Only those involved were privy to their plans. The more people who knew, the more likely someone would inadvertently do or say something to tip the murderer the wink. They’d agreed not to assume that Appleby was the murderer; their net was designed to cover all eventualities.
They’d decided on a simple scheme. Phyllida would be safe while surrounded by the entire village, yet Lucifer and Demon had been adamant that she and Flick should at all times stay together, and that both should wear their wide-brimmed villager hats, one tied with a lavender scarf, the other with a blue one—easy to spot in the crowd.
Lucifer and Demon shared the watch on their ladies and on Appleby. In the latter case, they were careful to do nothing overt. Lucifer introduced Demon and left him chatting. Subsequently, they passed Appleby in the crowd, exchanged a word if appropriate, but gave no indication that he remained always under observation. They were the only ones they trusted to do the job right.
Jonas had been assigned to idly wander about, keeping his eyes peeled for any unusual behavior in any of the other men, however unlikely. He conscripted a number of young ladies to aid him in disguising his intent, but behind his easygoing facade, he remained watchful and alert.
The others had the hardest task. Dodswell, Demon’s groom Gillies, Covey, and Hemmings rotated the watch on the house, two of them watching at all times, one at the back, one at the front. They lay concealed in the shrubbery and the wood, but they had to change the guard frequently so that each appeared often among the crowds at the fete.
As the day wore on, the heat became oppressive. Phyllida introduced Flick to the local ladies; moving about the field, they chatted easily. Again and again, by a look, a veiled reference, the thoughts behind a pleased smile, it was borne in on Phyllida that the change Lucifer had wrought was complete.
She might not have answered any question or spoken any vow, yet she was, by her actions and her thoughts—her very desires—already his wife. The little changes in her station, the adjustments in the ways the other ladies related to her, were already made. The consensus seemed to be that her recent brush with death, combined with the lingering presence of her would-be murderer, more than excused a period of waiting before any banns were read. None doubted the wedding would come shortly.
Yet what had changed most was herself. She felt it inside her as she smiled and listened to the continuation of stories she’d heard developing all her life. She’d drawn back from them, not shutting them out, but they were no longer the central focus of her life; they’d moved to the periphery, where they rightly belonged. Her life was no longer an accumulation of theirs—their joys and sorrows, their problems, their needs. She’d started making a new life, one for herself and Lucifer at the Manor.
For the first time in her twenty-four years, she felt truly at one with the role that was hers to play—no regrets, no unfulfilled wishes, no nebulous yearnings.
After lunching on delicate sandwiches washed down, courtesy of Ballyclose Manor, with glasses of champagne, she and Flick helped Mr. Filing with the children’s races, then, nothing loath, they supervised some games.
“I’m melting.” Flick tipped her hat back from her face. “Even though I know why they wanted us to wear these hats, I’m quite glad we did.”
“Easier to manage than a parasol.” Phyllida saw Jonas cruising past with one of the local misses hanging on his arm. She caught his eye and raised a brow—he returned her look with his usual benign expression.
“What’s the word?” Flick asked, looking the other way.
“Jonas knows nothing.” Phyllida turned to look in the same direction and sighed. Heavily. Through clenched teeth. “If nothing happens today, I swear I’ll scream. At the very least, I’ll have hysterics.”
Flick chuckled. “You’ll shock everyone to their toes if you do.”
Phyllida humphed. She saw Mary Anne and Robert through the crowd. They’d stopped and spoken with her earlier. Although they’d inquired about the letters, they’d accepted her lack of progress without panic. It was almost as if they’d finally realized that the letters were only a minor matter—nothing to get hysterical about.
Nothing to compare with a possibly multiple murderer.
The day wore on.
Then Appleby stopped beside the Ballyclose butler, said a few words, then strode off, openly making for Ballyclose Manor. Lucifer and Demon watched him go.
“To circle around, perhaps?” Demon suggested.
Lucifer nodded. “Most likely.”
They parted and moved through the crowd. They visually checked their respective ladies but didn’t approach. They worked steadily back through the throng, heading to where, standing by the church’s side and concealed in its shadow, they could look down on the Manor.
