Authors: Stephanie Laurens
Phyllida sat beside him, self-contained, a touch aloof—but she was there. After his performance last night, he hadn’t been at all sure of his reception; he’d been prepared to kidnap her if she hadn’t come of her own accord. But she had, thank heaven. She’d even come without a bonnet.
The blacks swept out of the Grange drive; he glanced at her—she had deployed a parasol to shade her fair skin from the summer sun, but he could see her face. He scanned her features, noted the line of her lips, the set of her chin, then gave his attention to his horses.
After last night, he would have to watch his every step.
They rattled on through the countryside in silence, a silence that became progressively more companionable as the miles fell beneath the blacks’ hooves. The sunshine seemed to wilt her starchiness; when they reached Honiton, she spontaneously pointed out the sights.
He’d taken the more northerly route so they could check at the inns in Honiton, just in case a gentleman had hired a horse on the Sunday Horatio had been killed. Phyllida directed him to the appropriate establishments, then left him to make the inquiries. As they’d expected, there was no news to be had. Leaving Honiton, they bowled along the highway to Exeter.
The road was in good condition and the blacks were fresh. They leaned into the traces and the curricle flew. The wind of their passing whipped at Phyllida’s hair. The speed was exhilarating, the warmth of the sun relaxing—she couldn’t help but lift her face to the breeze and smile.
“Why are we going to Exeter?”
She waited, eyes half shut, lips curved; she felt Lucifer’s gaze roam her face, then he answered. “I need to call on Crabbs and, for completeness’ sake, we should check the stables. Then I thought we could have lunch by the river before heading back along the coast road.”
Phyllida nodded. “That sounds pleasant.”
“You mentioned there were some people you wished to see?”
“I’d like to call at the Customs House, a courtesy to preserve contact with Lieutenant Niles. And while you’re consulting with Mr. Crabbs, I’ll have a word with Robert.” She glanced at Lucifer, but he merely nodded.
“If you like, we can go to the Customs House first.”
She shook her head. “The livery stables first, then Mr. Crabbs, then the Customs House, then lunch at the Mermaid.” She slanted Lucifer another glance—this time he caught it. She searched his eyes, then smiled and looked ahead. “Jonas tells me they have the best ale in Exeter. We can leave directly from there along the coast road.”
Lucifer grinned. “Agreed.” He slowed the blacks as the first houses appeared. “Now, my dear, which way?”
Phyllida directed him with an airy enthusiasm which warmed him as much as the sun. They called at the livery stables and received the same answer—no gentleman had hired a horse that Sunday. Continuing on to Mr. Crabbs, Lucifer went with that venerable gentleman into the solicitor’s private sanctum, leaving Phyllida to dally in the outer office, where Robert Collins worked at his desk. Fifteen minutes later, Lucifer emerged to find Phyllida smiling serenely and Robert looking less tense than before.
Exchanging bows with Crabbs, who punctiliously took his leave of Phyllida, they strolled out to the pavement, where an urchin held the blacks. Lucifer tossed the boy a coin, then handed Phyllida up. “What did you say to Robert? Does he know I know about the letters?”
“Not precisely.” Phyllida gathered her skirts so he could sit beside her. “I told him you were letting me search for the writing desk. He’s been terribly worried over the whole business.”
“So I noticed.” Lucifer wondered about the letters, but let the matter slide. “Where’s the Customs House?”
It stood on the quay, a few minutes down a sloping cobbled road from the High Street. Lucifer eased the blacks down the steep slope. The quay lined the River Exe; boats were tied to it, bobbing on the tide. Lucifer drew up before the handsome, two-storied brick building Phyllida pointed out. A cabin boy was slouching nearby. His eyes lit at the sight of the blacks; Lucifer waved him over.
There was an inn farther along the quay, tucked into the hill behind it. The sign of a mermaid swung outside. Lucifer instructed the boy to walk the horses to the inn and hand them to the ostler.
“This won’t take long,” Phyllida said as he helped her down to the cobbles.
She led the way into the building and walked directly to the counter along one wall. “I’d like to speak with Lieutenant Niles, please. If you would tell him Miss Tallent is here?”
