The hours that followed were a confusion of sounds perceived through a haze-her lungs felt tight, dizziness threatened, she couldn't stand or speak, she could barely move, not even her head. Her eyes burned, but at least she could see-at least she was still alive.

Every time her mind touched on that, she wept-tears of joy, of relief, of emotion too overwhelming to contain.

Her father was shocked, shaken. She tried to reassure him but had no idea if what she said was even coherent. Jonas carried her upstairs, but it was Lucifer who lingered, leaning over her bed, stroking her hair back from her face. Behind him, Sweetie, Gladys, and her aunt rushed and fussed and spoke in whispers. Lucifer leaned close, his face soot-streaked, his expression softer than she'd ever known it.

He touched his lips to hers. "Rest. I'll be here when you wake. Then we'll talk."

Her lids drifted closed of their own accord. She thought she nodded.

Evening shadows were playing across her room when she awoke. For long minutes, she simply lay there, thrilled by the fact of being alive.

With the help of Sweetie and her aunt, she'd stripped off her ruined clothes, then bathed. She'd had Sweetie snip the scorched locks from her hair. Gladys had produced a salve. After annointing every minor burn and scorched spot, she'd donned a fine cotton robe and lain down on her bed.

They'd left her and she'd slept. It had been like falling into a deep well, black, soundless, undisturbed.

She felt a great deal better. Gingerly, she eased up to sit, then, encouraged, swung her legs over the side of the bed. Holding onto the bed, she stood. Her limbs seemed in working order. A twinge here and there, the scorches and bruises, too, but nothing incapacitating.

A cough caught her, rasping pain gripped her lungs. She clung to the bed, struggling to master her breathing. Her throat felt scorched; it hurt to breathe other than shallowly. If she drew a deeper breath, coughing threatened.

Once the paroxysm faded, she straightened and walked, carefully, to the bellpull.

Her little maid, Becky, came up. Twenty minutes later, Phyllida felt human again-resurrected. In a gown of soft lavender trimmed with a flounce and a narrow band of darker ribbon, with a gauzy scarf around her throat and perfume dabbed liberally, hair neat and sleek once more, she felt ready to face what lay beyond her door.

The maid opened it for her. Before she could cross the threshold, Lucifer was there.

He frowned. "You should have rung. I would have-" He stopped, then grimaced. "Got Jonas to carry you down."

Phyllida smiled; with her heart and soul in her eyes, she smiled into his. Then she let her gaze roam, drinking in the fact that he, too, had rested and recovered. He was wearing a coat of that particular shade of dark blue that best set off his eyes and made his hair appear blacker than jet. The sight erased a lingering worry in her heart; only with its easing did she realize it had been there.

"You shouldn't be walking."

His voice was rough and raspy. She studied his hard face, then calmly said, "Why not? You are."

He scowled, trying to read her eyes. "I wasn't knocked unconscious."

She raised her brows. "Was I?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm conscious now. If you'll just give me your arm, I'm sure we'll manage."

He did. He hovered solicitously down the stairs and all the way to the library, but, as she'd predicted, they managed perfectly well.

Pausing before the library door, she let her gaze linger on his face. Raising a finger, she traced his cheek, as she first had two weeks ago. "When we work together we're invincible."

She'd intended the comment to refer to their descent; hearing it, she realized it applied to much more.

She lifted her eyes and he met them, his blue gaze steady. He trapped her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm. "So it would appear."

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then reached past her and opened the library door.

Her father rose as they entered. So, too, did Cedric. Jonas was standing by the long windows.

"My dear!" Sir Jasper came forward, hands outstretched, concern very evident in his face.

Phyllida put her hands in his. "Papa." She returned his kiss. "I'm feeling much better, and I really should tell you what happened." Her voice was as raspy as Lucifer's.

"Humph!" Sir Jasper looked at her, shaggy brows drawn down. "You're quite sure you're up to it?"

"Quite sure." Retaking Lucifer's arm, she allowed him to steer her to the chaise. She nodded to Cedric.

Handing her to the chaise, Lucifer murmured, "I thought Cedric should be here-there are points he might be able to help us with."

Phyllida nodded and settled back. Before she could blink, Lucifer lifted her ankles and swung her feet up. Previously, she'd have glared and swung them back down. Now she just wriggled into a more comfortable position.

"Well, then." Clearing his throat, her father sat in a nearby chair. "If you're determined to explain it tonight, we'd better start, heh?"

"Perhaps"-Lucifer took the chair beside the chaise-"to save Phyllida's throat, I could fill in the background, then she need only describe the events only she knows."

Sir Jasper turned his gaze expectantly to Lucifer. Cedric, in another armchair, did the same. Jonas held to his position by the windows, his attention fixed on Lucifer.

Lucifer settled back. "To begin, there are some elements in our investigations which concern others not implicated in Horatio's murder or the subsequent attacks on Phyllida, but to whom we, Phyllida and I, owe a certain measure of confidentiality." He looked at Sir Jasper. "If you will accept some of our discoveries without detailed explanations of how we made them, then we can preserve those confidentialities without prejudicing our account."

Every inch the magistrate, Sir Jasper nodded. "Sometimes that's the way of things. If mentioning unnecessary details will trouble someone who has done no wrong, then there's no need for me to know."

Lucifer nodded. "On that basis, then. Phyllida saw a hat at the murder scene soon after the murder, but later that hat disappeared. Bristleford and the Hemmingses never saw it. It was not Horatio's. When the attacks on Phyllida became obvious and concerted, she concluded that the hat would identify the murderer-or so the murderer believes. There's nothing else Phyllida knows that could explain the murderer's interest in her."

"Did Phyllida recognize the hat?" Sir Jasper asked.

