All About Love (41 page)

He frowned. “You should have rung. I would have—“ He stopped, then grimaced. “Got Jonas to carry you down.”

Phyllida smiled; with her heart and soul in her eyes, she smiled into his. Then she let her gaze roam, drinking in the fact that he, too, had rested and recovered. He was wearing a coat of that particular shade of dark blue that best set off his eyes and made his hair appear blacker than jet. The sight erased a lingering worry in her heart; only with its easing did she realize it had been there.

“You shouldn’t be walking.”

His voice was rough and raspy. She studied his hard face, then calmly said, “Why not? You are.”

He scowled, trying to read her eyes. “I wasn’t knocked unconscious.”

She raised her brows. “Was I?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m conscious now. If you’ll just give me your arm, I’m sure we’ll manage.”

He did. He hovered solicitously down the stairs and all the way to the library, but, as she’d predicted, they managed perfectly well.

Pausing before the library door, she let her gaze linger on his face. Raising a finger, she traced his cheek, as she first had two weeks ago. “When we work together we’re invincible.”

She’d intended the comment to refer to their descent; hearing it, she realized it applied to much more.

She lifted her eyes and he met them, his blue gaze steady. He trapped her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm. “So it would appear.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then reached past her and opened the library door.

Her father rose as they entered. So, too, did Cedric. Jonas was standing by the long windows.

“My dear!” Sir Jasper came forward, hands outstretched, concern very evident in his face.

Phyllida put her hands in his. “Papa.” She returned his kiss. “I’m feeling much better, and I really should tell you what happened.” Her voice was as raspy as Lucifer’s.

“Humph!” Sir Jasper looked at her, shaggy brows drawn down. “You’re quite sure you’re up to it?”

“Quite sure.” Retaking Lucifer’s arm, she allowed him to steer her to the
chaise
. She nodded to Cedric.

Handing her to the
chaise
, Lucifer murmured, “I thought Cedric should be here—there are points he might be able to help us with.”

Phyllida nodded and settled back. Before she could blink, Lucifer lifted her ankles and swung her feet up. Previously, she’d have glared and swung them back down. Now she just wriggled into a more comfortable position.

“Well, then.” Clearing his throat, her father sat in a nearby chair. “If you’re determined to explain it tonight, we’d better start, heh?”

“Perhaps”—Lucifer took the chair beside the
chaise
—“to save Phyllida’s throat, I could fill in the background, then she need only describe the events only she knows.”

Sir Jasper turned his gaze expectantly to Lucifer. Cedric, in another armchair, did the same. Jonas held to his position by the windows, his attention fixed on Lucifer.

Lucifer settled back. “To begin, there are some elements in our investigations which concern others not implicated in Horatio’s murder or the subsequent attacks on Phyllida, but to whom we, Phyllida and I, owe a certain measure of confidentiality.” He looked at Sir Jasper. “If you will accept some of our discoveries without detailed explanations of how we made them, then we can preserve those confidentialities without prejudicing our account.”

Every inch the magistrate, Sir Jasper nodded. “Sometimes that’s the way of things. If mentioning unnecessary details will trouble someone who has done no wrong, then there’s no need for me to know.”

Lucifer nodded. “On that basis, then. Phyllida saw a hat at the murder scene soon after the murder, but later that hat disappeared. Bristleford and the Hemmingses never saw it. It was not Horatio’s. When the attacks on Phyllida became obvious and concerted, she concluded that the hat would identify the murderer—or so the murderer believes. There’s nothing else Phyllida knows that could explain the murderer’s interest in her.”

“Did Phyllida recognize the hat?” Sir Jasper asked.

Lucifer shook his head. “She has no idea whose hat it is, but even though she has obviously not remembered—given she’s raised no hue and cry—as evidenced by his continued attacks on her, the murderer’s convinced she will, at some point, recall, and she’s therefore a continuing threat to him.”

“How did the murderer know Phyl had seen the hat?”

The question came from Jonas; Lucifer turned to look at him. “We don’t know. We can only assume that, from hiding, he saw her take note of it.”

