All About Love

Chapter 20

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The day of the fete dawned still and clear. Throughout the morning, men and boys lugged boards and trestles up the common and over the rise. Thompson and Oscar helped Juggs roll two heavy barrels slowly up from the lych-gate, then down the slope behind the church. By nine o'clock a steady stream of women, gaily dressed in bright gowns and aprons, were ferrying all manner of foods up in baskets.

By eleven o'clock, when the Manor household climbed the common, a heat haze had formed-there was not a breath of wind to blow it away. The air lay heavy against the skin, almost cloying. Pausing beside the church on the highest point of the rise, Phyllida looked toward the horizon. "We'll have a storm tonight."

Lucifer followed her gaze. The horizon was smudged charcoal gray. "Looks like a big one."

Jonas nodded. "Our storms are something to experience. They sweep in from the Channel with a magnificent rush."

In the dip behind the church, the villagers and all the surrounding families were gathering. The Manor folk descended, exchanging greetings, introducing Demon and Flick; they merged with the throng and, as they naturally would, parted. They each had their roles to play.

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 Rick, 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.

A minute later, Lucifer murmured, "Was this volume of Aesop's Fables the reason you killed Corporal Sherring?"

Despite the fact that he'd murmured, his voice carried through the room. He turned to glance at Appleby; Phyllida did the same.

Appleby's face was a mask of blank astonishment. His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. "How did-" He broke off. "It hardly matters now." He paused, but couldn't stop himself. "How did you learn of it?"

"Hastings saw you do it." Demon glanced around, then looked back at the shelves.

"He never said anything."

"Hastings is a decent man." Again Demon glanced at Appleby. "He couldn't conceive of the sort of man who would kill his closest friend."

Appleby stiffened. "Sherring was a fool. A provincial nobody with a father rich from trade. They'd bought their way into a title and an estate-and all the luxuries that went with it. I was born better than him, but I would never have had half of what would have been his."

"So you arranged to even the score?" Like Demon, Lucifer continued to methodically search. The others glanced at them and followed suit.

Having everyone so steadily occupied calmed Appleby. "Yes, in a way. But they showed me how-he and his father. The night before the last battle, letters were brought around. I never had any, of course, so, thinking to be kind, Jerry Sherring read his aloud. His father had filled his library with expensive books and his gallery with valuable paintings.

"His heir, Jerry's older brother, cared not a fig for anything but hard coin. The old man was in failing health, but, almost on his deathbed, he'd made a fantastic discovery. He'd stumbled on a miniature by an old master. He was sure it was genuine, but wasn't strong enough to follow it up. He didn't want his heir to know of it and sell it off cheaply, so he hid it until Jerry, who felt as he did, could return from the war and help him."

"So he hid the painting in the book?" Lucifer glanced around briefly.

"Yes." Appleby stood directly behind Sweetie. Although clearly swept back into the past, he was too close to the chair for Lucifer to attempt to overpower him. "It was all there in the letter. The old man even warned Jerry to tell no one of it. Jerry didn't consider that he'd read the letter to me."

"He trusted you."

"He was a fool-he trusted everyone."

"So he died."

"On the battlefield. He would most likely have died there anyway. I just made sure of it."

"And then you accompanied his body back to his family, playing the grieving friend." Lucifer glanced along the shelves. The others remained facing the books, but their searching had slowed; all were following the tale. "So what went wrong?"

"Everything-everything that could." Appleby's tone turned bitter. "It took two weeks to get free of the army and across the Channel, then all the way up to Scunthorpe. The Sherrings lived beyond that. I arrived to discover the father dead and the brother already in possession."

"I'm surprised that was a problem."

"It wasn't in itself, but the brother's wife was an unexpected complication."

"Women often are."

"Not in that way." Appleby's tone was contemptuous. "The damned female was a tightfist, just like the brother. They'd known Jerry would kick up a fuss over selling the father's collections, so they'd had the dealers around before the old man was cold in his grave. They'd sold the Aesop's Fables."

