Lucifer's eyes met hers; the look in them suggested she'd missed the point entirely. "I do need to carry you." His jaw tightened; he looked ahead. "Believe me, I do."
They trooped into the Rectory; Lucifer made for the chaise in the parlor. He lowered Phyllida, laying her along it so she could lie back. The loss of his heat, his muscled strength protectively around her, made her tense. She fought the urge to cling. She'd never clung to any man in her life.
But sudden panic rose as he drew his arms from her and straightened. Fright flowed like a chill through her and she shook. She knew he was frowning down at her, but she didn't meet his eyes.
Mr. Filing appeared with a glass of water. Gratefully, she took it and sipped.
Lucifer stepped back, then prowled around the chaise. Without looking, she knew he came to stand just behind her, a protective presence hovering over her.
Mr. Filing paced back and forth before the hearth. "This is shocking-most shocking. That anyone would dare-!" Words failed him; pressing his hands together in silent prayer, he stood for a moment, then turned to Phyllida. "Perhaps, my dear, you could tell us what happened."
Phyllida took another sip of water. "I was emptying the vases-"
"Do you always do that on Monday mornings?"
She glanced up and back at Lucifer. "In this weather, yes. Mrs. Hemmings brings flowers up on Tuesday, and then I change the vases again on Saturday. That's what we usually do-last week was different because of Horatio's funeral."
Lucifer looked down into her wide eyes, still dark, still huge, still frightened. "So it was common knowledge that you'd be at the church, most likely alone, with the vestry door open this morning?"
Phyllida hesitated, then nodded. She looked at Filing.
"If we could start at the beginning," Filing suggested. "You reached the church…?"
Phyllida sipped, then lifted her head. "I reached the church and as usual entered through the main door from the common. I left Jem outside, sitting on the steps."
"There was no one inside?" Filing asked.
Phyllida shook her head. "I picked up the vase from the altar and carried it through to the vestry. I opened the vestry door, propped it open, and took the vase out to empty it. Then I took it back inside."
"You didn't see or hear anyone about?" Lucifer asked.
"No. But…" Phyllida glanced up at him. "I was… absorbed. Someone might have been near, but I wasn't paying attention."
The fleeting awareness in her eyes told him what she'd been absorbed with-she'd been annoyed at him, which was exactly what he'd intended. He'd wanted to irk her, to prod the temper he'd sensed and occasionally glimpsed behind her calm facade; wanted to bring it to life and use it to get her to tell him the truth. Instead, he'd distracted her and made her an even easier target for the murderer.
No more games. Jaw setting, he looked at Filing as Phyllida did the same.
"And then…?" the curate prompted.
Phyllida drew in a deeper breath. "I fetched the urn. It's heavy and cumbersome-I have to wrap both arms about it. I reached the door and stepped out…" She paused, then went on. "That's when the cloth fell over my head. Then the rope-" She broke off and took another sip of water.
"Quite, quite," Mr. Filing soothed.
After a moment, she added, "He was behind me. I struggled, then I screamed-I heard a door crash."
"That was here." Filing glanced at Lucifer. "Mr. Cynster and I were considering the list of men who did not come to church last Sunday when we heard your scream."
"What happened next?" Lucifer asked.
"He flung me aside and ran off." Phyllida glanced back at Lucifer. "I never saw him."
He looked down at her. "Think back. He was standing behind you-how tall was he?"
She considered. "He was taller than me, but not as tall as you." She glanced across the room. "About Thompson's height."
"Did you get any sense of build?"
"Not as heavy as Thompson"-her gaze swung to Filing-"but not as slim as Mr. Filing."
Lucifer turned to Jem, standing by the door. "Does that sound right for the glimpse you caught, Jem? A man about Thompson's height but of average weight?"
Jem nodded. "Aye. And he had brown hair-leastways, not dark like yours."
"Good. What about clothes? Any idea?"
Jem scrunched up his face. "Neat. Couldn't rightly say gentl'man or not, but neat. Not a smock or anything shabby."
Lucifer glanced down at Phyllida. She'd gone quiet, withdrawn. She was not moving, barely breathing. "Phyllida?"
She raised her face; her eyes were drowning dark pools filled with revisited fear. "A coat," she said, then shivered and looked away. "When I was struggling… I think he was wearing a proper coat."
Lucifer left Phyllida with Filing and strode back to the Manor to fetch his curricle. Returning to the Rectory, he carried Phyllida out to the carriage, ignoring her hissed protests, and set her gently on the seat.
When he flung a rug over her knees, she stared at him. "It's summer," she said as they rattled down the Rectory drive.
"You're in shock," he replied, and said nothing more.
Silence was definitely wise; God alone knew what might tumble out if he let the chaos of emotions inside him free.
He concentrated on driving as quickly as he dared; he wanted her safe indoors again as soon as possible. They reached the Grange gates in a few minutes; a minute later, he pulled up before the steps.
Phyllida flicked back the rug and clambered out before he could tie off the reins. Jem, who had hustled back earlier, came running; Lucifer threw him the reins and followed Phyllida. He caught up with her on the porch.
She stopped him with a look. "I am not going to faint."
This was her home; she should be safe here. "All right." His tone was grudging, precisely how he felt. He looked up as Mortimer opened the door. "Miss Tallent has been attacked-she'll need Gladys and Miss Sweet. If Sir Jasper's at home, I'd like to speak with him immediately."
An hour later, Lucifer stood before the window in Sir Jasper's study and stared out over the Grange lawns. Behind him, seated in the big chair behind his desk, Sir Jasper raised a glass and sipped, then sighed heavily.
Summoned by a horrified Mortimer, Miss Sweet and Gladys had descended on Phyllida and borne her off upstairs. Lady Huddlesford had swept majestically after them, declaring her intent to see that her niece did not play fast and loose with her nerves. Whose nerves, Lucifer wasn't quite sure.
Miss Sweet had popped her head into the study half an hour ago. She'd informed them that Phyllida was resting quietly on her bed and had agreed to the wisdom of remaining there for the rest of the afternoon.
That much he'd accomplished. She was fussed over and safe, at least for the time being.
Lucifer turned. Sir Jasper had aged years in the past hour. The lines in his face had deepened; fretful worry had taken up residence in his eyes.
"What's this place coming to, that's what I'd like to know." Sir Jasper set his glass down with a snap. "Dreadful business when a lady can't go to fix the church flowers without being attacked, what?"
Lucifer opened his mouth, then shut it. Again he felt compelled to bite his tongue. Telling Sir Jasper that the attack was not general but quite specific might dampen his concerns as local magistrate, but would only escalate his fatherly fears.
Sir Jasper fixed him with a frowning glance. "From what you said, it seems unlikely this was some itinerant laborer passing through. Not a gypsy or a tinker."
"No. Phyllida's impression that the culprit wore a coat tallies with Jem's description of him being neatly dressed. In Jem's words, 'not a smock or anything shabby.'"
"Hmm." After a long moment of staring into space, Sir Jasper looked at him. "Any chance this attack is connected to Horatio's murder?"