The man behind the counter eyed her as she stripped off her gloves. “The Lieutenant’s busy. He only handles business matters here.”
Phyllida lifted her head and fixed the man with a direct glance. “This is business.”
Strolling up in her wake, Lucifer came to stand directly behind her. He looked at the clerk.
The clerk met his eyes, then swallowed and glanced at Phyllida. “I’ll tell him. Miss Tallent, you said?”
“Indeed.” Phyllida waited until the clerk had disappeared through a door before looking over her shoulder at Lucifer. “What did you do to him?”
Lucifer opened his eyes wide. “Nothing.” He smiled. “Just me being me.”
Phyllida searched his face, then humphed. She turned back to the counter as the door beside it opened. A gentleman in the uniform of the Revenue Service came striding out, smiling, his hands outstretched.
“Miss Tallent.” He grasped her hand, then looked past her to Lucifer.
“Good morning, Lieutenant Niles.” Phyllida gestured at Lucifer. “Allow me to present Mr. Cynster. He’s come to live in Colyton.”
“Oh?” All innocent inquiry, Niles shook Lucifer’s hand. “Does that mean you’ll be taking an interest in the Colyton Import Company?”
“A benign interest,” Lucifer returned. “Purely in an advisory capacity.”
He knew when Phyllida let out the breath she’d held. Niles turned back to her and she reclaimed his attention. “I just wanted to check the overall totals with you, and whether we need to change any of our payments.”
“Indeed, indeed.” Niles waved them to the door. “If you’ll just come this way?”
He bowed them into his office, then he and Phyllida settled to a brisk discussion of the various goods the Company had brought in and expected to bring in in the near future, and the levels of the duties payable on the differing cargoes. Lucifer sat back and listened, intrigued by how, once she’d been given the opportunity—given the right to lead—Phyllida managed the interview, and Niles, so well. She was a businesswoman to her toes.
He was inwardly smiling by the time she’d finished with the Lieutenant. Tucking a list of the latest tariffs into her reticule, she stood, turned, and caught his eye. She waited until they’d taken their leave of Niles and were out on the quay before asking, “Now, what so amuses you in that?”
“Nothing at all. I’m appreciative, not amused. It just occurred to me that, in the same way I could be of assistance to you with the Company, you, too, could to great effect assist me with my business.” Taking her arm, he turned her toward the Mermaid.
“Business?” She looked up at him. “What sort of business do you engage in?”
It took all of lunchtime and more to tell her. By the time he’d finished and they were in the curricle heading east along the road that would eventually take them home along the coast, she was intrigued.
“I had no idea. I thought you were a London swell—that all you ever did was waltz around ballrooms and charm ladies.”
“I do that, too, but one has to have something to do to while away the days.”
“Humph.” She shot him a measuring glance. “So this interest of yours in a cattle stud is quite genuine?”
“Given I’ve now got the land, it seems a pity not to use it, and establishing a stud seems the farming equivalent of being a collector.”
“I hadn’t thought of it in quite those terms, but I suppose that’s true.” Phyllida looked ahead.
Then she gripped his arm. “Stop!”
Drawing on the reins, Lucifer looked at her. “What?”
She’d swiveled around on the seat, staring back along the road. Reins tight, Lucifer shifted and also looked back. A tinker was ambling along, heading into Exeter.
“The hat!” Phyllida swung to face him, eyes wide. “That tinker’s got
the hat
!”
He turned the horses and set them trotting back along the road. “Quiet,” he warned Phyllida as they drew level with the tinker. She stared hard at the man—at his hat—but didn’t argue. Lucifer drove a hundred yards farther on, then turned the curricle again. He drove back, almost to where the tinker slogged along, then drew rein.
“Good day.”
The tinker stopped and touched the brim of the hat—the hat that even the most cursory glance declared was not his.
“Good day to you, sir. Ma’am.”
“That hat,” Phyllida said. “Have you had it long?”
A wary look passed through the tinker’s eyes. “I found it, fair and square. I didn’t steal it.”
