When earth rained down on the coffin, Lucifer joined Sir Jasper and Mr. Farthingale. As they walked back to the church, he learned enough to place Mr. Farthingale as a minor Sir Jasper-backbone of the county, absorbed with his land and family, unlikely to have any connection with Horatio's murder.
Together with the rest of the men, they joined the waiting ladies; family groups formed and started down the common. Sir Jasper led the way, Jonas beside him. Phyllida followed; Lucifer fell in beside her. She slanted him a glance; her eyes held no hint of censure or trepidation. If anything, they held a question: What next?
"If you'd be so kind as to introduce me to those I don't know…?"
She inclined her head regally. "Of course."
She acted as if he'd never kissed her. Lucifer hid a frown.
Followed by, as far as he could tell, the entire congregation, they went through the Manor gate, crossed Horatio's garden, and filed into the house.
The wake was the perfect opportunity, not just to meet the locals, but to have them explain their relationship to Horatio. Most discussed their last meetings with him without prompting, and aired their views on his murder.
Phyllida hovered near, graciously steering people his way, in each case providing him with the right information to place the person in the context of village life and establish his or her connection with Horatio. If he'd thought she'd played any role in Horatio's murder, he'd have been suspicious. Instead, he stood by the side of the room and appreciated her social skills.
"Mr. Cynster, allow me to present Miss Hellebore. She lives in the cottage immediately next door."
Lucifer bowed over Miss Hellebore's hand. Old with a sweet, lined face, she stood no higher than his shoulder.
She clutched his hand. "I was in church when it happened-so unfortunate. I might have heard something otherwise. They'd just dropped me off before they found you-what a to-do that was! But I'm so glad, dear, that you were not the one." She smiled vaguely, her eyes dimming. "Horatio was a dear soul. Such a worry, this happening."
Her voice faded; Phyllida took her other hand and patted it reassuringly. "You needn't worry, Harriet. Mr. Cynster and Papa will find out who did it, and then all will be peaceful here again."
"I do hope so, dear."
"There's some asparagus on the table-would you like some?"
"Oh, yes. Which table?"
With a glance that said she'd be back, Phyllida steered the old lady away.
Lucifer watched them go. Despite the fact that Phyllida was unmarried and neither the oldest nor the most established lady in the room, it was to her the locals unhesitatingly turned-for reassurance, for order. Her character, her personality, cast her in the role-that calm, collected air of being perennially in control.
The desire to see her in an uncontrolled frenzy surfaced-again. He swiftly doused it and looked away.
"Mr. Cynster." Jocasta Smollet, as haughty as when she'd passed them in the lane the previous evening, approached on the arm of Sir Basil. She extended her hand.
Basil performed the introductions.
"I do hope," Jocasta said, "that you'll be remaining in Colyton for a few days yet. We'd be pleased to entertain you at Highgate-I'm sure there's little else hereabouts to interest a gentleman such as yourself."
If Jocasta's nose rose any higher, she'd tip backward.
"I'm unsure how long I'll be staying." Lucifer watched Phyllida returning through the crowd. She didn't see Jocasta until she was almost upon them. Her smile faded; she changed tack so she could slide past them.
Calmly, he reached out, caught her hand, and drew her to his side. Setting her hand on his sleeve, he looked at Jocasta. "Despite the unfortunate circumstances, I've enjoyed meeting those round about. People have been very welcoming." He glanced at Phyllida. "Miss Tallent has been particularly helpful."
"Indeed?" There was a wealth of meaning in the word. Jocasta drew herself up and stiffly inclined her head. "Dear Phyllida is so good to everyone. If you'll excuse us, I really must speak with Mrs. Farthingale."
She glided away. Basil, embarrassed, didn't follow. He chatted inconsequentially; Lucifer determined that he'd been in church when Horatio had been murdered.
When Basil moved on, Lucifer looked down at Phyllida. "Why does Miss Smollet so dislike you?"
She shook her head. "I really don't know."
Lucifer glanced across the room. "There are three gentlemen I've yet to meet."
The first proved to be Lucius Appleby. Phyllida introduced them, then left to chat with Lady Fortemain. Lucifer made no effort to disguise his purpose. Appleby answered directly, but was hardly forthcoming.
Collecting Phyllida, Lucifer guided her down the room. "Is Appleby always so reserved? So self-effacing?"
"Yes, but he's Cedric's secretary, after all."
His eye on their next target, Lucifer murmured, "What was Appleby before he became Cedric's secretary? Has he ever mentioned?"
"No. I assumed he always was a clerk or something similar. Why?"
"I'm sure he's been in the army. He's the right age-I just wondered. Now, who's this?"
A moment later, Phyllida said, "Allow me to present Pommeroy Fortemain, Sir Cedric's brother."
Lucifer held out his hand.
Pommeroy's eyes bulged; he edged back. "Ah…" Wide-eyed, he looked at Phyllida. "I mean… well…"
Phyllida sighed exasperatedly. "Mr. Cynster did not murder Horatio, Pommeroy."
"He didn't?" Pommeroy glanced from one to the other.
"No! This is Horatio's wake, for heaven's sake! We wouldn't knowingly have invited the murderer."
"B-but… he had the knife."
"Pommeroy"-Phyllida spoke very distinctly-"no one knows who the murderer is, but the one thing we do know is that it could not be Mr. Cynster."
"Oh."
After that, Pommeroy behaved reasonably, answering Lucifer's questions with, if anything, an overeagerness to please. He'd accompanied his mother to church on Sunday and, he assured them, knew nothing about anything.
"That last is unfortunately true." Obedient to the touch on her arm, Phyllida moved to the side of the room.
"So I'd gathered." Lucifer was looking ahead. "Our last potential suspect is scanning the bookshelves."
She'd guessed who it was before they stepped around the Farthingales and came face-to-face with Silas Coombe, fingering a gold-plated spine. He snatched his hand back as if the book had bitten him and stared at them, blank-faced.
"Good day. Mr. Coombe, is it not?" Lucifer smiled. "Miss Tallent mentioned you know something of books. Horatio's amassed quite a collection, don't you think?"
His glance along the shelves clearly invited Silas's opinion. It was a masterly stroke. Phyllida practiced self-effacement while Silas waxed lyrical, putty in the hands of a gentleman he didn't even realize was his interrogator.
"Well, I don't normally confess this, but you're a gentleman who knows a bit about life." Silas lowered his voice.
"Not much of a churchgoer, you understand. Got out of the habit in my youth-can't see the point in rubbing shoulders with all the starched-up matrons, not at my age. I've better things to do with my time."
Silas's gaze ranged the nearby shelves. "I don't suppose you have any idea who will inherit these, do you?"
Lucifer shook his head. "No doubt we'll learn soon enough."
"Ah, yes-the solicitor fellow's here, isn't he?" Silas scanned the room, then frowned. "He's staring at you."