That was their aim, but before they gained the graveyard, Oscar pushed through the crowd and caught Lucifer’s sleeve. “Some’at you need to know.”
Lucifer collected Demon with a glance and stepped back, a little away from all the others. “What is it?”
“Well—“ Oscar stopped as Demon joined them.
“My cousin,” Lucifer said. “You can speak freely.”
Having taken stock of Demon, Oscar nodded. “Right. Well, I’ve just received this message, and it’s left me in a quandary, like. I don’t know as whether Miss Phyllida has explained about the gang that works out of Beer?”
“She said they were all but legendary in the annals of local smuggling.”
“Aye, well, they’re the real thing, no doubt whatsoever. Hardnosed lot, but we’ve always rubbed along well enough, and now they’ve sent me a message. Says a person contacted ’em about a passage ‘cross the Channel—‘parently it has to be tonight. Beer hasn’t got a cargo lined up for tonight, but they knew we generally would, so they told this cargo where to meet up with us on the cliffs. All straight enough, but as you know, the vessel we’ll be meeting is a legitimate trader, not a smuggler’s boat. The Cap’n won’t want no truck with any suspicious passenger.”
Oscar glanced to where Phyllida and Flick stood talking to three young girls. “Didn’t rightly want to bother Miss Phyllida with such a matter, and I don’t know as how Mr. Filing would be much help, neither.”
Lucifer frowned. “Quite. Are you running a cargo tonight?”
“We should’ve been.” Oscar looked at the ever-darkening horizon. “But I’m doubting we will. That bugger’s going to sweep right over us. Ain’t none of us going to be putting out in the teeth of that.”
“In that case, let’s see what happens—“ Lucifer broke off as Thompson pushed through and joined them.
Winded, Thompson struggled for breath. Excitement rippled through him. “Got ‘im! M’boy just told me a horse was brought in with a loose rear left shoe this morning. The lad forgot, what with the fair. I just ducked back to check—it’s the same horse. I’ll take my oath on it.”
“Who owns it?”
“Ballyclose Manor. Not one of Sir Cedric’s—one of the general hacks. I collared the groom who brought it in. He says no one’s been riding this one much that he knew of. Just Mr. Appleby now and then.”
Demon glanced at Lucifer. “Is that enough?”
Lucifer’s smile was all teeth. “I think so. Let’s find Sir Jasper—”
“Cynster! Where the devil are you, man?”
Both Lucifer and Demon turned. Cedric came barreling through the crowd. He saw them, waved, and plowed toward them. Jocasta Smollet hurried after him. Others, anticipating some sensation, quickly gathered.
“It’s Appleby, man—Appleby!” Cedric halted, puffing, before them. “Just got the word from Burton, m’butler. Appleby told him he’s off home—touch of the sun. Silly blighter came with no hat. That’s when I remembered. The hat! The hat Phyllida said was the murderer’s hat. It’s Appleby’s. Seen it in his hands times without number, but I rarely saw it on his head. Just put it together. He hasn’t been wearing a hat since Horatio was killed.”
“That’s correct,
sir,” Burton, the Ballyclose butler, stated. “While I cannot vouch for the particular hat in question, Mr. Appleby has not worn a hat for some time.”
“I’m fairly certain Cedric’s right,” Jocasta put in. “I didn’t get a good look at the hat that day, but I do know Appleby was forever doffing his—quite the gentleman in his way. He hasn’t worn a hat for the past several weeks.”
“We’re going after him.” Cedric straightened and looked around. “Hue and cry—that’s what we need! We’ll round him up and haul him back here to Sir Jasper.”
“Excellent idea!” Basil surprised everyone with his vehement agreement. “We’ve plenty of men here—he won’t escape this time.”
Cedric blinked, but nodded. “Right, then! Finn, Mullens—come along, lads.”
Basil was already collecting his workers. Grisby, too, was gathering his forces to join the swelling throng. The crowd was awash with exclamations and gabbling.
Sir Jasper strode through. “Cedric! What’s this? There’s to be no summary justice, you hear?”
“I know, I know—we’ll truss him up and bring him back to you, and then we can hang him.”
