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“Our expert advice on traveling the world,” Aunt Guinevere said in a well-rehearsed manner.
“The companionship and camaraderie of like-minded women,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore added.
“As well as knowledgeable guidance and, for a minor additional fee, the providing of arranged travel services,” Mrs. Higginbotham finished with a flourish.
“And that, dear ladies, is where we have a problem.” Derek folded his hands together on the stack of papers and studied the women. All three had adopted blameless expressions, and all three had nearly identical glints of cunning in their eyes. “I shall grant you that the society does indeed provide a convivial atmosphere for ladies with similar interests in travel.”
“That was mine.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smirked.
“However.” Derek’s tone hardened.
Mrs. Higginbotham sighed. “I do so hate it when men use the word however in that forbidding tone. Nothing good ever came of a man starting a sentence with however.”
Derek’s jaw tightened. “Nonetheless—”
“Nonetheless is just as bad.” Mrs. Higginbotham huffed.
He ignored her. “According to your membership brochure—”
“Isn’t it lovely?” Aunt Guinevere said. “Poppy designed it herself. Don’t you think it’s fetching with her drawing of the pyramids in Egypt and the Colosseum in Rome and those charming American natives? Poppy is quite an accomplished artist.”
“Goodness, I wouldn’t say I was accomplished. I am scarcely more than an amateur.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore blushed and waved off the comment in a modest manner. “I had hoped to be an artist when I was young, but that was one of those silly, girlish dreams and best forgotten.”
“Nevertheless,” Mrs. Higginbotham said staunchly. “You’re very good.”
“The brochure is indeed extremely well done.” Derek struggled to keep the impatience from his voice. “However—”
Mrs. Higginbotham grimaced.
“Aunt Guinevere, it’s my understanding that you rarely, if ever, traveled with Uncle Charles, which would seem to negate the claim of expert in regard to your knowledge of travel.”
“I suppose...” Aunt Guinevere hedged. “If one goes strictly by personal travel...”
“I suspect as well—” his gaze shifted between his great-aunt’s coconspirators “—neither Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore or Mrs. Higginbotham have substantially more travel experience than you do.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Saunders.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore sniffed. “I resided for nearly six weeks in Paris as a girl.”
“And the late Colonel Higginbotham and myself spent several summers in the Lake District.” Mrs. Higginbotham paused. “Admittedly, that does not equate to foreign travel but it is some distance from here.”
“Domestic travel as it were,” Aunt Guinevere said helpfully.
“And yet I imagine when your members speak of their dreams of adventure through travel, Lake Windermere is not the first destination that comes to mind.”
“Lovely spot, though,” Mrs. Higginbotham murmured.
“There is no need to raise your voice, dear.” Aunt Guinevere cast him a disapproving frown.
“I did not raise my voice. In fact, I have been doing my very best not to raise my voice.” He drew a steadying breath. “Correct me if I’m in error, ladies, but by no stretch of the most fertile imagination could any of you be considered experts in travel or the arrangement of travel.”
Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose if one wanted to base judgment on actual experience alone, that might be considered inaccurate.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Higginbotham said. “I lived with the colonel for thirty-seven years, and he traveled continuously to the most interesting and exotic places. I would think the years spent in his company listening to his endless tales would negate the minor detail that I did not actually accompany him.”
Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore nodded. “Nor did I accompany my dear Malcolm, but he did keep me apprised of his adventures and very often asked my opinion when he was planning one expedition or another.”
“As did your uncle Charles,” Aunt Guinevere added. “Why, he frequently said he could not step a foot off English shores without the benefit of my advice.”
Derek stared in stunned disbelief.
“So you see...” Aunt Guinevere smiled pleasantly, but triumph glittered in her eyes. “Even though we have not traveled extensively, we do have extensive travel knowledge.”
All three ladies shared equally smug looks.
“Let me put it this way.” Derek struggled to keep his voice level. “While it could possibly be argued that you have a certain level of expertise as it relates to travel, most rational individuals would think your claim ridiculous. As would a magistrate or any court of law. What you are engaged in here, ladies, is fraud.”
“Don’t be absurd, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere scoffed.
