Vane frowned, then he shook aside the idea. Probably just a curious-or smitten-maid.
He looked out of the windows. The west wing was on the opposite side of the house from the ruins. But the sun was steadily descending; Gerrard's rare morning light was long gone.
A tingle, an unnerving touch of premonition, slithered down Vane's spine. Vividly recalling the sight of Gerrard's easel and stool, but no Gerrard, Vane swore.
He descended the stairs much more rapidly than he'd climbed them.
His expression bleak, he strode through the hall, down the corridor, and out through the side door. And halted.
He was an instant too late in wiping the grim expression from his face. Patience, strolling in company with her harem, had instantly focused on him; alarm had already flared in her eyes. Inwardly, Vane cursed. Belatedly assuming his customary facade, he strolled to meet her.
And her harem.
Penwick was there. Vane gritted his teeth and returned Penwick's nod with distant arrogance.
"Minnie's resting," Patience informed him. Her eyes searched his. "I thought I'd get some air."
"A sound notion," Penwick pronounced. "Nothing like a turn about the gardens to blow away the megrims."
Everyone ignored him and looked at Vane.
"Thought you were going riding with young Gerrard," Henry said.
Vane resisted the urge to kick him. "I was," he replied. "I'm just going to haul him in."
Edmond frowned. "That's odd." He looked back at the ruins. "I can imagine he might miss lunch, but it's not that easy to put off the pangs this long. And the light's almost gone. He can't still be sketching."
"Perhaps we'd better mount a search," Henry suggested. "He must have moved on from where he was this morning."
"He could be anywhere," Edmond put in.
Vane gritted his teeth. "I know where he was-I'll fetch him."
"I'll go with you." Patience's words were a statement. One look at her face told Vane arguing would be wasted effort. He nodded curtly.
"Allow me, my dear Miss Debbington." Unctuously, Penwick offered his arm. "Naturally, we'll all come, to make sure your mind is set at rest. I'll have a word or two to say to Debbington, never fear. We can't allow him to so heedlessly overset you."
The look Patience sent him was scathing. "You'll do no such thing. I have had quite enough of your attempted interference, sir!"
"Indeed." Seizing opportunity, Vane seized Patience's hand. Stepping forward, brushing Penwick aside, he drew her around. And set off for the ruins at a clipping pace.
Patience hurried beside him. Eyes scanning the ruins, she made no protest at having to half run to keep up.
Vane glanced down at her. "He was set up on the far-side, beyond the cloister, facing the abbot's lodge."
Patience nodded. "He might have forgotten lunch, but he wouldn't have forgotten an engagement to ride with you."
Glancing back, Vane saw Edmond and Henry, throwing themselves into the excitement of a search, turn aside, Edmond heading for the old church, Henry for the opposite side of the cloisters. They, at least, were being helpful; Penwick, on the other hand, followed doggedly in their wake.
"Regardless," Vane said, as they reached the first crumbling wall, "he should have been back by now-the light's gone, and the angles would have changed by lunchtime."
He helped Patience over a patch of uneven stones, then they hurried along the west side of the cloister. Henry had just gained the east side. In the nave, they could hear Edmond, his poet's voice ringing, calling for Gerrard. No answer came.
Reaching the far wall, Vane helped Patience up onto the line of toppled stones from which she'd fallen so many nights before. Then he turned and looked toward the abbot's lodge.
The scene he beheld was as he'd seen it earlier. Precisely as he'd seen it earlier.
Vane swore. He didn't bother apologizing. Jumping down, he lifted Patience down to the old flags. Her hand tight in his, he headed for Gerrard's easel.