She shook her head. "We all knew he had visitors from outside-beyond the local area-but no one here knows much about antiques. We had no idea Horatio held such a prominent place in that sphere."
"I think," Lucifer said, "that that was part of the attraction of Colyton. Horatio liked being 'one of the locals.'"
Sir Jasper nodded. "Now you mention it, he became 'one of us' very quickly. Hard to believe it's only been three years. He bought the Manor and rebuilt and refurbished it. He put in that garden-his pride, it was. Used to potter in it for hours-his success turned some of the local ladies green. He always did all he could-went to church every Sunday, helped out in many ways." Sir Jasper paused, then quietly concluded, "He'll be missed."
They sat silently for a moment, then Lucifer asked, "If he always went to church, why was he at home yesterday? I hadn't sent word I was coming."
"He was ill," Phyllida said. "A bad cold. He insisted the others go as usual, and that Covey was not to disappoint his aunt. Mrs. Hemmings said she left him reading upstairs."
"So"-Sir Jasper shifted in his chair-"let's recount what happened as we know it. You arrived on a social visit-"
"That's not quite true-or not all of the truth. I left Horatio's letter in Somerset, so you'll have to bear with my paraphrasing, but he specifically asked me to visit because he wanted my opinion on some item he'd discovered. He was obviously excited by it-the impression I received was that it was a wholly unexpected find. The inference was that he personally felt sure the item was authentic, but wanted a second opinion."
"Any idea what this item was?"
"No. The only thing I can be sure of is that it wasn't silver or jewelry."
"But those are your specialties."
"Yes, but Horatio wrote that if the item was authentic, it might even tempt me to expand my collection beyond silver and jewelry."
"So it was a desirable piece?"
"My interpretation was that it was desirable and valuable. The fact that Horatio asked me to appraise something not in my area of expertise, when he could easily have invited the opinion of any of the established collectors of whatever type of collectible it is, suggests that the item was one of those finds that no sane collector tells anyone he has until he's established ownership and perhaps arranged greater security. Horatio might have been old, but he was still very sharp."
"But he told you-why not others?"
Lucifer met Phyllida's dark gaze. "Because for various reasons, among them our long friendship, Horatio knew he'd be safe telling me. Indeed, I might be the only one he mentioned the item to at all."
"Would Covey know of it?"
"Unless his duties have changed, I doubt it. Covey helped Horatio with arrangements and correspondence but was never involved with the actual dealing or assessing."
Sir Jasper mulled over their words. "So you came here to meet with Horatio and view this new item of his." He looked at Lucifer, who nodded. "You drove into the village…?"
Lucifer leaned back, his gaze fixed above Phyllida's head. "I passed no one on the road, nor did I see anyone about. I turned into the drive…" Simply and succinctly, he described his movements. "And then someone hit me over the head and I collapsed beside Horatio."
"You were hit with an old halberd," Sir Jasper said. "Nasty weapon-you're lucky not to have died."
Lucifer lowered his gaze to Phyllida's calm face. "Indeed."
"This letter knife Horatio was stabbed with-do you recall it?"
"It was his-Louis Quinze-he'd had it for years."
"Hmm-so that's not this special item." Sir Jasper kept his gaze on his boots. "So as things stand, you have no idea who might have killed Welham?"
Phyllida stared into deep blue eyes and prayed her welling panic didn't show. It hadn't occurred to her, not until he started recounting his movements, that, in truth, Lucifer held her in the palm of his hand. If he told her father that someone had been there after the murderer had struck, and that he was convinced-no, he knew-that that person was she…
Her father would instantly know she'd lied-not by act but by omission. He'd realize her uncharacteristic surrender to a headache last Sunday morning had been a ruse, that it would be easy for her to cut through the wood and reach the Manor without being seen. That she'd known no one else should have been in the house.
What he wouldn't understand was why-why she'd done it and then so deceitfully kept silent. And that was the one thing she couldn't tell him, couldn't yet explain-not until she was released from her oath.
The dark blue gaze never wavered. "No."
She breathed shallowly and waited, knowing he knew, knowing he was debating whether or not to expose her. To her father, one of the few people whose good opinion mattered to her.
Time slowed. As if from a distance, she heard her father ask the fateful question, the one she'd realized he would eventually ask. "And there's nothing else bearing on this matter you can tell me?"
Lucifer's eyes held hers steadily. Giddiness threatened.
It suddenly occurred to her to consider the next step: What if he didn't tell?
"No."
She blinked.
He held her gaze for an instant longer, then glanced at her father. "I have no notion who killed Horatio, but, with your permission, I intend to find out."
"Indeed, indeed." Her father nodded. "Commendable goal." He looked up, and frowned.
"Good gracious, Jasper!" Lady Huddlesford swept forward. "You've been interrogating Mr. Cynster for quite long enough. His poor head must be aching."
Lucifer rose, as did Sir Jasper.
"Nonsense, Margaret, we have to sort this matter out."
"Indeed! I haven't been so shocked in years. The very thought of a London cutthroat slipping into the village and stabbing Mr. Welham is more than enough to overset me."
"There's no reason to think it was someone from London."
Lady Huddlesford stared at her brother-in-law. "Really, Jasper! This is such a sleepy little place-everyone knows everyone. Of course it must be someone from outside."
Phyllida sensed her father's resistance. He doggedly held to the logical approach, which meant that at any second he was going to turn to her and ask if she knew of anyone local with a reason to wish Horatio dead.
She didn't, but her answer might come close to being a lie. An outright lie. She avoided prevarication on principle, except in pursuit of the greater good. As her gaze touched Mr. Cynster-Lucifer-she acidly wished she'd made no exception. Just look where it had landed her.
First swamped by guilt. Now chin-deep in his debt.
Percy sauntered up to them. Phyllida glanced his way, then let her gaze drift to Lucifer. Percy was unwise to stand beside him; the comparison left Percy looking like a pasty-faced, effeminate weakling. Percy was pasty-faced, but otherwise presentable-it was the competition that served him so ill.
Her aunt continued to proclaim the impossibility of the murderer being local. Phyllida grasped the moment when she paused for breath. "I must call on Mrs. Hemmings, Papa, to make sure she has all she needs for the wake. I also need to stop at the church and speak with Mr. Filing."
Her nemesis spoke. "Perhaps I could accompany you, Miss Tallent?"
"Ah…" Transfixed by blue eyes that warned her there was no alternative to his company, Phyllida bit back a refusal, couched as a polite reminder about his head.
His lips curved; his gaze remained steady. "I know I promised not to overtax myself, but as I'll be in your company, there's surely no risk."
He'd kept her secret; now she had to pay the price. She inclined her head. "If you wish. A walk in the fresh air might ease your head."
"An excellent notion." As Lucifer straightened from bowing to her aunt, her father caught his eye. "Give you a chance to get the lay of the land, heh?"