“It doesn’t matter.” He looked as tired as she still felt, with circles under his eyes and hair as wild as her own. And he had on only shirtsleeves and trousers, no waistcoat or jacket. Unusual for him. “Has she slipped out again?”
“I was about to take another turn through the Abbey Gardens. I already did so once, but perhaps too quickly. I could have missed her somewhere.”
“I’ll come with you.” She turned back into her room to grab her purple shawl, not giving him the chance to refuse her company.
He didn’t try anyway, just stood there waiting for her, hands on his hips and gaze unfocused. “She doesn’t usually slip out so early, other than on Wednesdays lately, to see the races.”
“Could she think it’s Wednesday? Perhaps she’s confused by Mabena and me being here.” She swung the shawl into place and flipped her braid outside it.
“It’s possible. We’ll check the beach too.” He took her hand—not placing it on his forearm as he’d done before but weaving their fingers together. Like last night.
They hadn’t spoken of the kiss. There’d been too much else to fret over. But it had been thoughts of that, not the gunman or pirate treasure or poor Mabena’s injury or the feud with Casek Wearne, that had lulled her to sleep a few short hours ago. She’d half expected morning to bring with it a return to My lady and proper distance between them.
This was promising though.
He led her out a rear door, into his garden, which she’d yet to properly explore. And now certainly wasn’t the time, other than for a careful check of all the corners and hidden nooks to make sure they were empty of grandmothers. From there, they hurried to the Abbey Gardens and the side entrance that was unlocked.
He said nothing. Didn’t shout for Mamm-wynn. Perhaps because he was keenly aware of the sleepy silence of the rest of Tresco, as she was. Perhaps because the cool, misty morning air seemed to forbid any loud noises. Perhaps because he knew the moment he shouted for her outside, all his neighbors would join in the hunt, and he wanted to reserve that for if and when it became imperative.
Libby’s heart squeezed a bit more with each step, each glance that didn’t reveal Mamm-wynn. It had seemed harmless enough the other times she’d found the lady away from where she should be. But this early there was no one to keep a watchful eye on her and steer her back toward home. What if her steps faltered and she slipped? Fell? Injured herself?
Her fingers tightened around Oliver’s. And she nearly laughed in relief when the sound of something shuffling against the garden path reached her ears. They both took off in the direction of the sound, coming up short when they saw a crouched figure.
But masculine instead of feminine. Mr. Menna. He looked up at their quick steps, brows furrowed. “Mr. Tremayne! And Lady Elizabeth. What brings you—”
“It’s Mamm-wynn. She’s slipped off again.” Oliver shoved his free hand through his hair. “You haven’t seen her, I assume?”
Mr. Menna stood, shaking his head. “No, but I’ll check the Gardens, if you wanted to look somewhere else.”
For a split second, Oliver hesitated. Debating, she assumed, whether to accept the help or insist they could do it alone. But concern must have won out over pride. He nodded. “Thank you. We’re going to check the beach, in case she thinks it Wednesday, since Libby and Benna are here.”
Mr. Menna stowed his small shovel in the wheelbarrow parked a few feet away and brushed the soil from his hands. “Good idea. You two go ahead. I know all her favorite spots here.”
They passed by the Tremayne house again on their way to the beach from which the racers always launched, and Libby pulled Oliver to a halt when a splash of brightest pink caught her eye. Cultivated daisies—Mesembryanthemum, a variety she’d never seen outside a hothouse before coming here—lying in the street rather than growing where they ought to be beside the Tremayne front door. She bent to pick them up, frowning at the neat slice on the stalks. “They’ve been cut, but obviously not long ago or they’d show some wilting. Perhaps she came out to gather some flowers?”
“Seems likely.” He accepted the blooms when she handed them to him, a brief smile flitting over his lips before retreating. “Beth’s favorite. Let’s hope Mamm-wynn left a trail of them, like bread crumbs, for us.”
She kept her eyes sharp for any other patches of color along the road, but they weren’t so lucky—or Mrs. Tremayne hadn’t come this way. Certainly when they arrived at the beach they saw no evidence of a pixie of a woman watching for racers that weren’t on the water.
Well, someone was, or was about to be. But he was stepping into a one-man gig. And he spotted them before he launched, which brought his feet back onto the sand. “Ollie!”
“Enyon.” Oliver hurried over to his friend.
As soon as they were close enough to see each other clearly, Enyon’s welcoming, teasing smile—and the gaze that he’d arrowed onto their joined hands—gave way to a worried frown. “Something’s wrong?”
“Mamm-wynn. Again.”
Enyon lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun painting fire over the water. “Early for her.”
“I know.” Oliver sighed and scanned the beach. “Mr. Menna’s checking the Abbey Gardens. And Mrs. Dawe is checking the house and grounds again.”
“I’ll hug the coast, see if I spot her anywhere. She’s probably just out for a morning stroll. It’s a beautiful day.”
Though Oliver nodded, Libby could see the tension in his lips. The fight to hold back the words, the worry.
To keep himself from saying that the beauty of a day didn’t insulate it from horror. Last night had been just as beautiful, but his cousin was sleeping off a head injury even now, the same sort that had killed Johnnie Rosedew.
To keep from voicing the worry that the constable’s men had been wrong and there had been a threat lurking in a neighboring house, and it had found her.
Sour fear burned Libby’s throat.
“You two walk the south path. I’ll start going north. We’ll have found her in a few minutes.”
Oliver made no attempt at conversation as he moved to obey, and she could hardly blame him. Once you named a thing, after all, it became a bit more real.
She instead let her gaze dart every which way as they walked the coastal path southward, though she saw nothing that seemed out of the ordinary.
Oliver halted her, though, when they reached the turn that gave them a view of Samson. She wasn’t certain why, what had knit his brows together, until he pointed out to the water. Or more particularly, to the small sailboat upon it. Its sails were down, and it looked to be drifting. “That’s Tas-gwyn’s boat.”
Her stomach flopped. She was no boatwoman like Mabena, but it didn’t look right to her. She didn’t see an anchor line, nor could she make out anyone in the boat keeping it where it should be. Which was probably why it was just drifting there, halfway between the islands.
“Come on.” Oliver had apparently thought much the same thing, because he took off at a run back for the beach where they’d seen Enyon, dropping her fingers after they turned.
She tried not to focus on how cool and lonely they felt without his around them. Better instead to focus on keeping up with him, which was trial enough.