Phyllida stared at him. "That's tortuous reasoning. Do you really think anyone actually thinks like that?"
Lucifer shot her a glance. "Our murderer has eluded us multiple times-he's ruthless, clever, and without compunction. He probably has the sort of mind that works like that all the time."
"Hmm." Phyllida looked down at the hat. "Or he could simply be Cedric."
Lucifer let out a long sigh. "I have serious difficulty casting Cedric in the role. Not because I don't think he could do it, but because I don't think he would."
"I can't imagine him as a murderer, either, but…" Phyllida looked up; her gaze fixed forward. "I think we should go directly to Ballyclose."
"Why?"
"Because of this." She brandished the hat. "I cannot bear to go on thinking Cedric might be the murderer, and just not knowing. I want to find out-with this-now."
"What on earth do you plan to do? Barge in and ask him if the hat's his?"
Phyllida lifted her chin. "Precisely."
"Phyllida-"
Lucifer argued, reasonably, then not so reasonably; Phyllida held firm. She wanted the matter settled, one way or another, today. In the end, Lucifer looked at the hat in her lap, then, lips compressed, shook his head and faced forward.
"Very well," he growled after a tense minute had crawled by. "We'll go to Ballyclose, and you can do the talking."
Nose in the air, Phyllida inclined her head, accepting his terms.
They rolled onto the gravel circle before Ballyclose's front steps half an hour later. A groom came running; Lucifer handed over the reins. He handed Phyllida down; she preceded him up the steps.
The butler smiled and bowed them in. He showed them into the drawing room, then went to confer with his master. He returned a moment later. "Sir Cedric's in the library, if you would care to join him there, miss. Sir."
Lucifer gave Phyllida his hand; she rose from the chair she'd only just sunk into. Carrying the hat before her, she led the way to the library. The butler held the door wide; Phyllida swept through. Cedric was seated behind his desk; he smiled and rose. Phyllida swept straight to the desk and plunked the hat down in the middle of Cedric's blotter.
Cedric stared at it.
Standing poker-straight before the desk, Phyllida almost glared at him. "Is this hat yours, Cedric?"
Startled, Cedric blinked at her. "No."
"How can you be sure?"
Cedric glanced at Lucifer, who had halted behind Phyllida, then, warily, looked at her again. Moving slowly, he reached for the hat, lifted it, and placed it on his head.
It was Phyllida's turn to stare. "Oh."
The hat sat on Cedric's head, propped high, well above his ears. It was patently too small for him.
All the steel went out of Phyllida; groping for a nearby armchair, she sank into it. Then she covered her eyes with her hands. "Thank God!"
Lucifer closed a hand on her shoulder briefly, then held out his hand to Cedric. "There is a sane explanation."
"Glad to hear it." Cedric shook hands, then removed the hat and studied it. "Not but what this does look familiar."
Phyllida removed her hands from her face. "Do you know whose it is?"
Cedric grimaced. "Can't place it this minute, but it'll come back to me. I usually notice hats."
Lucifer flicked Phyllida a glance; she met it, but only briefly.
She looked at Cedric. "It's very important that we find out whose hat that is, Cedric."
He looked at her, then at Lucifer. "Why?"
They told him.
"The inscriptions," Lucifer said, having tactfully explained their existence, "did give you an apparent motive for wanting to remove books from Horatio's library and, potentially, to do away with Horatio."
Cedric blinked. "Because they might call my paternity into question?"
Phyllida nodded. "And therefore, Pommeroy could claim Sir Bentley's estate."
Cedric regarded her for a moment, then coughed and glanced down the room. He lowered his voice. "Actually, that wouldn't work. Papa worded his will specifically, naming me his principal heir. And as for Pommeroy, while there might be a question over my paternity, there's absolutely none about his. He's not Papa's son."
"He's not?" Phyllida looked horrified.
Cedric shook his head. "Not common knowledge, of course. Mama wouldn't like that."
"Indeed not." Phyllida blinked, then dazedly shook her head.
"So, you see, laboring under that misapprehension as we were…" Lucifer continued their explanation, omitting nothing. The ridiculous sight of the hat perched on Cedric's head had effectively removed him from their list of suspects. Cedric took the information that he'd topped the list for some time relatively well. When, cheeks rosy, Phyllida apologized, he waved it aside.
"You had to suspect everyone who wasn't at church that Sunday. As it is, I can't account for my time-"
"Perhaps you can't, but I can."
Both Lucifer and Phyllida turned. Jocasta Smollet rose from a wing chair facing the windows some way down the room. She'd been sitting, hidden from sight when they'd entered.
Cedric got to his feet. "Jocasta-"
Jocasta smiled at him-it was the most natural expression Lucifer had yet seen on her face. "Don't fret, Cedric, but I'm not going to stand by and see your reputation sullied even by suspicion purely on account of my brother's pride. If we're truly to break free of it, then we may as well start as we mean to go on."
Coming to stand beside Cedric, Jocasta looked at Phyllida, and at Lucifer, who had also risen. "Cedric," she said, "was with me that Sunday-the Sunday morning when Horatio was killed."
The announcement was so unexpected, Phyllida simply stared. Cedric harrumphed, then pulled up a chair for Jocasta. "Here-sit down."
She did; Cedric and Lucifer resumed their seats.
Jocasta folded her hands in her lap and regarded Lucifer and Phyllida calmly. "Cedric wished to speak with me about our future-Sunday morning, when both Mama and Basil were in church, was the only time that was possible. He rode up shortly after the carriage left for church. The stable lad who took his horse would remember. We met privately, but our housekeeper, Mrs. Swithins, was in the next room and the door was ajar. She can confirm that Cedric was with me for more than an hour. He left just before the carriage returned from church."
"My dear, if we're going to tell them that much, then we should tell them the rest." Cedric turned to Lucifer and Phyllida. "Jocasta and I were close-oh, for many years. But when I asked for her hand eight years ago, Basil would have none of it. He and I have our differences." Looking down, Cedric shrugged. "Basil wouldn't hear of us marrying, and, well, I dug in my heels and words were exchanged. And then Mama heard of it and she wasn't in favor, either, and things fell into a heap. Jocasta and I stopped seeing each other-we've avoided each other for years. But then Mama started insisting that I marry"-he glanced at Phyllida-"specifically, that I marry you, my dear. Yet the more time I spent with you, the more I thought of Jocasta. I realized she was the only woman I wanted for my wife." He looked at Jocasta, then held out a hand; she took it and smiled.
Face alight, Jocasta said, "Cedric tried to talk to Basil last night, but he's still very set against the marriage." She glanced at Cedric and squeezed his hand. "But we've decided not to waste any more years. Regardless of what Basil and Mama may say-"
"Or my mama, either," Cedric put in.
Jocasta inclined her head. "Regardless, we've decided to marry."
Phyllida found she was smiling. She rose; Jocasta rose, too. Phyllida embraced the older woman, touching cheeks. "I'm so pleased for you."
Jocasta's smile was a little crooked, but she met Phyllida's eyes. "Thank you. I know I haven't been the kindest of souls over the years, but I hope you understand."