Fabian offered a weak smile. “Then we must hope she is acting against her will.” He gripped Mackenzie’s shoulder. “What choice do I have? It would take hours to search the island. You know that.” The sharp stabbing pain in his chest returned. “Damn it all. The man is out for revenge as well as money. If Doyle has taken her to the mainland, we might never find her. I have to follow his instructions to the letter.”
Mackenzie’s expression darkened. “Then there is no time to waste.”
Vane did not ask Fabian how he happened to have five hundred sovereigns to hand. When one lived on an island, a vault was the next best thing to a bank.
The three men, with Ursula in tow, hurried to the dock, commanded a rowboat and headed across the water to Branscombe. They were all soaked to the skin, the torrential downpour hindering their visibility and speed.
“Are you married to a sailor?” Vane asked Ursula as she sat clutching a blanket around her shoulders while they put every effort into reaching the shore.
“No, my lord.” Ursula batted her lashes and moistened her lips. Vane was one of those men who only had to breathe to capture a woman’s attention. “I’m a widow, have been these last four years.”
“And so you work as a maid?”
“I do.”
“I’m surprised one of Ravenscroft’s men hasn’t made you an offer.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Having once married a man who can drink his weight in ale, I’d prefer to fend for myself.”
Fabian knew what Vane was doing. He was testing her, looking for a reason to distrust her word.
“Is it not rather lonely?”
“Why, anyone would think you want to steal his lordship’s staff away.” For a woman who feared for her mistress, she seemed rather jovial.
“Perhaps I am.” Vane flicked a lock of damp hair from his brow. “So, you’re not a woman who likes being controlled by men.”
“That depends on the man and what you mean by control, my lord.”
Mackenzie muttered something incoherent as he heaved the oars.
They rowed in silence, but Fabian could almost hear the cogs working away in Vane’s mind.
When they were but ten feet from the shore, Mackenzie climbed out and dragged the boat up onto the shingle beach.
Vane climbed out. “Allow me to assist you.” He did not wait for an answer but scooped Ursula up out of the boat, placed her safely on the beach and helped her straighten and smooth her skirts.
“Remind me again what you’re required to do,” Fabian said as he joined them.
Ursula appeared flustered after receiving Vane’s undivided attention. “I’m to follow the road up to the coaching inn, to the stone that says it’s seventeen miles to Exmouth. I’m to leave the money behind the milestone and return to it in an hour for further instructions.”
“Very well.” Fabian handed Ursula the cloth bag. She struggled to hide a smile, and he knew, with the utmost certainty, she was lying. “We will remain here.”
Bag in hand, and with a quick glance back at Vane, Ursula scurried off.
Vane folded his arms across his chest. “How long do you intend to wait before we apprehend her?”
“Give her a few minutes, and then we’ll follow.”
“I could feel no evidence of a weapon,” Vane said. So that was his motive for lifting her from the boat.
“You mean you both know Ursula’s lying?” Mackenzie braced his hands on his hips.
“Ever since she batted her lashes at Vane and made flirtatious comments.” Any innocent woman used as a go-between would fear for her life.
Vane brushed his hand through his damp hair. “I think we’ve given her enough time don’t you?”
While Mackenzie waited with the rowboat, Fabian and Vane strode across the shingle beach and down the lane. There was no sign of Ursula at the milestone, no sign of the money hidden behind. A person on the run needed somewhere to hide. A place too dark to search at night, too vast to search by day.