Inwardly, she grimaced. She wasn't, to her mind, acting honorably at present-she was caught on the prongs of an honor-induced dilemma, damned if she did and damned if she didn't.

"Is Lady Huddlesford planning a long stay?"

Phyllida replied; conversing with Basil was always stultifying, given there was no chance of any challenging surprise. Mundane topics were Basil's specialty, but at least he was innocuous.

That changed when Cedric came charging up, much in the manner of a lowering bull. His short neck contributed to the unflattering image.

"I say, come and talk to Mama." Cedric grasped her elbow. "She's on the chaise"

Phyllida stood her ground despite his tug. "Did Lady Fortemain ask to speak with me?"

Cedric's face darkened. "No, but she's always pleased to speak with you."

"I daresay." Basil's expression turned as haughty as his sister's. "Miss Tallent, however, might prefer to converse with someone who actually wishes to converse with her."

Miss Tallent would prefer an empty room. Phyllida swallowed the words. "Cedric, what were you doing last Sunday morning?"

Cedric blinked at her. "Sunday? While Horatio was being murdered?"

"Yes." Phyllida waited. Cedric responded well to directness. Subtlety was entirely beyond him.

He glanced at Basil, then back at her. "I was doing the accounts." He paused, then added, "In the library."

"So you were in the library at Ballyclose all morning?"

He nodded, his gaze straying to Basil. "From before Mama left until after she got home."

Phyllida artfully sighed. "So you couldn't have seen anything."

"Seen what?"

"Why, whatever there was to be seen. The murderer must have slipped away somehow." She glanced at Basil. "You were in church." She looked from one to the other. "Of course, you do both hire laborers who might have been out and about-or their children. Papa would be very grateful for any information."

"I hadn't considered that." Basil drew himself up. "I'll ask around tomorrow."

"So will I," Cedric growled.

"If you'll excuse me, I must have a word with Mary Anne." Phyllida left Basil and Cedric scowling at each other. If any of their farm workers had seen anything useful, she could be assured they would learn of it and come to lay the information at her feet.

She'd glimpsed Mary Anne and definitely wanted to speak to her, but Mary Anne didn't want to be spoken to. Short of chasing her around the room, there was nothing Phyllida could do. Robert had returned to Exeter. Halting, she considered the crowd, wondering who else she might conscript. Would anything be gained by enlisting the ladies of the village?

"Miss Tallent. I've been waiting for an opportunity to speak with you."

Whirling, Phyllida came face-to-face with Henry Grisby. "Good evening, Mr. Grisby." She inwardly sighed; she'd managed to avoid him thus far.

Henry bowed. "My mother sends her greetings. She heard about the recipe for gooseberry tart that you gave the Misses Longdon. Mama wondered if you'd be so kind as to share the recipe with her."

"Of course." Phyllida added it to her mental list. Recipe for cough syrup for Mrs. Farthingale; speak to Betsy Miller, one of Cedric's tenants who Lady Fortemain believed was having difficulties; recipe for Mrs. Grisby; letters for Mary Anne; one murderer for Lucifer.

Henry tried to catch her eye. "My mother would be deeply honored if you would call at Dottswood."

Phyllida looked at him. Henry's eyes met hers, then slid away. "I don't think that would be appropriate, Henry." He would be deeply honored; Mrs. Grisby would not.

He regarded her challengingly. "You call at Ballyclose and Highgate."

"To visit with Lady Fortemain and old Mrs. Smollet, both of whom have known me from the cradle."

"My mother's lived here all your life, too."

Tags: Stephanie Laurens Cynster Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net