Phyllida turned, and watched Mary Anne's face crumble.
"You haven't, have you?"
Taking Mary Anne's arm, Phyllida drew her into the shadows by the house. "Why are you in such a panic? They're just letters. I know you've worked yourself into a pelter over them, but truly, nothing terrible will come of it even if someone else discovers them before I do."
Mary Anne swallowed. "You only say that because you don't know what's in them."
Phyllida opened her eyes wide and waited. She couldn't be sure, but she thought Mary Anne blushed.
"I… I can't tell you. I really truly can't. But"-she was suddenly talking so fast she tripped over her words-"I've had the most horrendous thought." She grabbed Phyllida's hands. "If Mr. Cynster finds them, he'll give them to Mr. Crabbs!"
"
Why would he do that?"
"Mr. Crabbs is his solicitor-he knows him!"
"Yes, but-"
"And even if he only gives them to Papa, now Papa will show them to Mr. Crabbs-they met at the Grange last evening. You know Papa would do anything to stop Robert from marrying me!"
Phyllida couldn't argue with that, but… "I still don't see why-"
"If Mr. Crabbs reads the letters, he'll expel Robert from the firm! If Robert doesn't complete his registration, we'll never be able to get married!"
Phyllida started to get an inkling of what might be in the letters. She wished she could reassure Mary Anne that it really wasn't that serious-not compared to murder. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure herself just how damning the revelations might be-not to Mr. Crabbs.
Mary Anne tried to shake her. "You have to get the letters back!"
Phyllida focused on her face, on the huge eyes overflowing with so much panic it was evident even in the gloom. "All right. I will. But I haven't even seen the desk yet. It's not downstairs anywhere, so I'll have to wait for a time when the upper floors are clear."
Mary Anne drew back, making a heroic effort to reassemble her previous, subdued expression. "You won't tell anyone, will you? I don't think I could bear it if I couldn't marry Robert."
Phyllida hesitated; Mary Anne's eyes widened. Phyllida sighed. "I won't tell."
Mary Anne's lips lifted in a pathetically weak smile. "Thank you." She hugged Phyllida. "You're such a good friend."
Chapter 8
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"What was it you wanted to tell me?" Lucifer glanced at Phyllida, perched beside him on his curricle's box seat. "When we were talking on the terrace last night."
They were on the road to Chard, his blacks pacing eagerly, a picnic hamper in the boot. He'd called at the Grange midmorning and without much difficulty prevailed upon Phyllida to join him on his investigative excursion.
He'd given her a few miles to broach the subject, but she hadn't.
The breeze flicked her bonnet ribbons as she glanced his way, giving him the barest glimpse of her face. "The terrace?"
Her tone suggested she couldn't recall the moment. "You said there was something I should know."
His tone stated he wouldn't forget.
After a moment of tense silence, she lifted her chin. "I have it now. I wanted to tell you that I feel just as strongly over unmasking Horatio's murderer as you do, and that you may count on me for whatever aid I can give."
He narrowed his gaze on the sliver of pale cheek that was all he could see beneath her bonnet rim. Eventually she glanced up, avoiding his gaze. There was nothing to be read in her calm expression. Bowling along with the blacks in an exuberant mood and his hands consequently full, his chances of forcing her to meet his eyes were slight.
He eyed her bonnet with increasing distaste. "I already knew you want to catch Horatio's murderer, and I fully intend to call on you for assistance. I'm doing precisely that at this moment."