"Indeed, yes. Whitticombe's not affected by any puritanical streak. While not jovial, he was at least willing to be entertained. According to Gerrard, Whitticombe spent most of his time chatting with various senior Cynsters. Gerrard thought he was sounding out possible patrons, although for what project remained unclear. Of course, Gerrard's not the most unbiased observer, not when it comes to Whitticombe."
"I wouldn't sell young Gerrard short. His artist's eye is remarkably keen." Vane slanted a glance at Patience, "And he still has the ears of a child."
Patience grinned. "He does love to listen." Then she sobered. "Unfortunately, he heard nothing to the point." She caught Vane's eye. "Minnie's starting to fret again."
"I've set Lucifer on the trail of the pearls. If they've made their way to London's jewelers, he'll hear of it."
"He will?"
Vane explained. Patience frowned. "I really don't understand how they can have so thoroughly disappeared."
"Along with everything else. Just consider-" Vane checked, then wheeled his team for the turn. "If there's only one thief, and, given none of the other stolen items have been found either, that seems a reasonable bet, then all the items are probably hidden in one place. But where?"
"Where indeed? We've hunted all over, yet they must be somewhere." Patience glanced at Vane. "Is there anything more I can do?"
The question hung in the air between them; Vane kept his gaze on his horses until he could keep the words "Agree to marry me" from his lips. Now was not the time-pressing her was the wrong tack to take. He knew it, but swallowing the words took real effort.
"Check Minnie's inmates one more time." At a spanking pace, he set the curricle for the park gates. "Don't look for anything specific, anything suspicious. Don't prejudge what you see-just study each one." He breathed deeply, and flicked Patience a hard glance. "You're the one closest and yet most detached-look again, and tell me what you see. I'll call for you tomorrow."
Patience nodded. "Same time?"
Curtly, Vane acquiesced. And wondered how much longer he could refrain from doing something-saying something-rash.
"Miss Patience!"
Hurrying along the gallery on her way to join Vane, impatiently waiting downstairs, Patience paused, and waited for Mrs. Henderson, deserting her post supervising the maids down one corridor, to join her.
With a conspiratorial look, Mrs. Henderson came close and lowered her voice. "If you'd be so good, miss, as to tell Mr. Cynster that the sand's back."
"Sand?"
One hand to her ample bosom, Mrs. Henderson nodded. "He'll know. Same as before, just a trickle here and there about that heathenish elephant. I can see it sparkling between the floorboards. Not that it comes from the gaudy beast-I took a cloth to it myself, but it was perfectly clean. Other than that, even with these London maids-and Sligo's hired ones with the sharpest eyes in Christendom-we've not spotted anything awry."
Patience would have requested an explanation, if the expression on Vane's face when he'd called and found her in the drawing room, rather than ready, waiting for their drive, had not been indelibly imprinted on her mind.
He was impatient, champing at some invisible bit.
She smiled at Mrs. Henderson. "I'll tell him."
With that, she whirled, and, clutching her muff, hurried down the stairs.
"Sand?" Her gaze fixed on Vane's face, Patience waited for clarification. They were in the park, taking their usual route far from the fashionable throng. She'd delivered Mrs. Henderson's message; it had been received with a frown.
"Where the devil is she getting it from?"
"Who?"
"Alice Colby." Grim-faced, Vane told her of the earlier report of sand in Alice's room. He shook his head. "Heaven only knows what it means." He glanced at Patience. "Did you check out the others?"
Patience nodded. "There was nothing remotely odd about any of them, or their activities. The only thing I learned that I didn't know before was that Whitticombe brought books up from the Hall. I imagined, when he took such immediate possession of the library, that he'd found some tomes there and had settled to a new interest."
"And he hasn't?"
"Far from it. He lugged at least six huge volumes along as luggage; no wonder their coach was straggling behind."
Vane frowned. "What's he studying at the moment-still Coldchurch Abbey?"
"Yes. He goes for a constitutional every afternoon-I slipped into the library and checked. All six books focus on the Dissolution-either just before or just after. The only exception was a ledger, dated nearly a century before."