"That's nonsense."
Phyllida sighed. "Never mind. I'm prepared to wait you out."
"Ah, Mr. Grisby."
Phyllida turned to find Lucifer almost upon them. His dark blue eyes met hers; a rush of prickling warmth washed over her skin. Halting beside her, he looked at Grisby and smiled-like a leopard eyeing his next meal. "I understand," he purred, "that you've been agisting on some of the Manor's fields."
It was clear Henry would have preferred to scowl; instead, he nodded stiffly. "I keep part of my herd on some of the higher fields."
"The fields overlooking the river meadows? I see. Tell me, how often do you shift the herd?"
Despite Henry's resistance, Lucifer extracted the information that Henry's herds had been rotated last on Saturday; on Sunday, both Henry and his herdsman had worked in his barns. The questions were sufficiently oblique that Henry didn't recognize their intent.
He still glowered; he had not expressed any great joy at the news that Lucifer was to join their small community.
Henry's visual daggers bounced harmlessly off Lucifer's charm. He glanced at her. "I wonder, Miss Tallent, if I might avail myself of your understanding of the village. A small matter of traditions." He looked at Henry. "I'm sure Mr. Grisby will excuse us."
Left with no choice, Henry gave an exceedingly stiff bow and pressed her fingers too fervently. Phyllida tugged her hand free and placed it on Lucifer's sleeve. He led her away, strolling easily. She glanced up at him. "On what subject did you wish to ask my advice?"
He smiled down at her. "That was a ruse to whisk you away from Grisby."
Phyllida wondered if she should frown. "Why?"
He stopped before the French doors that opened to the terrace. "I thought you might be in need of some fresh air."
He was right; the night air outside was wonderfully balmy, warm against her skin. The terraces at Ballyclose were handsome and wide; they ran around three sides of the house. Lucifer and Phyllida strolled through the twilight.
"Are there many who were not at church last Sunday?" she asked.
"More than I'd expected. Coombe, Cedric, Appleby, Farthingale, and Grisby, and they're just the ones here tonight. If I included those not of the gentry, the list would be longer, but I'm concentrating on Horatio's peers."
"Because whoever it was struck from so close to him?"
"Precisely. More likely someone he regarded at least as an acquaintance."
"Why were you after Pommeroy? I thought he accompanied Lady Fortemain to church."
"He did. I wanted to ask if he'd spoken to Cedric or Appleby when he returned. It seems they were both out."
"Out?" Phyllida slowed. She looked at Lucifer.
He raised a brow. "What?"
Phyllida halted. "I suggested Cedric and Basil ask their farm workers if they'd seen anyone-meaning the murderer-about on Sunday morning."
"An excellent notion."
"Yes, but while discussing last Sunday, Cedric stated quite definitely that he'd been in the library all morning and was there when his mother returned."
Lucifer looked into her eyes, then shrugged. "Both Cedric and Pommeroy could be telling the truth. Cedric could have left after he heard his mother return, but before Pommeroy went looking for him."
Relieved, Phyllida nodded. "Yes, of course."
They started strolling again, then Lucifer asked, "What's the name of the head groom here?"
A knot of suspicion pulled tight in Phyllida's chest. But he was right-they had to be sure it wasn't Cedric. "Todd. He'd know if Cedric had taken a horse out."
"I'll speak to him-perhaps tomorrow."
Phyllida said nothing. The seriousness of the murder seemed to be growing. How terrible for the village if the murderer was one of them.
How horrible if that suspicion firmed, but they never learned who.
"You're very determined to find Horatio's murderer."
"Yes."
One word, no embellishments. It didn't need any. "Why?" She didn't look at him, but continued to stroll.
"You heard me explain it to your father."
"I know what you told Papa." She walked a few more paces before she said, "I don't think that's all your reason."
His gaze slid over her face, sharp, not amused. "You're an exceedingly persistent female."
"If your middle name is Temptation, then mine is Persistence."
He laughed; the sound tugged at something inside her.
"All right." He halted and looked down at her. She raised a brow at him, then turned to pace back toward the drawing room. He fell in beside her. "I'm not sure I can explain it simply. Not in a way that'll sound rational to you. But it's as if Horatio was mine-part of me-certainly under my protection, even if that wasn't actually so. His murder is as if someone has taken something from me by force." He paused, then went on. "My ancestors conquered this country-perhaps it's some primitive streak that hasn't fully died. But if anyone dared take one of theirs, vengeance, justice, would have been guaranteed."
After a moment, he glanced at her. "Does that make any sense?"
Phyllida arched a brow. "It makes perfect sense." His ancestors might have conquered the land, but hers had civilized it. Horatio's murder violated her code in precisely the same way it offended his. She understood his feelings perfectly-indeed, she shared them.
She halted. For a moment, she stared straight ahead, then she drew in a deep breath. "There's something I must tell you." She turned to him-
"There you are, Mr. Cynster!"
Jocasta Smollet swept up to them, flashing stiff silks and feathers. "We were all wondering where you'd disappeared to. So naughty of Phyllida to monopolize your time."
That last was said with open spite. Phyllida silently sighed. "We were about to return inside-"
"No, no! So much more pleasant out here, don't you agree, Miss Longdon?" Jocasta turned to the French doors as the Longdon sisters stepped through, followed by Mrs. Farthingale and Pommeroy. Others joined them, milling about, exclaiming at the pleasantness of the evening.
Phyllida shot a glance at Lucifer; he caught it. Later? was what his look said.
Almost imperceptibly, she nodded; it didn't really matter if she told him tonight or tomorrow.
She was threading through the guests, wondering where her father was, when someone grabbed her sleeve and unceremoniously tugged.
"Please, Phyllida, please! Say you've found them."
Phyllida turned, and watched Mary Anne's face crumble.
"You haven't, have you?"
Taking Mary Anne's arm, Phyllida drew her into the shadows by the house. "Why are you in such a panic? They're just letters. I know you've worked yourself into a pelter over them, but truly, nothing terrible will come of it even if someone else discovers them before I do."
Mary Anne swallowed. "You only say that because you don't know what's in them."
Phyllida opened her eyes wide and waited. She couldn't be sure, but she thought Mary Anne blushed.
"I… I can't tell you. I really truly can't. But"-she was suddenly talking so fast she tripped over her words-"I've had the most horrendous thought." She grabbed Phyllida's hands. "If Mr. Cynster finds them, he'll give them to Mr. Crabbs!"
"Why would he do that?"
"Mr. Crabbs is his solicitor-he knows him!"
"Yes, but-"
"And even if he only gives them to Papa, now Papa will show them to Mr. Crabbs-they met at the Grange last evening. You know Papa would do anything to stop Robert from marrying me!"
Phyllida couldn't argue with that, but… "I still don't see why-"
"If Mr. Crabbs reads the letters, he'll expel Robert from the firm! If Robert doesn't complete his registration, we'll never be able to get married!"