Leaving the letters for Covey to take to the Red Bells for collection, he'd wandered up here.
He'd chosen this room because of the windows, the light. The room Horatio had occupied, similarly large but at the back, was shady and quiet.
Here, the front windows looked over the flower garden, the drive, and the gates to the lane, while the side windows gave views of the shrubbery, the lawns, and the lake. Between the side windows sat a large four-poster bed invitingly arrayed with plump pillows and a rich red-and-gold tapestry bedspread. Curtains of the same fabric were gathered at the four corners and tied back with tasseled gold cords.
All the furniture gleamed; the faint scent of lemon polish hung in the air.
Walking to the window facing the common, Lucifer gazed out, mentally assembling a plan, one that didn't involve pressuring Phyllida Tallent into telling him all she knew. She could come to trust him of her own accord; he refused to seduce her into it.
Shaking aside all memories of last night, including the hours during which he'd been unable to sleep, he focused on the lane. He recalled driving into the village, halting, and looking around… he'd seen no horse or carriage, no one on foot… How had the murderer left the scene?
"If by horse…" Crossing to the side window, he studied the shrubbery.
Two minutes later, he was striding across the side lawn. The shrubbery entrance was wide but shaggy; inside, the hedges were overgrown. Making a mental note to speak to Hemmings about hiring more help for the grounds, Lucifer pressed on along a path leading, he hoped, to the lane.
He discovered an archway in the hedge running parallel to the lane. Pushing through, he found himself on a narrow path winding between the shrubbery hedge and the hedge bordering the lane. Topping him by more than a foot, both hedges were so poorly tended that arching new growth met and tangled overhead. Even though the path was wide enough to walk freely, when he'd stopped in his curricle only yards farther along the lane, he hadn't had any inkling this path was here-it had appeared that the shrubbery hedge and the lane hedge were one and the same.
Presumably the path started by the Manor's drive. Turning, Lucifer paced in the other direction.
He found what he'd suspected he might just beyond the shrubbery. The side and back shrubbery hedges met in a corner; a grassy area wide enough to accommodate a horse lay between the back of the shrubbery and a briar-filled ditch marking the edge of a paddock. Hard by the lane, the ditch closed over and the path led on, hugging the lane hedge to swing out of sight around a bend.
Turning his attention to the grassy area, he looked, then squatted and parted the grass to study the impressions in the earth beneath.
A horse had stood there, not long ago. He didn't think it had rained since Sunday. As the grass sprang back, he saw that some tufts had been chomped. So-a horse had stood there recently, for at least a little while. Why?
There seemed only one likely answer.
Lucifer rose and continued along the path. He was out of sight of the shrubbery when he came upon a place where the lane hedge had partly died. There was a gap, wide enough for a horse to push through.
Twigs were snapped on both sides of the gap. He twisted one free and studied it. It had broken, not this morning, not even yesterday, but not long ago.
From the other side of the hedge came a rustle of skirts, a quick, light step. Lucifer looked up. His senses prickled.
The steps halted. A small hand appeared, fingers extended to touch a broken twig.
The owner of the hand stepped into the gap.
She gasped and nearly stepped back when she saw him.
Lucifer stared at her.
Phyllida stared back.
For one wild moment, her consciousness of their kiss in the night flared in her eyes; he felt the same awareness tug, hot and strong, in his gut. Then she blinked and looked down-at the twig he still held in his fingers. Her gaze swung up to his face. "What have you found?"
Sharing would make her trust him sooner. He glanced back down the path. "I think a horse was ridden through here and left waiting at the back of the shrubbery."
She pressed into the gap, craning to see; the curve of the lane prevented that. "The back of the shrubbery?"
"There's a clearing there."
"Show me." She began to push through the hedge. Branches grabbed at soft curves protected only by her delicate blue gown.
"No!" He waved her back. "Use your parasol as a shield."
She looked at him inquiringly. He showed her how; holding the open parasol before her, she maneuvered through the hedge without sustaining any serious damage. Shaking out her skirts, she raised the parasol again. "Thank you."
He said nothing but waved her down the path; it wasn't his pleasure-he wasn't at all sure he wanted her this close, alone and private again. He had to keep reminding his rakish senses that she was more innocent than her behavior painted her. Not an easy task when he could all too clearly remember the sensations of her lips on his, her tongue… He shook his head. "The clearing's beyond those briars."