"Angela! You're sixteen. Mr. Cynster is entirely out of your league!"
"Well, I know that-he's so old, for a start! And he's far too serious. I did think Edmond might be my friend, but these days he's forever mumbling verses. Most times, they don't even make sense! And as for Gerrard-"
Comforted by the fact he wouldn't have to fend off any more of Angela's juvenile advances, Vane backtracked a few steps, and took a secondary stair upward.
From all he'd gleaned, Mrs. Chadwick kept Angela close, undoubtedly a wise decision. As Angela no longer attended the breakfast table, he suspected that meant she and Mrs. Chadwick had spent the whole morning together. Neither, to his mind, were good candidates for the role of thief, either of Minnie's pearls, or more generally.
Which left only one female member of the household as yet unaccounted for. Strolling down one of the Hall's endless corridors, Vane reflected that he had no idea how Alice Colby spent her days.
On the night he'd arrived, Alice had told him her room was on the floor below Agatha Chadwick's. Vane started at one end of the wing, and knocked on every door. If no answer came, he opened the door and looked in. Most rooms were empty, the furniture swathed in covers.
Halfway down the wing, however, just as he was about to push yet another door wide, the handle was hauled from his light grip-and he discovered himself the focus of Alice's black-eyed stare.
Malevolent black-eyed stare.
"Just what do you think you're doing, sir? Disturbing God-fearing people at their prayers! It's outrageous! Bad enough this mausoleum of a house doesn't have a chapel-not even a decent sanctuary-but I have to put up with interruptions from such as you."
Letting the tirade drift past him, Vane scanned the room, conscious of a curiosity to rival Patience's. The curtains were drawn tight. There was no fire in the hearth, not even embers. There was a palpable coldness, as if the room was never warmed, never aired. What furniture he could see was plain and utilitarian, with none of the items of beauty generally found scattered throughout the Hall. As if Alice Colby had taken possession of the room and stamped her character on it.
The last items he noted were a prie-dieu with a well-worn cushion, a tattered Bible open on the shelf, and the elephant of Mrs. Henderson's tale. This last stood beside the fireplace, its gaudy metal flanks glinting in the light lancing through the open door.
"What do you have to say for yourself, that's what I'd like to know. What excuse do you have for interrupting my prayers?" Alice folded her arms across her scrawny chest and stared black daggers at him.
Vane brought his gaze back to her face. His expression hardened. "I apologize for disrupting your devotions, but it was necessary. Minnie's pearls have been stolen. I wanted to know if you'd heard anything or seen anyone strange about."
Alice blinked. Her expression changed not at all. "No, you stupid man. How could I see anyone? I was praying!"
With that, she stepped back and shut the door.
Vane stared at the panels-and fought down the urge to break them in. His temper-a true Cynster temper-was never a wise thing to prod. Right now, it was already prowling, a hungry beast seeking blood. Someone had harmed Minnie; to some, not exactly small, part of his mind, that equated to an act of aggression against him. He-the warrior concealed beneath the veneer of an elegant gentleman-reacted. Responded. Appropriately.
Drawing a deep breath, Vane forced himself to turn from Alice's door. There was no evidence to suggest she was involved, any more than anyone else.
He headed back to the side door. He might not stumble instantly over the culprit by checking people's whereabouts, but, at present, it was all he could do. Having located all the women, he went in search of the other males.
Warring with his instinctive conviction that the "magpie" thief was a woman had been a half-fledged hope the whole affair might prove a simple misdemeanor-like Edgar, Henry, or Edmond being strapped for cash and being foolish enough, and weak enough, to be tempted to the unthinkable. As he strode over the lawn, Vane let that idea die. Minnie's pearls were worth a small fortune.
Their simple thief, assuming it was one and the same, had just made the step up to grand larceny.
The rains appeared deserted. From the wall of the cloisters, Vane saw Gerrard's easel, set up on the other side of the rains, facing the abbot's lodge, a section of woods at Gerrard's back. The paper pinned to the easel riffled in the breeze. Gerrard's pencil box sat beneath
the easel; his painter's stool sat behind it.
All that, Vane could see. Gerrard he couldn't see at all. Assuming he'd taken a moment to stretch his legs and wander, Vane turned away. No point asking Gerrard if he'd seen anything-he'd left the breakfast table with one goal in mind and had doubtless been blind to all else.
Turning back into the cloisters, Vane heard, faint on the breeze, an intense mumbling. He discovered Edmond in the nave, sitting by the ruined font, creating out aloud.
When the situation had been explained to him, Edmond blinked. "Didn't see anyone. But then, I wasn't looking. Whole troop of cavalry might have charged past, and I wouldn't have noticed." He frowned and looked down; Vane waited, hoping for some help, however slight.
Edmond looked up, his brows still knit. "I really can't decide whether this scene should be acted in the nave or the cloisters. What do you think?"
With remarkable restraint, Vane didn't teH him. After a pregnant pause, he shook his head, and headed back to the house.
He was skirting the tumbled stones when he heard his name called. Turning, he saw Henry and the General striding up from the woods. As they neared, he asked: "You went for a stroll together, I take it?"
"No, no," Henry assured him. "I stumbled across the General in the woods. I went for a ramble to the main road-there's a track that leads back through the woods."
Vane knew it. He nodded and looked at the General, huffing slightly as he leaned on his cane.