The common ended just ahead where the lane leading to the graveyard and the forge joined the village lane. Along the lesser lane lay a row of small houses, bigger than the cottages but not as large as the Manor or the Grange. Each house had its own garden with a fence and a gate.
A gentleman stepped through the nearest gate; in breeches, stockings, and high-heeled shoes, he minced down the lane toward them. In a bottle-green coat with a bright yellow-and-black kerchief tied in a floppy bow and sporting a periwig, the gentleman was unquestionably the most colorful figure Lucifer had seen for many a long year.
He glanced at Phyllida; she was deep in thought, her gaze fixed ahead; she'd yet to see the gentleman.
"I hesitate to ask, but is the gentleman to our right another of your suitors?"
She looked. "No, thank God. Unfortunately, that's the best I can say for him. His name is Silas Coombe."
"Does he always dress like that?"
"I've heard that in earlier years, he dressed as a macaroni. These days, he contents himself with adopting all the extremes of fashion and wearing them all at once."
"A gentleman of independent means?"
"He lives off inherited investments. His main interest in life is posturing. That, and reading. Until Horatio arrived, Silas had the most extensive library in the area."
"So he and Horatio were friends?"
"No. Quite the opposite." She paused as the gentleman neared; he crossed the comer of the common, sparing them not one glance. They continued to stroll; as they left the village behind, Phyllida mused, "In fact, Silas is possibly the only one in the locality who sincerely hated Horatio."
"Hated Horatio?" Lucifer shot her a glance. "Horatio wasn't an easy person to hate."
"Nevertheless. You see, for years, Silas had touted himself as a renowned antiquarian bibliophile. I think it was his ambition, and here in the country there was no one to challenge his claim. Not that it meant anything to anyone else, but it meant a lot to Silas. Then Horatio arrived and exploded his myth. Horatio's library eclipsed Silas's completely and Silas did not know books as Horatio did. Even to us, untutored though we are, the difference was obvious. Horatio was genuine; Silas, a poor imitation."
The Grange drive appeared before them; as they turned through the gateposts, Phyllida drew her hand from his sleeve and turned to face him. "You don't think…?"
He met her gaze. "I don't know what to think. At the moment, I'm merely gathering information."
"Silas is effeminate. I wouldn't think him very strong."
"Weaklings can kill quite effectively-rage can lend strength to the most ineffectual."
"I suppose…" She frowned. "But I still can't see Silas stabbing anyone."
He was silent for a moment, then asked, "So who do you think killed Horatio?"
The question hung between them; she lifted her head and looked him in the eye. "I don't know who killed Horatio."
She enunciated each word clearly. Their gazes held; it was she who turned away. Head high, she continued down the drive. After a moment, he fell in beside her, his stride longer and slower than hers. "Tell me, how many more are there in the locality-people like the Fortemains who would have known Horatio socially?"
"Not that many. You've met about half." They continued strolling down the winding drive, hemmed in by trees on all sides. Phyllida drew in a breath. "Do you seriously think someone from the village killed Horatio?"
She glanced up; Lucifer caught her eye. "Horatio was killed by someone he knew well-someone he let get close to him, well within arm's reach." When she frowned, he added, "There was no sign of any struggle."
Her frown cleared as she remembered; refocusing, she saw the intensity in his gaze and looked away. "Perhaps it was someone he knew from outside-another collector."
"If so, we'll find out. I'll be making inquiries in all the surrounding towns."
They walked on in silence. She felt his gaze on her face. Th
ey'd gone another fifty yards before he asked, "Indelicate question though it is, why, with so many suitors, aren't you married?"
She glanced up but could see nothing in his eyes beyond simple interest. The question was indeed impertinent, yet she felt no compunction in answering; she knew the answer so well. "Because every man who has ever asked for my hand has wanted to marry me to suit his own ends-because having me as his wife would improve his lot. For Cedric and Basil, marrying me would be sensible-I'm suitable, I know the locals, and I could manage their households with my eyes shut. For Grisby, I can add that marrying me would be a step upward socially-he's ambitious in that sphere."
She looked up and discovered Lucifer studying her. After a moment, he asked, "Don't you have any wishes, any requirements of marriage-anything they might provide you?"
She shook her head. "All they can offer is a household and a position-I already have both. Why marry and take a husband when I'd gain nothing I desire in the process?"