Sir Jasper smiled.
"Phyllida?" Lucifer mouthed.
Sir Jasper leaned close and whispered, "Headache. She's resting at home."
Headache. Lucifer drew breath, then nodded and retreated. At the rear of the church, he hovered by the last pew, then turned and quit the church.
Face setting, he strode back down the common even faster than he'd gone up. There was nothing-nothing-to suggest that Phyllida didn't have a headache. Women did get headaches; they also used the term to excuse other, less mentionable ailments. When he reached the Grange and discovered Phyllida laid down upon her bed, he'd be able to accept her indisposition as truth and the nagging worry rising like a tide in his mind would subside.
Until then, with a killer on the loose, focused on her, his imagination was primed and ready to bolt. Reaching the lane, he broke into a lope.
From the church, it was faster to reach the Grange via the lane. Within minutes, he was turning through the gateposts. Gaining the front porch, he rang the bell, then opened the door and walked in. "Phyllida?"
A door opened; Jonas emerged from the library. He stared at Lucifer, consternation showing through his usual benign mask. "She's not with you?"
Lucifer opened his mouth; Jonas stopped him with an upraised hand. "I walked Phyllida to the Manor via the wood. I just got back. She said you don't norma
lly go to church and that you'd be there."
Lucifer grimaced. "Normally, but today I walked up to the church to meet her."
Jonas grinned. Lucifer turned back to the door. "I left Dodswell at the Manor, so there's no harm done." In the doorway, he paused and looked back. "Did she give any particular reason for wanting to see me?"
Still grinning, Jonas shook his head. "Nothing she wanted to share with me. But she was carrying that brown hat, and her reticule, too, and a parasol. I assumed she wanted you to take her somewhere."
"Hmm. No doubt I'll learn where soon enough." With a nod, Lucifer stepped back through the door and closed it behind him.
Take her somewhere. As he strode around the Grange and into the wood, he tried to imagine where Phyllida had in mind. He'd assumed they were at a temporary standstill with their investigations, that they'd need to consider the question of where next. Presumably Phyllida had already done so and had come up with an answer.
He knew where he would like to take her, but that didn't require either parasol or reticule. She didn't normally carry either when visiting the Manor.
He lengthened his stride. A few paces later, he started to jog. The path through the wood was too uneven to risk a flat-out run. The tide of impending panic hadn't receded in the least-it was welling even higher.
He did run through the kitchen garden, slowing only once inside the house. Dodswell met him in the front hall.
One look at his face, and the tide rushed in.
"Thank Gawd." Dodswell held out a note. "Miss Phyllida was here looking for you."
"I've been looking for her." Lucifer unfolded the note. Another note contained within it fell into his hands. Phyllida had written:
L-our tweeny brought this up just before I was to leave for church-she said she answered a tap on the back door and found it on the step. As you will see from the note, it appears we might at last have found Horatio's murderer, or at least someone who knows to whom the brown hat belongs. Molly is Lady Fortemain's seamstress. I intended asking you to accompany me to the rendezvous, however, that was not to be, and Jonas had already left before I realized you weren't here, and I didn't wish to take Dodswell and leave the Manor unguarded. If I haven't returned by the time you come back from church, perhaps you can meet me there, or on the way back. P.
A postscript containing a set of directions followed. Lucifer turned his attention to the other note, the one Phyllida had received. "Miss Tallent" was inscribed on the front in an obviously feminine hand. He opened the note. It read:
Dear Miss Tallent,
As you know, I work at Ballyclose, and I heard as how you was asking after who owned a certain brown hat. 1 know of a gentleman who has lost a brown hat, but I am not sure as it would be right to say who he is, not unless I am sure it is his hat.
I dont want it known, not by anyone, especially not this gentleman, that I am talking to you. I dont get much time away, but I can slip away from the house on Sunday while they are all off at church. If you want me to look at the hat you have and see if it is the one I am thinking of, then if you meet me at the old Drayton cottage during Sunday service, I will try to help you.
Yrs respectfully, Molly
The note looked genuine. The words were carefully inked; it was easy to imagine a seamstress laboring over its composition.
Lucifer waited for his panic to recede. It didn't. Some primitive part of him was on full alert, prodding like some diabolical demon with a fiery prong for him to move-fast. His body was tensed, tight with the need to fly into action.
He swore and juggled the notes.