“I didn’t think you had.” Phyllida smiled reassuringly. “We were just wondering where you found it.”
“Along the coast a ways.”
“How far back? Before Sidmouth?”
“Aye—it was a ways before. I’d left Axmouth and decided to go inland a bit. There’s a sleepy little village there, name of Colyton.”
“We know it,” Lucifer said.
“I sharpen knives.” The tinker gestured to the packs on his back. “After I finished in the village, I headed on, west, then northwest—there’s a path leads on to Honiton, which was my next port o’call. I found the hat along the way, a bit out of Colyton.”
Phyllida nodded. “You must have gone up the lane, past the church and the forge—up the hill—”
“Aye, that’s right.”
“And then there’s a bit of a dip, a shallow valley, you eventually get to the next ridge—stop me when I get to where you found the hat—and then there’s tall gateposts, and then the lane narrows, and winds down and around toward the sea—”
“That’s it! That’s where I found it. It was rolling along at the bottom of the hedge just short of where that seaward leg ends. I picked it up, dusted it off—wasn’t no name in it. I looked around, but there was no house or hut for miles. Then I walked but a few yards on and the lane turned into a path and swung northwest for Honiton.”
The tinker beamed at Phyllida; she beamed back.
“Here.” Lucifer held out two guineas. “One for the hat, one for your help. You’ll be able to buy yourself a good cap, find a comfortable room, and have a good dinner and a few drinks on us.”
The tinker’s eyes, fixed on the largesse, gleamed. “My lucky day—the day I found that hat.” He handed it to Phyllida.
Lucifer handed over the coins. “And which day was that—the day you found the hat?”
The tinker screwed up his face. “I left Axmouth on a Monday, and spent a day between there and in and about Colyton. I slept in the lych-gate and set out for Honiton early the next morn—that was when I found the hat.”
“So you found it on Tuesday?”
“Aye, but not this Tuesday. ‘Twould have been the one before that—I was nearly a week in Honiton, and then I went down to Sidmouth.”
“Tuesday before last.” Lucifer nodded. “Our thanks.”
The tinker looked down at the coins in his hand. “I’m thinking ‘twas my pleasure entirely.”
They left him bemused by his good fortune; Lucifer set the blacks pacing smartly, then glanced at Phyllida.
She was holding the hat in her lap, staring down at it. “No wonder we couldn’t find it—never saw it. He must have got rid of it straightaway.”
Her tone was distant. Lucifer frowned. “Those tall gateposts you mentioned—that’s the entrance to Ballyclose Manor, I take it.”
Phyllida nodded.
“So what is at the end of the seaward leg of the lane?”
She exhaled. “It’s a rear entrance to Ballyclose. It’s not even a gate, just a gap in the hedge, but it’s been there forever. Everyone who rides at Ballyclose uses it to come and go unless they’re riding directly into the village.”
“So if someone was out riding from Ballyclose and didn’t want to return by riding through the village, they’d use that entrance?”
“Yes.”
The tone of the word had Lucifer glancing at Phyllida again. “What are you thinking?” He couldn’t tell from her face.
She drew in a breath. “It must be Cedric after all.”
He looked to his horses. “There are other possibilities.”
“Such as?”
“That it’s not Cedric’s hat, for a start.”
Phyllida held the hat up, turning it around. “Just because I can’t recall seeing him wearing it doesn’t mean it isn’t his. You saw how many hats he has. I didn’t recognize half of them.”
“Equally, just because he has a hat fetish doesn’t mean that one’s his.” Lucifer looked at the hat again. “I really don’t think it is.”
“If I can’t be sure, I can’t see how you can be.”
Lucifer swallowed his explanation of why he didn’t think the hat was Cedric’s—he was, after all, only guessing. After a moment, he said, “Very well, consider this. The murderer, not Cedric, knows that the books in Horatio’s library leave Cedric with a real motive for killing Horatio, which, I admit, is more than we’ve been able to uncover for anyone else. The murderer, however, has another motive—one we have no idea of. Needing to get rid of the hat, he plants it at a place where enough people come past, so that, at some time, it’ll be discovered and all will point to Cedric, not him.”
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.”