Turning back to Sir Jasper and Cedric, Lucifer continued. “Phyllida kept her eyes open for the hat—a brown one. Simultaneously, I was pursuing the idea that something in Horatio’s library was behind his death. For instance, some information hidden in a book that the murderer wished to hide. We found such information. Unexpectedly, we also found the brown hat.

“Both the information and the brown hat led us to Cedric, but when we confronted him with both, it was quickly proved that he wasn’t the murderer. The hat didn’t fit, and the information wasn’t as vital as it had seemed. Cedric also has a solid alibi for the time when Horatio was killed. We established all that yesterday, by which time it was evening.

“This morning, before church, Phyllida received this note.” Lucifer drew the note from his pocket and handed it to Sir Jasper. Sir Jasper read it, then, his expression hardening, passed it to Cedric.

Sir Jasper looked at Phyllida. “So you didn’t have a headache?”

Phyllida colored and shook her head. “Molly asked for no one to know. I got Jonas to take me to the Manor, intending to show only Lucifer and have him escort me to the cottage.”

“But I wasn’t there—I’d gone to look for Phyllida.”

“I assumed,” Phyllida said, “that the note was genuine, so when Lucifer wasn’t at the Manor, I went on to the cottage alone, reasoning that I’d be safe, as the murderer could not know I was out, walking that way.”

Cedric handed the note back to Sir Jasper. “Whoever wrote it, it wasn’t Molly. She’s in Truro visiting her family, and, on top of that, the girl doesn’t read or write much above a few words. Mama’s forever lamenting that she has to make the lists of stuffs to buy herself.”

“So,” Lucifer continued, “someone wrote the note making sure it looked innocuous, unthreatening, but also believable. Phyllida knew Molly; we’d found the hat near the back of Ballyclose Manor. No one saw who left the note here—Jonas checked with the staff indoors and out.”

Sir Jasper humphed. “Whoever he is, he’s clever and very careful not to be seen.”

“Which suggests,” Jonas put in, “that if he was seen, most people would know who he was.”

Lucifer nodded. “My thoughts exactly. It’s someone widely known in the village. That’s inescapable.”

“So what happened next?” Sir Jasper addressed the question to Phyllida. All eyes swung to her.

She drew in a breath, careful not to make it too deep. “I reached the cottage. The front door was open as if someone was waiting inside. I went in, calling for Molly, but there was no reply. I went into the parlor and stopped just inside the door. There was no one about . . .”

Phyllida had to stop to take another breath, to break the hold of the paralyzing fear, to remind herself she’d survived. Lucifer rose and came around the
chaise
to perch on the back. He reached down and took her hand, his fingers curling over hers. She glanced up—his expression was closed, but she drew strength from his touch.

She looked at her father. “I was about to turn back to the door. A black cloth dropped over my head. Hands closed around my throat and squeezed—I struggled, but it was no good. He held on, but the cloth was too thick—he couldn’t strangle me through it.”

Lucifer glanced down. There were bruises about her throat, just blossoming, largely hidden by the scarf she’d wound around her neck.

“He . . . I think he lost his temper. He swore and muttered about me leading a charmed life, but his voice was so . . . so
fraught
, through the material I couldn’t recognize it.”

“But it was the same man who attacked you before?” Sir Jasper asked.

She nodded. “The same man who attacked me in the graveyard.” She hesitated, then went on. “He still held me, but he took away one hand. I heard a scrape . . . I jerked back.” She looked up at Lucifer. “I think he hit me with something.”

With one finger, Lucifer touched the bump behind her ear. He’d discovered it while in the farm cart. “Here.” An inch farther forward—where the murderer had been aiming—and he’d have killed her. As it was, the blow had been glancing.

Eyes too wide, Phyllida looked into his face. “I don’t remember anything more. Not until I woke up in the cart.”

Lucifer would have liked to smile, just a little, to reassure her. He couldn’t. “You were unconscious. He assumed that you’d die in the fire.”

“I nearly did.”

Lucifer tightened his hold on her hand. He looked at Sir Jasper. “I was following Phyllida to the cottage—I smelled the smoke.” He briefly described how he’d found her. “And then, thankfully, the others arrived.”