Lucifer looked at Appleby. "You're not going to tell me you've been searching through all the collections in England?"

Appleby laughed, but the sound wasn't humorous. "If necessary, I might even have done that. Nevertheless, as has happened repeatedly in my search for this treasure, hope gleamed in the darkest hour. The brother's wife had a list of those she'd invited to the sale of the library. Fifteen collectors and dealers. I spun her a tale of wanting to buy some book of Jerry's as a memento and she gave me the list." He laughed again, bitterly. "Like everything in my life, that list was a boon and a burden rolled into one."

Lucifer turned back to the shelves. "The list was alphabetical?"

"Yes!" Appleby's temper exploded in a threatening hiss. "If I'd started working on it in reverse, I would be a hugely wealthy man today. Instead, I followed the list."

"That, I assume, accounts for the unexpected demise of Mr. Shelby of Swanscote, near Huddersfield."

Silence held sway for a long moment, then Appleby said, "You have been busy." Lucifer said nothing, nor did he turn around. Eventually Appleby continued. "Shelby would have lived if he hadn't been such a suspicious old coot. He caught me in his library one night. If he'd simply walked in, I'd have been able to slide away-I had an excuse ready. But he stood there and watched me search for some time. After that, I had to kill him.

"I could never let any of them suspect I was searching for anything-that's why it's taken me five long years to reach Welham's library. In every one of the fourteen other cases, I had to find a job, sometimes with the collector, which made life easier, but often in the neighborhood, then learn enough about the collector's household to know when I could search. I've become an expert on reading dealers' disposal ledgers. That was always the first thing I checked. But none of them has sold that book and the painting hidden in it has never surfaced-you may be sure I kept my ear to the ground over that. I know the book's here, and the painting's still inside. You're going to find it for me-I'm going to have it in my hands tonight."

There was a feverish intensity in Appleby's last words that had everyone exchanging glances. With a sigh, Lucifer turned. "If that's the way it is, then… we've already finished cataloguing this room. And the library. There's no copy of Aesop's Fables in either room. False covers, yes, but not the book."

Appleby considered him through narrowed eyes.

Lucifer waved toward the library. "If you'd like to look at the inventory…"

"No, that won't be necessary, will it?" Appleby's eyes were slits, but his tone was more confident. "You just want me out of here, don't you? You're so damned rich you don't give a damn about any painting, old master or not."

"I wouldn't go quite that far, but the painting certainly doesn't rate against Miss Sweet's life, which brings us to much the same point."

Appleby studied Lucifer's face, then nodded. "Very well. Which room do you suggest we search next?"

"I'd take the dining room next. The back parlor seems to run more to garden, household, and recipe books."

They'd all stopped searching and turned; Appleby ran his eye along the line. He drew a tight breath. "We'll move in reverse. I'm going to back out of the door, then I'll wait in the front hall. I want you to file out, single file still, cross the hall, and go into the dining room."

Pulling Miss Sweet to her feet, he held her to him and backed out of the door. Everyone followed, trooping silently along. Toward the rear of the line, Phyllida stared at the door, then glanced at the shadowy space behind it and the huge halberd standing there.

"No," Lucifer whispered. "We don't need it-all we need to get Sweetie free is that volume of Aesop's Fables."

Phyllida frowned, but shuffled past the halberd and out of the room.

As they filed into the dining room with the big table in the center and bookcases all around, Appleby waved the ladies to one side and the men to the other. Phyllida hesitated; Lucifer squeezed her fingers, then let her go. His last words ringing in her mind, she made for the bookcase by the corner window. Ironic that in this house of bookcases, the one that housed the vital volume was the one Appleby had passed most often, the one by the window with the faulty latch. Phyllida started searching along the shelves; Flick searched the bookcase beside her.

Appleby retreated to a corner of the room, pulling a chair from the table and pushing Sweetie onto it. He had a wall of bookcases at his back, the door at some distance, and Mrs. Hemmings was the closest person-no threat.

Once they were all settled, Lucifer asked, in a mildly conversational tone, "How did Horatio die?"

