Lucifer watched them go. Despite the fact that Phyllida was unmarried and neither the oldest nor the most established lady in the room, it was to her the locals unhesitatingly turned-for reassurance, for order. Her character, her personality, cast her in the role-that calm, collected air of being perennially in control.
The desire to see her in an uncontrolled frenzy surfaced-again. He swiftly doused it and looked away.
"Mr. Cynster." Jocasta Smollet, as haughty as when she'd passed them in the lane the previous evening, approached on the arm of Sir Basil. She extended her hand.
Basil performed the introductions.
"I do hope," Jocasta said, "that you'll be remaining in Colyton for a few days yet. We'd be pleased to entertain you at Highgate-I'm sure there's little else hereabouts to interest a gentleman such as yourself."
If Jocasta's nose rose any higher, she'd tip backward.
"I'm unsure how long I'll be staying." Lucifer watched Phyllida returning through the crowd. She didn't see Jocasta until she was almost upon them. Her smile faded; she changed tack so she could slide past them.
Calmly, he reached out, caught her hand, and drew her to his side. Setting her hand on his sleeve, he looked at Jocasta. "Despite the unfortunate circumstances, I've enjoyed meeting those round about. People have been very welcoming." He glanced at Phyllida. "Miss Tallent has been particularly helpful."
"Indeed?" There was a wealth of meaning in the word. Jocasta drew herself up and stiffly inclined her head. "Dear Phyllida is so good to everyone. If you'll excuse us, I really must speak with Mrs. Farthingale."
She glided away. Basil, embarrassed, didn't follow. He chatted inconsequentially; Lucifer determined that he'd been in church when Horatio had been murdered.
When
Basil moved on, Lucifer looked down at Phyllida. "Why does Miss Smollet so dislike you?"
She shook her head. "I really don't know."
Lucifer glanced across the room. "There are three gentlemen I've yet to meet."
The first proved to be Lucius Appleby. Phyllida introduced them, then left to chat with Lady Fortemain. Lucifer made no effort to disguise his purpose. Appleby answered directly, but was hardly forthcoming.
Collecting Phyllida, Lucifer guided her down the room. "Is Appleby always so reserved? So self-effacing?"
"Yes, but he's Cedric's secretary, after all."
His eye on their next target, Lucifer murmured, "What was Appleby before he became Cedric's secretary? Has he ever mentioned?"
"No. I assumed he always was a clerk or something similar. Why?"
"I'm sure he's been in the army. He's the right age-I just wondered. Now, who's this?"
A moment later, Phyllida said, "Allow me to present Pommeroy Fortemain, Sir Cedric's brother."
Lucifer held out his hand.
Pommeroy's eyes bulged; he edged back. "Ah…" Wide-eyed, he looked at Phyllida. "I mean… well…"
Phyllida sighed exasperatedly. "Mr. Cynster did not murder Horatio, Pommeroy."
"He didn't?" Pommeroy glanced from one to the other.
"No! This is Horatio's wake, for heaven's sake! We wouldn't knowingly have invited the murderer."
"B-but… he had the knife."
"Pommeroy"-Phyllida spoke very distinctly-"no one knows who the murderer is, but the one thing we do know is that it could not be Mr. Cynster."
"Oh."
After that, Pommeroy behaved reasonably, answering Lucifer's questions with, if anything, an overeagerness to please. He'd accompanied his mother to church on Sunday and, he assured them, knew nothing about anything.