    The stalwart farmer had hidden depths, or he was torn between two women.
    “The brandy wasn’t poisoned, or anyone who drank it would be dead now,” Hereford pointed out.
    “Then the spirit poisoned Lord Crowley,” Denham insisted. “You heard Miss Spencer. She felt it brush past her when the candle went out.”
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Denham,” Knighton said. “But I think we must look for a human agency.”
    The rest of the men laughed uneasily. When Denham insisted on an incorporeal force bent on retribution for some past transgression, the others shook their heads and turned away tiredly.
    “I’ll admit I’m just as curious as the next man about the unseen world, but I’m damned if I think a woman can convince the dead to scribble on a slate through the medium of her left hand,” Lord Thompson said after returning from helping Miss Howard to her room. He focused his gaze on a point in the center of Knighton’s forehead, clearly annoyed at having to deal directly with employed help. “They must arrest her tonight. No point in wasting time fumbling about for some incorporeal killer. If not, our hostess may give that creature a generous gift for her ridiculous message and send her on to the next gullible widow. It’s revolting to see a charlatan taking advantage of a woman of Lady Crowley’s caliber.”
    “She won’t get a farthing. I’ll see to that,” Hereford commented.
    Denham leaned against the table, resting his fists on the glossy surface. “What’s your basis for these assumptions? She won’t take money, I can assure you of that. She’s a guest. That’s all. In fact, she’s a well-bred young woman—a lady. She assisted her father in his work for years and collaborated with him on an excellent work, Spectres of Surrey and Sussex: Proven or Fraudulent . They researched and disproved many rumors of spirits. You’d hardly expect a woman who spent half her life helping her father expose such tales to suddenly begin creating them!”
    “Why not?” Lord Thompson chuckled. “She ought to be very good at creating spirits out of thin air with all her practice disproving them. It’s certainly given her an unimpeachable reputation.”
    “At least she’s an interesting houseguest,”