The following morning feels like a conspiracy by the universe to prevent Phyllis from talking to Mr Molesley. She wakes up feeling sick and dizzy with what she thinks must be the aftereffects of the sleeping draught, and has to lie in bed so long waiting for it to pass that she is late to breakfast, arriving just in time to see Molesley push his chair back and rush off to answer a ringing bell. With Mrs Hughes' eagle eye resting heavily on her, she forces down a few spoonfuls of porridge and then goes up to wait on Lady Grantham, who has fully recovered from her headache and is ready with a long list of requests that keep her busy until lunchtime, when her Ladyship sets off for the Dower House with a miserable-looking Lady Edith in tow.
By then, Molesley is upstairs serving lunch to the rest of the family, and immediately afterward, Mr Carson sends him off to do an errand that seems to drag on forever, leaving Phyllis to sit in the hall and sort restlessly through her coloured threads and embroidery silks. An hour crawls past before she can't bear it any longer, and decides to walk out as far as the lane and see if she can catch him coming back. The cold is still fierce, and the clouds rolling in from the north hint darkly at more snow, but the exercise clears her head, and by the time she spots Molesley's tall shape in its familiar grey overcoat, she feels almost normal. He's trudging along with a brown-paper-wrapped parcel tucked under his arm and his eyes fixed on the path, but then he glances up and sees her, and his glum expression melts into a surprised smile.
"There you are. I've been looking for you all day."
"I've been looking for you too." She falls into step with him. "I've got so much to tell you."
She goes through the whole story while they walk the rest of the way up the lane and across the lawn, and finishes up just before they reach the entrance to the yard, with the account of Reginald building what looked like a burial cairn.
"Why would he hide the body, though?" Molesley asks. "It was an accident, Edwin dying, and with their treasure gone, it's not as if anyone could accuse Reggie of doing away with him for it."
Phyllis shrugs, at a loss. "He was so upset, perhaps he just wasn't thinking clearly, or perhaps he felt guilty about Edwin's death. He did have some part in it, you know, even if he didn't hit Edwin over the head or push him into the water. Edwin was frightened of him, and that's why he fell, and why he wouldn't just take Reggie's hand when he had the chance. Well, and because he wanted to protect the box and what was in it."
"The coins," Molesley says. "What did it look like, the one you saw in the dream?"
"Have you got something I can draw on?"
With his free hand, Molesley fumbles awkwardly in his coat pockets and pulls out an old bill and a chewed stub of pencil. He offers Phyllis the flat surface of the parcel as an impromptu writing desk, and she turns the bill over to the blank side and draws an irregular circle.
"It was lopsided, not perfectly round, and it looked like silver. Tarnished, but not completely black yet. I only saw the back of it, but there were two daggers pointing down, like this—" She sketches the daggers in. "There was a sort of dome-shaped thing between them, and a dotted line around, and an inscription." Underneath the drawing, she writes EID MAR in neat, careful capital letters. "The way Reggie talked, I suppose the box must have been full of them, before it went into the lake."
Molesley frowns over her drawing. "It looks like some sort of Roman coin, but that's nothing so special. You can hardly turn over the earth for a new garden plot without digging up one or two of them. Maybe we can ask Mr Dawes at the school..."
"No!" The word comes out sharper than she means it to, and she deliberately softens her tone to explain. "I don't think we should let it get about in the village. Someone might think we'd found something we had no right to and were keeping it, and next thing you know the police would be here asking questions. I don't want that."
"Well, someplace further away, then," Molesley says. "Ripon, or even York. I've never looked for a coin shop there, but I'm certain there must be one. The only thing is, I haven't got a day off coming for a while, and with the mood Mr Carson's in, I don't think I ought to ask. Not that I wouldn't like to get away from Barrow for a bit. He's had me polishing things I didn't even know existed."
"I might be able to do it." Phyllis tucks the bill and pencil back into his pocket for him and automatically straightens the drape of his coat, the same way she does for Cora. "Her Ladyship mentioned going to buy Christmas presents for the children, and I'm sure she'd take me with her if I asked. She likes to have me along when she's shopping anyway, to choose material for sewing."