A rousing cheer rose. Before anything more could be said, the assembled congregation was off, streaming like a tide after Cedric, Basil, and Grisby, cresting the lip of the field, then pouring over, heading for Ballyclose Manor.
“He won’t be there,” Demon muttered.
“Assuredly not.” Lucifer turned as Phyllida and Flick, having been deserted by the children, came up. Other than their small group and the older ladies and village women, the fete field was bare.
Sir Jasper eyed Lucifer, shrewd suspicion and certainty in his gaze. “Now, what’s afoot?”
“We believe,” Lucifer said, waving their group toward the church, farther from the remaining ladies, “that Appleby, if, as now seems likely, he’s our murderer, will make another attempt to get at Horatio’s books. That’s what he’s been after all along. To that end, we’ve purposely left the Manor vacant and the doors unlocked.”
“A trap, heh?”
“Oh, no!”
They all turned. Mrs. Hemmings was staring round-eyed at Lucifer. “What is it?” he asked.
“Did you say that that murdering Mr. Appleby will be going to the Manor?”
“So we believe. But it’s empty—”
Mrs. Hemmings was shaking her head. “ ‘Tisn’t. Amelia went back a while ago—too hot for her, it was.”
Lucifer frowned. “Amelia?”
“Oh, God!” Phyllida grabbed his arm. “Sweetie!”
Lucifer looked at Phyllida. “She went back?”
“Apparently. I had no idea.”
“She left nearly an hour ago,” Lady Huddlesford put in. “Quite wilting, she was, but she didn’t want to cause any fuss, so she just slipped away.”
Lucifer cursed beneath his breath. Grim-faced, Demon waved them up the rise. “We’d better get a move on.”
They started up the slope. Before they reached the church, Jonas came pelting around it. He skidded to a halt. “Filing. He just went into the Manor. I saw him come up this way, then I realized he hadn’t come back, so I went to check—I just glimpsed him going through the front door.”
“Filing?” Demon said. “Where the hell does he fit in?”
“God knows, I’m sure,” Lucifer muttered, “but I suggest we’d better go and find out. In case you haven’t noticed, our simple plan has got holes shot through it.”
“Never did trust plans.” Demon locked his fingers about Flick’s elbow as they rounded the church.
“Oi!”
They halted again. Dodswell came lumbering up from the Rectory. “Where’re you off to?” He scrambled up the path to join them. “I just came to tell you that Appleby arrived and went in the back. He came through the wood. He’s been inside for a good fifteen minutes or more. I had to come round by the shrubbery to stay out of sight.”
Lucifer and Demon exchanged glances. “Right.” Lucifer looked down the slope. “Only one thing for it—we go in and invent as we go.”
He considered their assembled company. As well as himself, Phyllida, Demon and Flick, Jonas, Sir Jasper, and Dodswell, they had Lady Huddlesford, Frederick, and the Hemmingses.
“All of us go in—there’s enough of us to make him feel too pressured to try anything clever, but not enough, if we all keep calm, to make him panic.” He looked at Frederick and Lady Huddlesford, then at Jonas and Sir Jasper. “One thing—if you’re coming down there with us, you must do nothing except what I tell you to do. At this stage, we just want to get Appleby out of the Manor and get Sweetie back without her, or anyone else, being harmed. No heroics. Agreed?”
Everyone nodded.
At the last, Lucifer met Phyllida’s gaze.
“I’d never do anything to risk Sweetie.”
Lucifer grasped her hand. “Naturally not.” He looked at the others. “Let’s go.”
They reached the duck pond and saw Covey dodging through the trees. Dodswell waved him over.
“Miss Sweet came home,” Covey gasped. “Before I could come to warn you, I saw Mr. Filing up by the church looking down. Then he came down, and I couldn’t get out. He’s gone in, too.”
Lucifer nodded. “Join the crowd. We’re going in to sort this out.”
It wasn’t quite the same as leading a charge, but with Demon at his shoulder and Phyllida and Flick at their backs, it had much the same momentum. Lucifer pushed open the Manor gate, uncaring of its squeak. He strode up the main path and rounded the fountain—
“Stop right there!”