Head bowed to his steepled fingers, Sir Jasper pondered, then he regarded Phyllida and Lucifer. “The brown hat?”

Phyllida glanced at Lucifer. “I dropped it in the cottage.”

Lucifer shook his head. “I didn’t see it. The smoke was so thick I only found Phyllida by touch. I think we can assume the brown hat is now cinders.”

Sir Jasper addressed Phyllida. “Any sense in making a list of all the local men who wear brown hats?”

“I already did that. Even with the hat in my hand, I couldn’t remember it on any of them.”

Sir Jasper grimaced. “In that case, I don’t think there’s any point raising a hue and cry for a man who wears a brown hat. That would cover half the county. Even
I
wear brown hats.”

“I agree.” Lucifer glanced at Phyllida, then at Sir Jasper. “Much as I hate to say it, we’re no nearer to identifying the murderer than we were when Horatio died. We had the brown hat—I was going to suggest that we take it around the village. While Phyllida couldn’t place it, others might. Cedric even thought it was familiar. But the murderer acted. Whoever he is, he’s clever and able to act decisively under pressure. If we’d started showing the hat around, he might well have been unmasked. Instead, he struck boldly and removed the hat, and nearly removed Phyllida, too. He’s ruthless and very dangerous. And we have no clue who he is.”

“Only,” Jonas said, “that he probably still believes that, at some point, Phyl will remember who owned the hat.”

Phyllida sighed. “The truth is, I never will. As far as I know, the first time I saw that hat was on Horatio’s drawing room table after he’d been killed.”

That conclusion did not make anyone feel more comfortable. Lucifer eventually put their helplessness into words. “All we can do is pray that the murderer realizes that Phyllida is no threat to him.”

Cedric excused himself
and returned to Ballyclose. At Sir Jasper’s urging, Lucifer stayed to dine at the Grange.

The meal was a family affair. All present were subdued, reflecting on Phyllida’s near escape. Even Lady Huddlesford spoke rarely, and then in a quiet tone quite different from her usual imperiousness. The only moment of interest arose when Percy declared he’d decided to leave the next day for “the congenial company of some friends in Yorkshire.” The announcement was met with blank silence, then everyone returned to his meal.

When the ladies retreated to the drawing room and the port was set upon the table, Percy excused himself and retired to pack.

Frederick moved to a chair next to Jonas. “I say, terrible business. Is there anything I can do?”

The question—surely the first intimation that Frederick thought of anything beyond himself—arrested the three other men. Then Sir Jasper harrumphed, but kindly. “Nothing I can think of, m’boy. Nothing to be done—nothing we can do at present.”

Lucifer wasn’t so sure. His gaze on Jonas, he spoke to Sir Jasper. “I wonder, sir, if I might have a private word.”

Jonas rose. “Come on, Frederick. Let’s go pot some balls.”

Frederick murmured his farewells and followed Jonas out of the room.

His face tight with worry, Sir Jasper turned to Lucifer. “Thought of something, have you?”

“In a way, yes. Lady Huddlesford mentioned earlier that you were expecting guests tomorrow.”

Sir Jasper looked blank, then consternation filled his face. “Damn! Forgot. My sister, Eliza, her husband, and their brood arrive tomorrow. They come for a few weeks every summer.” He looked at Lucifer. “Six children.”

“Although I’m sure she’ll declare otherwise, I doubt Phyllida is up to coping with such an invasion at present.”

“Indeed, not—the four girls are a handful. Drive us insane. They tend to cling to Phyllida.”

“Not this time.”

“No. You’re right. Although how to keep them from bothering her . . .” Sir Jasper shook his head. “I won’t hide it from you, m’boy—I’m deuced worried about Phyllida.”

“As am I. Which is why I’d like to suggest that Phyllida stay as a guest at the Manor for as long as this murderer is on the loose, for as long as we have reason to think her in danger. I realize the suggestion is somewhat unusual, but I’ve already made plain my intentions toward her and they haven’t changed. For her part, Phyllida is aware of them.”