Lucifer shook his head. "She has no idea whose hat it is, but even though she has obviously not remembered-given she's raised no hue and cry-as evidenced by his continued attacks on her, the murderer's convinced she will, at some point, recall, and she's therefore a continuing threat to him."

"How did the murderer know Phyl had seen the hat?"

The question came from Jonas; Lucifer turned to look at him. "We don't know. We can only assume that, from hiding, he saw her take note of it."

Turning back to Sir Jasper and Cedric, Lucifer continued. "Phyllida kept her eyes open for the hat-a brown one. Simultaneously, I was pursuing the idea that something in Horatio's library was behind his death. For instance, some information hidden in a book that the murderer wished to hide. We found such information. Unexpectedly, we also found the brown hat.

"Both the information and the brown hat led us to Cedric, but when we confronted him with both, it was quickly proved that he wasn't the murderer. The hat didn't fit, and the information wasn't as vital as it had seemed. Cedric also has a solid alibi for the time when Horatio was killed. We established all that yesterday, by which time it was evening.

"This morning, before church, Phyllida received this note." Lucifer drew the note from his pocket and handed it to Sir Jasper. Sir Jasper read it, then, his expression hardening, passed it to Cedric.

Sir Jasper looked at Phyllida. "So you didn't have a headache?"

Phyllida colored and shook her head. "Molly asked for no one to know. I got Jonas to take me to the Manor, intending to show only Lucifer and have him escort me to the cottage."

"But I wasn't there-I'd gone to look for Phyllida."

"I assumed," Phyllida said, "that the note was genuine, so when Lucifer wasn't at the Manor, I went on to the cottage alone, reasoning that I'd be safe, as the murderer could not know I was out, walking that way."

Cedric handed the note back to Sir Jasper. "Whoever wrote it, it wasn't Molly. She's in Truro visiting her family, and, on top of that, the girl doesn't read or write much above a few words. Mama's forever lamenting that she has to make the lists of stuffs to buy herself."

"So," Lucifer continued, "someone wrote the note making sure it looked innocuous, unthreatening, but also believable. Phyllida knew Molly; we'd found the hat near the back of Ballyclose Manor. No one saw who left the note here-Jonas checked with the staff indoors and out."

Sir Jasper humphed. "Whoever he is, he's clever and very careful not to be seen."

"Which suggests," Jonas put in, "that if he was seen, most people would know who he was."

Lucifer nodded. "My thoughts exactly. It's someone widely known in the village. That's inescapable."

"So what happened next?" Sir Jasper addressed the question to Phyllida. All eyes swung to her.

She drew in a breath, careful not to make it too deep. "I reached the cottage. The front door was open as if someone was waiting inside. I went in, calling for Molly, but there was no reply. I went into the parlor and stopped just inside the door. There was no one about…"

Phyllida had to stop to take another breath, to break the hold of the paralyzing fear, to remind herself she'd survived. Lucifer rose and came around the chaise to perch on the back. He reached down and took her hand, his fingers curling over hers. She glanced up-his expression was closed, but she drew strength from his touch.

She looked at her father. "I was about to turn back to the door. A black cloth dropped over my head. Hands closed around my throat and squeezed-I struggled, but it was no good. He held on, but the cloth was too thick-he couldn't strangle me through it."

Lucifer glanced down. There were bruises about her throat, just blossoming, largely hidden by the scarf she'd wound around her neck.

"He… I think he lost his temper. He swore and muttered about me leading a charmed life, but his voice was so… so fraught, through the material I couldn't recognize it."

"But it was the same man who attacked you before?" Sir Jasper asked.

She nodded. "The same man who attacked me in the graveyard." She hesitated, then went on. "He still held me, but he took away one hand. I heard a scrape… I jerked back." She looked up at Lucifer. "I think he hit me with something."

With one finger, Lucifer touched the bump behind her ear. He'd discovered it while in the farm cart. "Here." An inch farther forward-where the murderer had been aiming-and he'd have killed her. As it was, the blow had been glancing.

Eyes too wide, Phyllida looked into his face. "I don't remember anything more. Not until I woke up in the cart."

Lucifer would have liked to smile, just a little, to reassure her. He couldn't. "You were unconscious. He assumed that you'd die in the fire."

"I nearly did."

Lucifer tightened his hold on her hand. He looked at Sir Jasper. "I was following Phyllida to the cottage-I smelled the smoke." He briefly described how he'd found her. "And then, thankfully, the others arrived."

Head bowed to his steepled fingers, Sir Jasper pondered, then he regarded Phyllida and Lucifer. "The brown hat?"

Phyllida glanced at Lucifer. "I dropped it in the cottage."

Lucifer shook his head. "I didn't see it. The smoke was so thick I only found Phyllida by touch. I think we can assume the brown hat is now cinders."

Sir Jasper addressed Phyllida. "Any sense in making a list of all the local men who wear brown hats?"

"I already did that. Even with the hat in my hand, I couldn't remember it on any of them."

Sir Jasper grimaced. "In that case, I don't think there's any point raising a hue and cry for a man who wears a brown hat. That would cover half the county. Even I wear brown hats."

"I agree." Lucifer glanced at Phyllida, then at Sir Jasper. "Much as I hate to say it, we're no nearer to identifying the murderer than we were when Horatio died. We had the brown hat-I was going to suggest that we take it around the village. While Phyllida couldn't place it, others might. Cedric even thought it was familiar. But the murderer acted. Whoever he is, he's clever and able to act decisively under pressure. If we'd started showing the hat around, he might well have been unmasked. Instead, he struck boldly and removed the hat, and nearly removed Phyllida, too. He's ruthless and very dangerous. And we have no clue who he is."