She stopped at the spot. He hunkered down and showed her what he'd found, the clear impressions made by front hooves neatly shod.
"Can you tell anything from the hoofprints?"
He shook his head and stood. "The back hooves were on harder soil, and the horse was here long enough to shift about a good deal. There's no imprint with any distinctive mark." He frowned, still looking down. "But the shoes are good quality-clean, good lines."
"So it's unlikely to be a workhorse, a plow horse…"
"No, but any decent mount would fit the bill." He moved back, onto the path. Phyllida joined him. Without further words, they strolled toward the Manor.
Temptation whispered; Lucifer ignored it. He glanced at her; there was no evidence of awareness in her face-but then, there rarely was. Her face was a mask; only her eyes would tell him what she was feeling, and she was being careful not to meet his gaze. Being very careful not to touch him as they strolled.
He looked forward and drew in a breath. "Let's hypothesize that on Sunday morning, the murderer rode here, pushed through the hedge, and left his horse waiting at the back
of the shrubbery while he went on to the Manor. Where could he have ridden from?"
"You mean from which towns?"
He nodded.
"Lyme Regis is close, about six miles, but the route is by the coast, so if they'd come from there, they would have ridden through the village." She glanced at him. "Old Mrs. Ottery lives in the cottage by the Bells. She's chair-bound and spends her Sunday mornings looking out over the common. She swears no one rode through the village."
Lucifer eyed her calm profile. "If not Lyme Regis, where else?"
"Axminster is the closest town, but it's not very large."
"I passed through it on my way here. Chard is further, but might be worth considering. I saw a few stables there."
"Chard is the most likely place where someone from outside would hire a horse to ride here. The mail coaches to Exeter stop there."
"Very well. Let's consider nearer at hand. Who rides in from this end of the village?"
She glanced at him; a frown filled her eyes. "The households of Dottswood and Highgate-their lane joins the main lane back by the first cottages."
Lucifer remembered the lane beside the ridge. "Who else commonly rides into the village?"
She hesitated. They'd passed the archway into the shrubbery; the end of the path lay just ahead. "Most of the men living outside the immediate village ride in. Papa and Jonas rarely ride in the village. Silas Coombe and Mr. Filing I've never known to ride at all. All the rest, even Cedric, would normally ride in."
Stepping through the ragged entrance to the path, she halted on the lawn. He followed, glancing around. They were some yards from the main gates, the hedge bordering the lane still to their immediate right. The gravel path leading to the front door started twenty paces away.
He returned his gaze to Phyllida. "Could a man from any of the other estates-not Dottswood or Highgate-easily circle the village and reach the lane at that spot?"
"Yes. Bridle paths link all the lanes, although you'd have to be a local to know them."
No one wanted to think the murderer was a local, yet… "Ignoring that gap in the hedge, could the horse have been ridden to that clearing from the other direction?"
"By coming up the field?" When he nodded, she shook her head. "That field-in fact, all your fields-runs down to the river. The Axe. It's not far and it's too deep to ride across without getting thoroughly wet. To come along this side of the river, they'd have to cross the Grange fields first-a lot of fields, most bordered with briar ditches."
Lucifer looked across the drive to the colorful blooms nodding in Horatio's garden. "So we're looking for some outsider who hired a horse, most likely in Chard, and rode in, then out, or it could have been any of the local gentlemen."
"Bar Papa, Jonas, Mr. Filing, and Silas Coombe. And the other gentlemen who were at church, of course."
He'd forgotten. "Basil and Pommeroy. I haven't checked the others, but that should narrow the list."
Phyllida threw him a glance. "Don't count on it."
Lucifer grinned. He was about to twit her on the comment when the rumbling of a carriage reached them.
They glanced toward the lane, then looked at each other. Their gazes met, held…