He halted. All the others formed up behind him.
The figure of Lucius Appleby was just visible in the shadows of the front hall. Locked before him, held captive in one arm, Sweetie in her pale gown was more easily seen. Light glinted off the blade of a knife.
“Can you see it?” Appleby asked.
“Yes.” Lucifer didn’t need to say anything else; his tone was enough.
“If you do exactly as I say, she won’t be harmed.”
“We’re prepared to do that.” Lucifer spoke calmly. “What do you want us to do?”
“File in, single file, slowly.”
Phyllida grabbed the back of Lucifer’s coat and refused to let go; Demon shot her a scowl and stepped behind her. They all followed Lucifer over the front step and into the cool of the Manor’s front hall.
“Stop.”
They did, blinking as their eyes adjusted. Phyllida focused on Sweetie. Her old governess’s eyes were so wide she looked goggle-eyed, her face so pale it was the same bone-ivory hue as her fussy, frilly summer gown. Appleby had one arm about Sweetie’s shoulders, trapping her against him; as he pulled her back down the hall, she moved stiffly. In his other hand, Appleby held a wicked-looking knife.
A groan drew all eyes deeper into the hall. By the stairs, Mr. Filing lay prone; as they watched, he struggled onto one elbow. A trickle of blood ran down his chin.
Some of them started forward—
“Stop!”
They all froze at Appleby’s shout. He looked down the line. “You. Covey. Help the meddling curate.”
Covey hurried down the hall; he bent and struggled to help Mr. Filing to his feet. Jonas snorted. With an unimpressed glance at Appleby, he strolled out of the line toward Filing. “Covey can’t manage alone.”
Appleby glared at him. Jonas returned the glare with his best blank expression. Appleby’s lips tightened. “Very well. Just get him to his feet and keep up with the rest.”
Appleby pulled back to stand almost against the wall to the right of the drawing room door. “Inside.” He gestured with his head. “But stay in line and move slowly.” He raised the knife and laid it against Sweetie’s exposed throat. “You don’t want to make me nervous.”
“No,” Lucifer said. “We don’t.”
Appleby looked into his face. “Line up along the wall of bookshelves opposite the windows.”
They did.
Jonas and Covey helped Mr. Filing into the room. Appleby followed with Sweetie. “Perfect.” He scanned their number. “There’s two of you to a bookcase. I want you to search for a particular book—Aesop’s Fables. You’ll need to pull out each book and look inside the cover—some of the covers are fakes. Look at every book.”
They all stared at him.
“Get to it,” he ordered. “Now! I haven’t got all day—Miss Sweet hasn’t got all day.”
They all turned to the bookshelves. Phyllida lifted a hand to a tome and caught Lucifer’s eye. She raised a brow—they, Demon and Flick, Jonas and Covey, all knew Aesop’s Fables was in the dining room. With a nod, Lucifer indicated the books. He pulled out the first volume on the top shelf.
Phyllida started on the middle shelf. Beside her, Flick and Demon also started pulling tomes.
After a few minutes of silence, Lucifer glanced over his shoulder. “Why don’t you let Miss Sweet sit down?” He waved at a straight-backed chair closer to the windows. “You’re far enough away from us to still use her as your shield. And if she doesn’t sit down soon, she might faint, which none of us would want.” His gaze had fastened on Sweetie’s wide eyes; he’d emphasized the word “none.”
Appleby heard it. “Indeed. That wouldn’t be at all helpful—not to any of us.” He gauged the distance to the chair, then shuffled Miss Sweet to it. Before he released her, he looked at them. “Keep searching!”
They all turned back to the shelves.
Lucifer continued to pull books out and study them, then return them to the shelf. Phyllida pulled books out and shoved them in; her gaze lingered on Lucifer’s face. She saw him exchange glances with Demon. She followed the exchange back and forth. It was as if they were communicating without words—as if their thoughts in such a situation were obvious, at least to each other.
Phyllida looked at Flick. She, too, had noted the silent communion. She met Phyllida’s gaze and gave a helpless shrug—she didn’t know what they were thinking, either. Flick went back to removing books; Phyllida did the same.