He waited for a heartbeat, then continued on.
Phyllida watched until he'd disappeared into the house. Then she turned. Her mask firmly in place, she beckoned to Jem, who had hung back on the common, and set off-through the village.
Of course she trusted him-he knew she did! Phyllida slapped the brass vase she'd just emptied down on the vestry table, then swept back into the nave. She headed for the font.
The flowers she'd arranged on Saturday had only just lasted through Sunday. Wrapping both arms around the heavy urn, she hefted it. Balancing the weight carefully, she slowly edged toward the vestry and the open door beyond; the last thing she needed was dirty water streaks down the front of her muslin gown.
That would be the last straw.
How could he not know that she trusted him? He did know-he must, after their little interlude in the shrubbery. He knew, but he was using the question of trust-her trust in him-as a lever to pressure her.
He wasn't really talking about trust at all-he was talking about dominance. About the fact that she hadn't weakened and told him what he wanted to know. If he wanted to discuss trust, what about him trusting her? She'd told him she couldn't tell him, but that she would as soon as she could, and that what she knew was of no consequence anyway!
And just what had he meant by his parting comment about shrubberies not being safe for her?
"I'll go into the shrubbery any time I like."
The words, uttered through clenched teeth, echoed in the empty vestry. Feeling ahead with one foot, she located the threshold, then stepped out into the grassy area at the back of the church.
The sky was overcast, at one with her mood. Peering around the urn, she turned toward the pile of discarded flowers-
Black cloth fell over her head.
The weight of a rope fell against her collarbone.
The next instant, it jerked tight.
And tightened.
She flung the heavy urn aside-it clanged against a headstone. Lashing back with her elbows, she connected, and heard a satisfying "Ouff!"
It was a man, and he was bigger, heavier, and stronger than she was. She didn't stop to think; years of wrestling with Jonas flared in her mind. She scrabbled at the rope with both hands, bending forward from the waist, hauling on the rope, forcing the man to reach over her, forcing him off-balance. Before he could pull back on the rope, she straightened. The back of her head hit his jaw. More important, the rope eased enough for her to hook her hands inside it.
He brutally yanked it back again, but she pulled with all her strength, dragged in a breath, and screamed.
The scream bounced off the church walls; it echoed from the stones all around them.
A door crashed; footsteps pounded, heading their way.
A rough curse fell on her ears. Her attacker flung her aside.
Phyllida fell over a grave. Rough stone grazed her calf, then she toppled, catching her upper arm on another sharp stone edge before tumbling blindly back. She landed across a marble slab, still shrouded in the heavy black cloth, the rope still hanging around her shoulders.
"Here! You! Stop!"
Jem's yells broke through Phyllida's stunned daze. She heard him run past and on down the path. Struggling to rise, she batted at the black fabric hanging heavily all about her. Panic clawed at her throat. She couldn't break free.
Then she heard another curse, more forceful, more virulent. Heavy footsteps strode quickly toward her.
Before she could gather her wits, she was swept up like a child in a pair of strong arms, then he sat, and she was deposited in his lap.
"Stop struggling-you're only tangling it. Hold still."
Her panic left her in a rush. She started to shiver. The rope was unwound from her shoulders. The next instant, the black shroud was lifted away.
She stared into Lucifer's face, blue eyes dark with concern.
"Are you all right?"
She drank in the sight of his face for one more moment, then slid her arms around him, ducked her head to his chest, and clung. His arms closed comfortingly about her. He rested his cheek on her hair and rocked her.
"It's all right. He's gone." He held her tight, safe. A minute passed, then he asked, "Now tell me, are you hurt?"
Without lifting her head, she shook it. She gulped in air and struggled to find her voice. "Just my throat." Her voice was hoarse from the scream and from the rope. She put a hand to her neck and felt roughened skin and the puffiness of swelling.
"Nothing else?"
"Just a graze on my leg and a bruise on my arm." She didn't think she'd hit her head on the slab, but her leg was stinging. Lifting her face, fists clenched in his coat, she peeked at her legs-her skirts were rucked up to her knees.
She blushed and tried frantically to flick them down.
Lucifer caught her hand, returned it to his chest, then reached out and straightened the flowing muslin for her. He noticed the graze and paused. "It's just a scratch-no blood." He arranged her skirts so they covered her calves.
Then he looked up, his gaze fixing on the path leading down to the lych-gate. "Here they come."
He looked down at her, then his arms tightened and he rose to his feet. Settling her in his arms, he set out, negotiating the narrow path between the graves to the grassy area by the vestry door. He stopped and waited. Mr. Filing and Jem joined them.
Thompson was with them, a heavy hammer in one hand. "What's to do?"
"Someone attacked Miss Tallent." Lucifer glanced back at the slab where he'd left the black cloth and rope. "Filing-if you would?"
Frowning, clearly upset, Mr. Filing was already on his way. He returned a moment later, distress very evident on his face. "This is my robe." He held up the black shroud, shaking it so it fell into a more recognizable shape. "And this"-he held up the rope; it was gold, about half an inch thick-"is the cord from one of the censers!"
Outrage rang in his tone.
"Where were they kept?" Lucifer asked.
"In the vestry." Filing looked at the open back door. "Good God-did the blackguard attack you in the church?"
Phyllida shook her head. Trying to hold it steady and not rest it on Lucifer's chest was an effort. "I was clearing the vases. I walked out…" She gestured to the area beyond the open door. She swallowed, and it hurt.
Lucifer was frowning at her. "Filing, I think we should take Miss Tallent back to the Rectory so she can rest. We can discuss the matter more fully there." He glanced at Jem and Thompson. "I take it he got away?"
Jem nodded. "I barely got a glimpse of him. He was already through the lych-gate when I got here."
"Where were you?"
Phyllida waved. "I told Jem he could sit out at the front of the church and watch the ducks. I never imagined…"
"Indeed." Lucifer tightened his hold on her, tipping her slightly so it seemed natural to lean into his chest.
"I heard the scream and grabbed my hammer and came running," Thompson said, "but by the time I got to the lane, he was in the wood."
"I followed into the wood a ways," Jem said, "but then I couldn't tell which way he'd gone."
Lucifer nodded. "You did well. If he's following his usual pattern, he would have had a horse waiting. No sense running on."
Jem ducked his head, clearly relieved.
Filing had taken the robe and cord back into the vestry; now he fetched the urn, emptied it, and returned that, too, to the church. Phyllida watched as he shut the vestry door; the curate's face was pale and set.
Lucifer turned and headed toward the Rectory. Filing caught him up and fell in just behind; Jem and Thompson brought up the rear.
As they started down the sloping path, Phyllida leaned closer and whispered, "I'm sure I can walk. You don't need to carry me."