"It was an accident. I never meant to kill him. I didn't even know he was in the house. I didn't hear him come downstairs and along the hall-his feet were bare, so there was no sound. He was suddenly there, in the doorway, asking what the devil I was doing. He'd seen me searching. I rose and walked toward him. He was a fair size and in reasonable health-I didn't think I could strangle him. He stood there and watched me come. Then I saw the letter knife on the table." He paused, then said, "It's surprisingly easy if you know how."

"Why did you try to kill Phyllida?" Sir Jasper turned, frowning, then forced himself to continue searching.

"Miss Tallent?" There was laughter in Appleby's voice. "That was such a farce, with her stumbling on the body and then Cynster coming in and the halberd falling. I was so strung up I nearly laughed aloud. I saw her notice the hat, but then she bolted. When I left the house, hat and identity still concealed, I knew that no matter what happened, no matter what hurdles appeared, I was meant, in the end, to have that painting. I'd be able to live like I was meant to live-in reasonable comfort, like a gentleman."

"So why go after Phyllida?" Jonas asked.

"She came back for the hat."

Phyllida turned to stare at Appleby. He smiled, tightly. "I was in the hall when you asked Bristleford about the hat. You hadn't forgotten it-you weren't going to forget it."

"But I didn't know whose it was."

"I could hardly rely on your faulty memory continuing faulty. You'd seen me often enough wearing the wretched thing-it was the only hat I had. Of course, with Cynster here to fill your eyes and your mind, you were distracted enough not to remember, but you might have at any time."

Lucifer caught Phyllida's eye and frowned-she shut her lips on the information that she'd never noticed Appleby enough to remember his hat. She turned back to the bookshelves.

"I'd got rid of the hat immediately, of course. I stuffed it in a hedge at the back of Ballyclose. Later, I got to thinking, so I went back to find it and burn it, but it was gone. I assumed some tramp had taken it. I thought I was safe, or would be once I ensured Miss Tallent didn't remember whose hat it was."

"So you tried to shoot her."

"Yes." Appleby's voice tensed. "Then I tried to strangle her. All that did was make Cynster keep a closer watch on her, but I hoped it was also frightening her enough to keep her from remembering me. I tried to get at her again during the Ballyclose ball-I suspected she might search Cedric's hats. My plan didn't work, but then… she got me to walk out onto the terrace and around the corner with her, asking after Cedric… I could hardly believe my luck. I almost strangled her and hid the body in the bushes, but people might have seen us leave the ballroom together. Then Cynster arrived. I had to watch her walk away again."

Phyllida glanced, briefly, at Lucifer.

"Then she found the hat. Worse, she took it to Cedric. If I didn't act immediately, I'd be found out. So I wrote the note from Molly, knocked Phyllida out, and set the fire.

"The hat burned, Phyllida didn't." Appleby's tone was terse. "I gave up trying to kill her. At least the hat was gone-she had no proof to connect me with anything. But you'd put locks on this house, and there was still the possibility that suspicion would turn my way. I obviously had to act boldly and decisively to bring my search to a rapid and successful conclusion. The fete gave me the perfect opportunity. So here we are."

After a moment, Lucifer said, "You meant to take a hostage."

"Of course. It was the only way to get the job done-too risky to search a shelf or two at a time. I want that volume of Aesop's Fables in my hands before nightfall."

Phyllida's tongue burned with the need to ask why. She glanced at Flick, and saw the identical thought in her eyes. They both drew breath, then turned their attention back to the shelves and continued pretending to search.

Silence fell, broken only by the steady shuffle and thump as books were hauled out, then returned to their places. After some minutes, Phyllida glanced across the room. Lucifer caught her eye; he nodded.

Phyllida moved across the bookcase as if starting on the next shelf, and slid out the brown, buckram-covered tome whose spine bore the title Aesop's Fables in simple gold lettering. She weighed the book in her hand, then opened the cover-she could see where Lucifer had lifted a corner of the front cover paper. She pressed her fingers into the thick cover; there was a softness behind the paper. Lucifer had said he'd checked; she trusted he'd known what he'd been doing.