"When is she going?"
"Soon, I think," Phyllis says. "Oh—someone's coming."
They both stand aside as Jimmy comes striding through the gate, wrapped up warm against the cold, and holding a lead with an excited dog straining at the end.
"Hello, Miss Baxter," he says to Phyllis, and then to Molesley, "It was your turn to do the afternoon walk, I'll have you know."
"Mr Carson sent me to fetch this," Molesley protests, indicating his parcel, but Jimmy grins and waves a dismissive hand.
"I don't mind. I'd rather be out here in the fresh air than in there with people after me all the time. You had better get in, though. It won't be long before Carson's looking for you."
"Thanks," Molesley says gloomily, and Jimmy laughs, whistles to the dog, who is sniffing Phyllis's shoes, and walks on.
"You should go, if you can," Molesley says when Jimmy is out of earshot. "It could only do you good to get out of this house for a day, someplace where that thing in the attic can't get at you. I'm afraid it's wearing on you just by being there."
"I can't stay away from the attic forever," Phyllis says. "Learning about the coin is all well and good, but I don't see how it gets us any closer to finding the box. I need to tell Edwin what I saw in the dream; what happened to him and what his brother did afterward."
"But you can't." Molesley looks horrified. "It hurt you the last time. You can't take any more of that."
"I've got to, though," Phyllis says. "It's all a circle, don't you see? The more I tell him, the more he remembers, and the more detailed the dream gets. Sooner or later we're bound to get to something that will give us a clue where to look for the box."
"Maybe," Molesley says, "or maybe something awful will happen to you. Even it—the thing—"
"Edwin."
"All right, if you like, even Edwin said you needed to heal before it—before it did that to you again." Impulsively, he reaches out and clasps her hand in his. "You don't have to sacrifice yourself for it, Miss Baxter. Help it, yes, but not at your own expense. You're worth more than that."
"I'm not," Phyllis says. The sincerity on his face shames her so badly that she lowers her gaze; looks at their joined hands instead. Sometimes, she thinks, it is almost a burden to be held in such high regard.
"You are to me," Molesley says. He holds on a moment longer and then turns her loose. "What can we do?"
Phyllis pulls her knitted scarf closer round her neck and cups her hands over her nose and mouth, hoping warm breath will thaw her face a bit.
"I'll go up and tell him what we've learnt," she says, slightly muffled. "He can understand me; it's only I can't hear him unless—you know. I won't let that happen until after I've found out about the coin."
"Will it listen to you if you tell it not to?"
"I think so. He doesn't mean me any harm, not really." I hope, she thinks, but does not add. "And I'll ask her Ladyship about going into York, if you'll help me find the name of a place where I might ask about the coin. I can do a better sketch than that one and take it along to show."
"Of course," Molesley says, and shifts Mr Carson's parcel to his other arm. "I suppose I'd better get this inside before Jimmy comes back and sets the dog on me. She's a vicious thing."
Phyllis smiles, knowing full well that Isis lets the children climb on her and pull at her ears and put their fingers in her mouth, all without the slightest hint of a growl or snap. "Yes, you had better. And I'll see you at the table later."
Molesley goes through the gate past her, heading into the house, and she tips her head back and looks up at the high pitch of the roof where she knows Edwin is waiting. To Molesley he is still a ghost, an it, but now that she has seen his human shape lying sad and broken and empty on the pebbled lake shore, she can't help but think of him by his name. He had been so very young, and so afraid, and he hadn't deserved to die that way, far from home, or to endure his lonely existence for so many years afterward. For the first time, she wants to help him for his own sake, not only to secure her freedom. She knows Molesley is right and she must protect herself too, but surely there is a way to do both.
Mulling it over, she turns and walks slowly through the yard, toward the warmth of the kitchen, and high above her, a pale shape that has been lingering at one of the attic windows turns too, and drifts away.