She regarded him calmly.
He had to look to his horses. "I believe Horatio was killed because of some book. Everyone knew that on Sunday morning, the Manor should have been deserted. The downstairs doors were never locked. The murderer-a local who was not at church-left his horse behind the shrubbery and went to the drawing room. He started examining books, pulling them from the shelves-then Horatio disturbed him. On Monday afternoon, I noticed three books not properly pushed in."
"Where?"
"Bottom of the last bookshelf against the inner wall."
Near the gap where she'd surmised the murderer must have hidden. "So-the murderer is after a book."
"Or something in a book."
"Could the book be the item Horatio wanted you to appraise?"
"No. Horatio wouldn't have asked me to appraise a book. He was the foremost authority in the field. If he'd found something spectacular, and all the signs suggest he had, he wouldn't have needed my opinion to be sure."
They'd reached the road to Axmouth; he slowed and turned the curricle. When they were rolling back to Colyton, Phyllida asked, "Why did you say something in a book?"
"Many books are valuable, not because of the book itself, but because of what's subsequently been written in them. Sometimes it's the notational information that adds the value, but most often it's the identity of the writer."
"You mean inscriptions-that sort of thing?"
"Inscriptions, instructions, messages-even wills. You'd be amazed at what you come across."
"So at present it appears that the motive for the murder is some information noted in a book?"
"That's my best guess." The Grange gates loomed; deftly, he turned through them.
"What about the item Horatio wanted you to look at?"
"That remains a mystery. The fact that Horatio was killed just after he'd discovered it is looking more and more like coincidence. No one beyond myself and Covey knew he'd found anything. Covey knows no more than I."
"We'll have to search all the books."
"I have Covey doing that. He's used to handling old and valuable tomes-he'll be careful yet thorough."
He drew up before the Grange steps; the blacks pranced. Phyllida climbed down without assistance. On the steps, she turned and met his blue gaze. "Thank you." She didn't add anything more.
One black brow arched; he searched her face, consideration in his eyes.
She smiled, inclined her head, and turned toward the door. "Until next time."
She didn't look back to see how he reacted, but his wheels didn't start turning until she'd stepped over the threshold and Mortimer was closing the door behind her. Still smiling, she headed for her room. Why she was teasing him, she didn't know. She knew it wasn't safe.
She didn't know if she was teasing, either.
By the time she reached her room, her smile had converted to a frown. Lucifer was focusing on Horatio's books, which meant he'd be unlikely to go inspecting a writing desk. But he'd ordered new locks and he'd order them used, at least until the murderer was caught.
So she had a week's grace-the time it would take for the locks to arrive. She would have to search the Manor's upstairs rooms one night soon. Mrs. Hemmings had told her Lucifer had taken the room at the front right corner, leaving Horatio's room as it was.
Phyllida grimaced. "All I can do is pray that damned writing desk is not in the front corner bedroom."
Chapter 11
Contents – Prev | Next
Not to be outdone by the Fortemains, the Smollets had arranged to host a dance that evening. It was a large affair with guests driving in from miles around. Many Lucifer hadn't met; he spent half the evening being introduced and exclaimed over-he was the main attraction, after all.
While doing the pretty, he kept an eye on Phyllida. She'd arrived in good time with her father, brother, and Miss Sweet. Lady Huddlesford had swept in later, Frederick at her heels. Percy Tallent had not appeared.
In her gown of bronze silk, a simple gold chain around her throat and gold drops in her ears, Phyllida was the least fussily dressed woman in the room, and easily the most stunning. She drew many men's eyes, yet few, Lucifer realized, properly appreciated the sight. Cedric, Basil, and Grisby-those he paid most attention to-clearly viewed Phyllida as a desirable chattel, one that, if possessed, would add to their consequence. None of them seemed to see her at all. Fools, the lot of them.
Her expression serene, she did her best to ignore them, chatting instead with the many others present-doubtless dispensing aid and succor in various forms. Yet she could not entirely avoid her would-be suitors.
She danced the first dance with Basil, their host. By dint of superior strategy, Lucifer avoided the reciprocal fate; Jocasta Smollet danced the measure with Sir Jasper. Phyllida then danced a cottilion with Cedric; later, he saw her going down a country dance with Henry Grisby.
Her attitude at the conclusion of the dance-that of relief that her duty had now been done-failed to puncture Grisby's self-absorption. Less than impressed, Phyllida retreated to speak with the Misses Longdon.
From the side of the room, Lucifer watched her, and considered his best avenue of approach.
"There you are!"
He turned as Sir Jasper joined him.
"Wanted to ask-have you uncovered anything about this blackguard who stabbed Horatio?"
"Nothing positive. There's no evidence anyone rode in from beyond the village, at least not from the east. I've yet to check in Honiton, but at present, all signs point to the killer residing locally."
"Hmm. This intruder you surprised last night…?"
"May well be the murderer."
Sir Jasper let out a long sigh. He looked away, over the room. "I'd hoped, y'know, that it wouldn't be someone from round about. But if they're still searching…"
"Precisely. It can't be anyone from far afield. They'd be noticed."
"By the same token, given the way we all go about down here, riding day in, day out, it'll be hard to pin anyone down."
Lucifer inclined his head in agreement.
Sir Jasper remained beside him, a frown gathering on his face. Eventually, he drew breath and faced Lucifer. "This business of that hunter shooting at Phyllida…"
"Exactly what I want to know, too."
Sir Jasper and Lucifer glanced around as Jonas ambled up. Hands in his pockets, he met Lucifer's gaze. As usual, he appeared relaxed, ready for any lark. It occurred to Lucifer that, as Phyllida's calm serenity was often a mask, so, too,
Jonas's insouciant good humor concealed something more. There was certainly nothing insouciant in his hazel eyes.
"I know Phyl said it was a hunter, but I can't see it myself. Ridiculous time and place to go shooting. And whyever did she burn that bonnet?"
"She burned her bonnet?" Sir Jasper gazed across the room at his daughter.
"So Sweetie said." Jonas studied Phyllida, too.
"Why on earth would she do that?"
Because she'd been frightened and destroying the bonnet had been her way of putting the incident from her. Lucifer could understand that. For all her intransigence, Phyllida was too intelligent not to be afraid.
"What I want to know is: Is she in any danger?"
It was Jonas who voiced the question. To Lucifer's relief, it wasn't directed specifically at him; he couldn't answer truthfully. He shifted; it went against his grain to keep Sir Jasper and Jonas in the dark. To his mind, they had a right to know-had a right to protect daughter, sister.
Lips shut tight against any unwary word, he canvassed his options, but there wasn't any way to warn them that it looked like the murderer was indeed after Phyllida-they'd immediately ask why. "I saw her out walking, coming back from the church. I noticed she had a groom with her."