That much he'd accomplished. She was fussed over and safe, at least for the time being.
Lucifer turned. Sir Jasper had aged years in the past hour. The lines in his face had deepened; fretful worry had taken up residence in his eyes.
"What's this place coming to, that's what I'd like to know." Sir Jasper set his glass down with a snap. "Dreadful business when a lady can't go to fix the church flowers without being attacked, what?"
Lucifer opened his mouth, then shut it. Again he felt compelled to bite his tongue. Telling Sir Jasper that the attack was not general but quite specific might dampen his concerns as local magistrate, but would only escalate his fatherly fears.
Sir Jasper fixed him with a frowning glance. "From what you said, it seems unlikely this was some itinerant laborer passing through. Not a gypsy or a tinker."
"No. Phyllida's impression that the culprit wore a coat tallies with Jem's description of him being neatly dressed. In Jem's words, 'not a smock or anything shabby.'"
"Hmm." After a long moment of staring into space, Sir Jasper looked at him. "Any chance this attack is connected to Horatio's murder?"
Lucifer looked down into eyes that were very like Phyllida's but had seen a great deal more. "I can't say."
That was the literal truth.
He turned back to the window. He felt even grimmer than his grim expression showed. "With your permission, I'd like to talk to Phyllida tomorrow morning." He glanced at Sir Jasper, meeting his gaze. "There are a number of matters I'd like to discuss with her, and if I could speak with her privately, I think there are various points we might clarify."
Sir Jasper held his gaze, then turned back to his desk. "Privately, heh? Well, you might be right-not easy to get her to open her budget." He paused, then asked, "Should I mention you'll be dropping by to speak with her?"
Lucifer looked out of the window. "It might be better if my visit came as a surprise."
Chapter 12
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Midnight. Phyllida lay in her bed and listened to the clocks throughout the Grange chime. The last echoes died and left her in silvered darkness.
She'd slept through half the afternoon, then, after dinner, she'd been harried and hounded until, simply to gain some peace, she'd retired early to her room and her bed. She'd slept. Now she was wide awake.
Nothing hurt. The scrape on her calf and the bruise on her arm were distant irritations.
Her thoughts were more tortured.
Being shot at across a field was something she'd been able to push aside-despite the evidence of the horse Lucifer had uncovered, it could still have been a hunter. Being shot at was distant; she hadn't seen her attacker.
At the church, she hadn't seen him, but she'd felt him.
Felt his strength, and known the threat was real.
Fear. She could still taste it at the back of her tongue. She'd never known real fear before-not here in her peaceful, maybe not quite happy but content, existence.
That existence was under threat; she felt it like cold iron at her back. Her life was not something she'd thought of before-she'd taken it for granted. Just like all those around her. How ironic.
She didn't want to die. Especially for no reason. Especially at the hands of some cowardly murderer. Lucifer had been right. The murderer obviously thought she knew more than she did. He was after her in earnest.
Dragging in a breath, she held it, forced the chill from her skin, waited until the shivery tremors had died. She couldn't go on like this-she hated the sense of not being in control, of
not being safe. She hated the taste of fear.
So-what to do?
It should have been an easy question; thanks to her promise about Mary Anne's letters, it was anything but. Phyllida lay on her back and stared up at the shadows dancing on her ceiling.
She would bet her best bonnet Lucifer would be back tomorrow morning; this time, he wouldn't let be. He'd insist she tell him all, and if she refused, he would speak to her father. She felt confident in predicting how he would react, certainly in those circumstances where honor and duty ruled. He might be many things, a reprobate, a rake, an elegant charmer of questionable constancy, but at his core he was a gentleman, one of the highest caliber.
It would not be in his lexicon to allow her to endanger herself-that was how he would see it. That, for him, would be the crux of the matter, regardless of how she felt.