Shutting the book, she marveled that such an innocent-looking thing could be responsible for three deaths. For depriving Lucius Appleby of his sanity. Certainly his humanity. It had nearly accounted for her, too.

Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her head and looked across the room at Appleby. "I believe this"-she held out the book-"is the volume you seek."

Appleby nearly stepped forward, nearly stepped away from Sweetie, but at the last he pulled back. He couldn't read the title. He stared at the book hungrily, then licked his lips. He flicked a glance at Lucifer and Demon. "Everyone stay still." Appleby tugged Sweetie to her feet, then locked his arm about her shoulders as before, the knife in his right hand. He nodded at Phyllida. "Hand the book to Mrs. Hemmings, then retreat to where you are now. Everyone else, stay where you are."

Phyllida did as he asked. Mrs. Hemmings turned to Appleby. He beckoned her forward with the knife. "Give the book to Miss Sweet."

Mrs. Hemmings approached cautiously, then pressed the book into her old friend's trembling hands. "There, now."

Mrs. Hemmings stepped back.

"Good." Appleby glanced briefly down at the book. He was shaking. "Open the front cover."

Sweetie fumbled but did so. His gaze on Lucifer, Demon, and the other men, Appleby grasped the cover, not looking but pressing his fingertips into the concealed pocket. A fleeting expression of unutterable relief, of flaring victory, traversed his face, then his expression blanked.

He closed the book. "I want all of you to move to the end of the room, up against the bookcases."

Lucifer hesitated, then moved down the room. The others followed. All except Lady Huddlesford. She stood her ground.

"Miss Sweet is nearly done in." Lady Huddlesford lifted her chin; she had never looked so imperious. "If you want a hostage, take me."

Miss Sweet blinked. Trapped against Appleby like some poor, innocent bird, she peered at Lady Huddlesford and visibly rallied. "Why, thank you, Margaret. That's a very kind offer, but…" Despite Appleby's arm, Sweetie straightened her spine. "I believe I'll manage. It's quite all right, really."

Lady Huddlesford considered, then inclined her head. "If you're sure, Amelia." With that, she swung majestically around and joined the others.

"If that's settled"-Appleby's voice sounded strained, wild excitement mingling with something closer to panic-"we'll leave you. I'll take Miss Sweet as far as the wood. I'll hear any footsteps long before you reach us. If I do, things will not go well for Miss Sweet. However, if you remain precisely where you are until she returns to you, you have my word she will not be harmed." He paused, his gaze flicking over Lucifer, Demon, Jonas, Sir Jasper-if he was searching for understanding, there was none to be had. "I never meant to kill anyone, not even Jerry. If there'd been some other way…" He blinked, then straightened. Pulling Sweetie with him, he shuffled sideways to the door. "I will kill anyone who gets in my way."

"We'll wait here." Lucifer kept his voice calm and steady, as he had throughout.

Appleby nodded. "In that case, I'll bid you farewell."

Under his breath, Lucifer murmured, "Au revoir."

They waited. With a raised hand, Lucifer stopped anyone from moving. "He's on the edge-we're not going to give him any reason to panic."

Minutes crawled past. They heard the scrunch of gravel, the sound dying away as Appleby dragged Sweetie through the kitchen garden toward the wood. They exchanged glances but no words. They were all thinking of Sweetie.

Then came a patter on the gravel, drawing closer to the house. It was so light a sound, they were too afraid to imagine it was footsteps. Then the baize door at the back of the hall banged the wall; in a rush of pitter-patter steps, Sweetie appeared in the dining room doorway.

"He's gone!" She fluttered her hands furiously. "Away through the woods he ran!" She flung out an arm in the general direction of the wood-then fainted.

Lucifer caught her before she hit the floor. He carried her into the drawing room and laid her on the chaise.

Later, when she recovered and told her story to the assembled ladies of the village, Miss Sweet was, for the first time in her life, the heroine of the hour.