He unlocked the door and swung it wide. Phyllida entered; Lucifer followed and reset the lock. Turning, he saw Phyllida standing just outside the open drawing room. He joined her as she stepped into the doorway. Slipping an arm around her waist, he held her back against him.
Phyllida crossed her arms over his and leaned back to whisper, "It's peaceful here now-can you sense it?"
He could. He rubbed his chin over the wet silk of her hair. "Horatio's gone to talk to Martha about her pansies."
Phyllida turned her head and smiled. Sliding around in his arms, she touched his cheek. "You're the most fanciful man."
He kissed her, then murmured, "I know what I fancy at the moment."
So did she. Her sigh was just a little skittery, just a touch breathless. "We'd better get upstairs."
"If you insist."
Phyllida led the way with him padding at her heels like some obedient jungle cat. She detoured via the linen press to fetch two large towels, then led him, not to her room, but to his. He made no demur but went past her to light the lamp that sat atop one tallboy.
It was pouring outside. Lightning still flickered and thunder rolled, but the storm front had already swept past. Rubbing her hair with the towel, Phyllida pushed the door shut, then turned-just as Lucifer adjusted the wick so the lamp shed a golden glow through the room.
"Great heavens!" She stared. "That's it!"
She walked toward Lucifer, her gaze fixed beyond him. He glanced around to see what had so excited her. "It, what?" Then the penny dropped and he stared, too.
"Don't tell me it's always been here." Phyllida reached up to lift the traveling writing desk from its perch on the corner of the tallboy.
"All right, I won't tell you," Lucifer replied. "But you didn't say traveling writing desk-I've been looking for something with four legs."
With the polished wooden box in her hands, Phyllida turned. "I must have said…" She caught his eye and grimaced. "Well, maybe I didn't. But I meant a traveling writing desk-I knew what I was looking for."
"Anyway, I thought you'd searched the whole house."
"I didn't search in here. I didn't imagine you'd miss a traveling writing desk if it was sitting in your room. The only other time I've been in here was at night in the dark."
"I didn't miss it-I knew it was there. It just never occurred to me that that's the sort of desk you meant." He studied the box. "Where's this secret drawer? It doesn't look big enough to have one."
"That's why it's such a good hiding place." Phyllida sat on the bed and placed the desk on her thighs; Lucifer sat beside her. "It's here-see?" Running her fingers along one of the back side panels, she found the catch and pressed it. The panel swung outward. Sliding her fingers in, she felt around, then gripped and pulled a sheaf of papers into the light.
She stared at them. "Good Lord!" She dropped the bundle between them on the bedspread.
They both sat, transfixed, not by the bundle of letters predictably tied with a pink ribbon, but by the small rolled canvas that had been tucked in with them.
It had unrolled just a little. Just enough to show the deep browns and rich reds of oils, and part of a hand.
Lucifer recovered first. "Careful-we're both dripping."
Phyllida wriggled off the bed. Lucifer stood and grabbed the second towel. While he rubbed at his hair and mopped his face, Phyllida shut the secret drawer and put the writing desk back on the tallboy. Returning to the bed, she swiped up her towel and dried her hands and reblotted her face, then twisted her hair up in the towel. Then she gingerly picked up Mary Anne's and Robert's letters and deposited them beside the writing desk. "Don't want to get them wet and have the ink run, not after all this."
Lucifer humphed. He joined her as she went back to the bed.
Phyllida eyed the rolled painting, then gestured. "You do it."
Lucifer picked up the canvas; touching only the unpainted edges, he unrolled it.
Even in the lamplight, the jeweled tones glowed. A woman-a lady by the richness of her dress-sat smiling at the painter. Her gown of wine-dark velvet had a square, heavily embroidered neckline; her headdress was a form of wimple, artfully folded. Her forehead was high, plucked, as had been the fashion centuries before.
Phyllida drew in a breath. "This is what was in Aesop's Fables, isn't it? This is the item Horatio invited you down here to appraise. The miniature-the old masterpiece-that Appleby killed three men for."
Lucifer nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't the first to have killed for this lady."
Phyllida looked from the miniature to his face, then back again. "It's genuine?"