It took them ten minutes of scrambling-essentially crossing the entire abbey compound-to reach the grassed expanse on which Gerrard had stationed himself. The lawn rose gently as it led away from the abbot's lodge, then dipped into the scrubby edges of the wood. Gerrard had set up below the highest point of the rise, well in front of the dip, a few feet before a crumbling arched gateway, all that was left of the wall that had enclosed the abbot's garden.
Clasping Patience's hand, feeling her fingers clutch his, Vane strode straight to the easel. The page fluttering on it was blank.
Patience blanched. "He never started."
Vane's jaw set. "He started all right." He flicked the tattered remnants of paper caught under the pins. "It's been ripped away." Tightening his hold on Patience's hand, he looked toward the trees.
"Gerrard!"
His roar faded into silence.
A scuffling of boots heralded Henry's appearance. He clambered over a ruined wall, then, straightening, stared at the untended easel. Then he looked at Patience and Vane. "No sign of him the way I came."
Edmond appeared around the far edge of the ruins. Like Henry, he stared at the easel, then gestured behind him. "He's not anywhere around the church."
Stony-faced, Vane waved them to the trees. "You start from that end." They nodded and went. Vane looked down at Patience. "Would you rather wait here?"
She shook her head. "No, I'll come with you."
He'd expected nothing less. Her hand locked in his, they backtracked off the lawn and circled into the wood.
Penwick, huffing and puffing, caught up with them deep in the trees. Calling Gerrard's name, they were quartering the area; after pausing to catch his breath, Penwick rut-tutted censoriously. "If you'd allowed me to talk to Debbington earlier-bring him to a proper sense of his responsibilities-none of this nonsense, I flatter myself, would have occurred."
Pushing back a lock of hair from her forehead, Patience stared at him. "What nonsense?"
"It's obvious." Penwick had regained his breath and his customary attitude. "The boy's got an assignation with some flighty maid. Says he's busy drawing and slips away into the wood."
Patience's jaw dropped.
"Is that what you did at his age?" Vane inquired, forging ahead without pause.
"Well…" Penwick tugged his waistcoat into place, then he caught Patience's eye. "No! Of course not. Anyway, it's not me but young Debbington we're talking about here. Loose screw in the making, I've not the slightest doubt. Brought up by women. Pampered. Allowed to run wild without proper male guidance. What else can you expect?"
Patience stiffened.
"Penwick." Vane caught Penwick's eye. "Either go home or shut up. Or I'll take great delight in knocking your teeth down your throat."
The inflexible steel in his voice made it clear he was speaking the truth.
Penwick paled, then flushed and drew himself up. "If my assistance isn't welcome, naturally, I'll take myself off."
Vane nodded. "Do."
Penwick looked at Patience; she stared stonily back. With the air of a rejected martyr, Penwick sniffed and turned on his heel.
When the crump of his retreating footsteps died, Patience sighed. "Thank you."
"It was entirely my pleasure," Vane growled. He flexed his shoulders. "Actually, I was hoping he'd stay and keep talking."
Patience's giggle tangled in her throat.
After a further ten minutes of fruitless searching, they saw Edmond and Henry through the trees. Patience halted and heaved a troubled sigh. "You don't think," she said, turning to Vane as he stopped beside her, "that Gerrard actually might be off with some maid?"
Vane shook his head. "Trust me." He looked around-the belt of woodland was narrow; they ha
dn't missed any area. He looked down at Patience. "Gerrard's not that interested in females yet."
Henry and Edmond came up. Hands on hips, Vane glanced around one last time. "Let's get back to the ruins."