"Murder during a battle?" Flick frowned. "Can that happen?"
Lucifer nodded. "If you shoot someone on your own side deliberately."
Phyllida shivered. "How horrible."
"Indeed," Demon concurred. "During one particular cavalry charge-" He glanced at Phyllida and Flick. "The cavalry often charge from the flank, across the infantry's line of sight-the infantry usually put up their pieces during the charge. Most would use the time to clean and reload. Well, during this one charge, Hastings was standing almost directly behind Appleby. He swears Appleby drew a line on one of our own. He believes he saw Appleby shoot and one of the guardsmen fall, but… it was midmorning, and that was a hellish day. By the end of it, so many were dead and we all had our own nightmares. Hastings wasn't sure enough to make any immediate charge, but he'd seen enough to check who the fallen man was.
"It turned out to be Appleby's best friend. They'd even shared a tent the previous night. Although wounded himself, Appleby had gone out and retrieved the body and was, to all appearances, deeply cut up. Hastings concluded that Appleby had merely been using his sight to keep a steadier eye on his friend through the charge. That's what he told himself. That's what he still tells himself, but when his tongue is loosened by good brandy, the truth tumbles out. Hastings still believes in his heart that he saw Appleby kill his best friend, Corporal Sherring." Demon looked at Lucifer. "Incidentally, Hastings said Appleby was an excellent shot with a musket."
"So"-Lucifer looked at Phyllida-"it could be Appleby."
"But is it?" Demon asked. "All we have is an unprovable possibility that Appleby has killed in cold blood before. We haven't anything to tie him to Horatio or his collection."
"And that," Lucifer acknowledged, "is the rub."
The entire matter hinged on the mysterious volume the murderer thought was buried in Horatio's collection. Demon and Flick joined the party searching through Horatio's tomes.
After an hour, Flick stepped back from the bookcase she was working through. "Why are we doing this?" She turned to Lucifer. "Whoever it is, they've presumably been searching every Sunday for months. But if they knew which book they were searching for, and presumably they must, then it wouldn't take that long to find it."
"Unfortunately, it would." Lucifer strolled along the shelves, then stopped and pulled out an innocuous-looking volume. He showed it to Flick. "Brent's Roman Legions. Nice binding, worth a few guineas, but nothing to get excited over." Then he slid the entire cover free. "In reality, however, this is a first edition of Cruickshank's Treatise of the Powers, worth a small fortune."
"Oh." Flick studied the cover and the book it had concealed. "Are there many like that in here?"
"Every few shelves and sometimes more often." Phyllida reached for the next book on her shelf.
"Many collectors use fake covers to hide their most precious works." Lucifer returned the priceless volume to its protective cover. "So in order to search Horatio's collection, every book would need to be checked."
They went back to checking.
After lunch, Lucifer and Demon, at their ladies' behest, walked up to the forge to confer with Thompson. No horse with a loose shoe had yet been brought in. As they ambled back down the lane, Lucifer slid a glance at Demon. "I have to say I'm surprised you agreed to bring Flick into this-I assume she's in an interesting condition?"
"Yes." Demon's proud grin was exceedingly brief. "But the damned woman wouldn't be left behind. She insists she's perfectly well and refuses to be cosseted. It's as much as a warm bed's worth to argue too hard. And, of course, Honoria supported her."
"Honoria?"
"Honoria, who is so damned pregnant, Devil has all but lost his ducal authority. He bowed to her decree that Flick was perfectly well enough to travel down here-he even urged me to bring her! Not, of course, because he thought it was a good idea, but because he didn't want Honoria upset!"
"Good God! Is that what I've got to look forward to?"
"Unless you're thinking of a platonic relationship-and I can't believe you are-yes, and that's the least of what's in store. Judging by the state Vane's presently in, it only gets worse."
Lucifer shook his head. "Why do we do this?"
"God only knows."
They exchanged glances, then smiled and lengthened their strides.
It was Flick who, late in the afternoon, put what they were all independently thinking into words. She waved her arms at the library's bookshelves. "If the murderer's after something here, why don't we just let him come and get it?"
She faced the rest of the room. "I don't mean let him get away with it, of course, but what if we organized a household picnic or some such affair, made sure the whole village heard of it so everyone would know there would be no one left at home, and then we'd go, but circle back and keep watch?" She looked at them. "What do you think?"
Demon looked at Lucifer. "I think there's some merit in the idea. We need to accept that there's a definite possibility that the murderer's taken care of that loose shoe in some way other than bringing the horse to Thompson."
"The village fete is two days from now."
They all looked at Phyllida.
"It's on Saturday," she said. "Everyone for miles around attends. It's virtually compulsory." Standing, she crossed to the window; Flick joined her as she waved. "It's held in the field just behind the church."
Both Lucifer and Demon joined them at the window, looking up the slope of the common to the church. Demon narrowed his eyes. "That's a very attractive proposition."
"Easy enough to arrange for a watch to be kept on the house-and on the possible suspects, too." Lucifer slowly nodded. "And the doors here, while locked at night, are never locked during the day, even now."
"On the morning of the fete, we'll all be coming and going, taking food and trestles up." Phyllida faced the others. "It should be easy for anyone to watch unobtrusively and note when we're all out of the house."
They considered, exchanging glances, then Lucifer nodded. "Right. Let's do it. But we'll need to work out all the details first."
They spent the whole evening planning, and were still arguing over the details of who should watch whom, when and from where, the next morning when the mail arrived. Bristleford brought the letters into the library on a salver and placed them on the big desk by Lucifer's elbow.
When they paused in their deliberations to consume tea and a plate of Mrs. Hemmings's butter cakes, Lucifer sifted through the pile. He tossed some to Phyllida and started opening the rest. "More replies from other collectors."
He'd finished opening and perusing those he'd kept and laid them aside with a shake of his head when Phyllida sat bolt upright, staring at the sheet she was holding in her hand. "Good gracious! Listen to this! It's from a solicitor in Huddersfield. He writes that our recent letter to one of his late clients was brought to his attention. In the circumstances, he felt he should bring to our notice the fact that his late client, an associate of Horatio's, died at the hands of an unknown assailant some eighteen months ago."
"Heavens!"
They all rose and went to read over Phyllida's shoulder. She held the letter out so they could see. "It says the other collector was strangled late one night and his records were ransacked."
Lucifer reached out to steady the sheet. "Shelby. I wonder…" He returned to the desk and sat. From a bottom drawer, he retrieved a stack of cards. "Horatio always noted on his name-cards what sort of items he'd most recently traded with each person. The notes refer back to his ledgers." He flipped through the cards. "Shelby, Shelby… hullo!"