"I didn't get hit," she grumbled, but she let him look.
Her hair lay like mahogany silk, sleek and undisturbed-no wound. He imagined the way her bonnet would sit, then touched his fingers to her hair. Grit, very fine, came away on the pads of his fingers. He sniffed them. Powder-the bullet had come that close.
He looked back at the field. The path didn't run directly across but angled away toward the river. "Did you hear anything? Glimpse anyone?"
"No, but…" She lifted her head. "I ran. Silly, I know, but I just did."
Running might have saved her life. He said nothing, just drew a breath and held it until his violent reaction faded. She'd been walking this way; the only possible place of concealment was a copse on the far side of the field.
"I'll walk with you to the Grange."
The glance she shot him said she felt she should protest. Instead, after a moment's hesitation, she inclined her head and acquiesced.
Sir Jasper was out when they reached the Grange. Lucifer delivered Phyllida into Gladys's hands, making sure, despite Phyllida's dismissive remarks, that Gladys understood that her mistress had had a severe shock.
He left with Phyllida glaring at him; he didn't care. She was safe.
He strode back to the Manor via the wood, and was pleased to find Dodswell had arrived with the rest of his horses. Dodswell had paced the string well; they had enough in reserve to go for a quick gallop.
Taking Dodswell with him, he rode back to the copse. Dismounting at the edge of the field, they tethered their mounts while he told Doswell what they were looking for.
They found it close by one side of the copse, the side screened from the walking track.
"Just the one horse." Dodswell examined the hoofprints in the rain-softened earth. "Nice, clean front shoes."
Lucifer stared at the ground farther back. "I can't find any impressions of the back hooves."
"Nan. That turf there's too thick, more's the pity."
Grimly, Lucifer nodded at the hoofprints they had found. "What do you make of them?"
"Decently looked-after horse, fresh shoes, no nicks or cracks, well-filed hooves."
"A gentleman's horse."
"A horse from a gentleman's stable, anyway." Dodswell studied Lucifer's face. "Why are we interested?"
Briefly, Lucifer told him of the horse that had stood at the back of the Manor's shrubbery. Told him who had a hole in her bonnet. He didn't tell him why.
"Wasn't no hunter. What would they be shooting at? No quail or skeet yet, and they'd be too far from the wood for pigeons. Rabbits won't be out at present." Grim-faced, Dodswell scanned the area. "Nothing here to shoot at."
Only one female given to solitary walks and addicted to doing good deeds by a regular schedule. Lucifer looked at the hoofprints and tried to ease the tension in his shoulders. "Let's get back. We've learned all we can here."
Bristleford was waiting when he walked into the front hall.
"Mr. Coombe has called, sir. I put him in the library."
"Thank you, Bristleford." Lucifer walked straight to the library door and opened it. Silas Coombe jumped back from one of the bookshelves, his hand raised. Lucifer would have wagered Horatio's entire collection that Coombe had been fingering the gold-encrusted spines. Face impassive, he nodded, shut the door, and stalked to the desk. "Gold leaf doesn't wear all that well-but then, you'd know that, wouldn't you."
He arched a brow at Coombe, who drew himself up and tugged at his waistcoat; its black-and-white horizontal stripes made him appear more rotund than he was.
"Oh, quite. Quite! I was just admiring the tooling." He approached the desk.
Waving him to a chair, Lucifer sank into the one behind the desk. "Now-to what do I owe this pleasure?"
Coombe sat, making a great show of settling his coattails. Then he looked at Lucifer. "Naturally, I feel Horatio's loss keenly. I daresay I'm one of the few hereabouts who truly appreciated his greatness."
A wave indicated the room about them; Lucifer was left in no doubt that in Coombe's eyes, Horatio's greatness had resided in his possessions. Coombe's gaze drifted along the shelves. "It must be quite puzzling to you that someone would spend his life gathering all these mu