“I’m not being absurd, I only wish I were. At the very least, the consequences of your activities are scandal. At the worst—prison.” He fixed them with a firm look. “You are falsely representing yourselves as being able to supply a service you are not qualified to provide. And for that you are taking money from women who trust you.”
“Well, we had to do something,” Mrs. Higginbotham snapped. “Minimal pensions and minor inheritances are simply not enough to survive on even with the most frugal manner of living.”
Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore nodded. “It’s not easy getting on in years. It would be one thing if our dear husbands were still with us, but as they are not, we have each found ourselves tottering precipitously on the very edge of financial despair.”
“To be blunt, Derek,” Aunt Guinevere said coolly, “we have outlived our financial resources. We were very nearly penniless.”
“But you all have families,” he said before he thought better of it. He tried to ignore a fresh wave of guilt. He’d had no idea of his great-aunt’s circumstances, and he doubted his mother did, either. Aunt Guinevere had not seen fit to inform them, although, admittedly, they had not taken it upon themselves to inquire after her, either.
“Distant and disinterested.” Mrs. Higginbotham sniffed.
“None of us were fortunate enough to have had children.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore shrugged. “Nothing can be done about that now, although I suppose, in hindsight, breeding like rabbits would have provided some sort of insurance against being left alone in dismal financial circumstances. Still, I daresay poor Eleanor Dorsey has not found it so and she had nine children.”
The other ladies murmured in agreement.
“Even so,” Derek began.
“We have all lived relatively independent lives, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere raised her chin a notch and met his gaze firmly. “We took care of ourselves and each other when our husbands were off doing all those things men so enjoy and do not for a moment think women would appreciate, as well. We do not, at this point in our lives, relish the thought of throwing ourselves on the mercy of relations who barely acknowledge our existence. Nor do we intend to.”
Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore squared her shoulders. “I will not be relegated to the category of poor relation.”
“And if it came to that, we would much prefer, all three of us...” Mrs. Higginbotham’s eyes blazed with determination. “Prison.”
“I doubt that,” he said sharply, then drew a deep breath. “Forgive me, ladies. I do see your position. Truly I do, and I promise you I shall do everything I can to help alleviate your financial woes, but you must understand you cannot continue this endeavor.”
“I don’t see why not.” Mrs. Higginbotham crossed her arms over her chest. “Our members flock to our meetings and lectures and are quite content with our services. Thus far, we have not had one resign her membership. Why, we’ve had no complaints whatsoever from our members.”
“Not from members perhaps.” He leaned forward in his chair. “But do you recall a Miss India Prendergast?”
“India Prendergast?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “A lovely name but if I’ve heard it before I simply can’t remember.” She heaved a wistful sigh. “I fear my memory is not what it once was.”
“She’s written the society a number of times,” Derek said. “Now do you remember?”
“Effie handles most of the correspondence,” Aunt Guinevere offered.
Derek turned to the other woman. “Mrs. Higginbotham?”
“Prendergast you say?” Mrs. Higginbotham asked.
Derek nodded.
“Let me think.” She pursed her lips and considered the question then shrugged. “No, it doesn’t sound the least bit familiar, but then my memory is no better than Poppy’s.” She cast him a helpless smile he didn’t believe for a moment.
“That is odd.” He laid his palm on the stack of papers on the desk. “As she has written you at least five letters demanding to know the whereabouts of her cousin.”
Aunt Guinevere’s eyes widened. “And who is her cousin, dear?”
Oh, they were good, this trio of septuagenarians. He would wager a considerable amount their minds and their memories were as sharp or sharper than his own. Still, he was not going to be outwitted by the pretense of elderly virtue or incompetence.
“Lady Heloise Snuggs.”
“Of course.” Aunt Guinevere beamed as if she was proud merely to have recognized the name. “Dear Heloise.”
“Dear, dear Heloise,” the other ladies murmured.
He resisted the urge to raise his voice. “Do you know where Lady Heloise is at the moment?”
Aunt Guinevere shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”
“She could be anywhere, I would think,” Mrs. Higginbotham said.
“Although I suspect she’s somewhere between Paris and Constantinople.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore thought for a minute. “Or perhaps Hamburg and Athens. It’s impossible to say with any certainty.”
Derek stared. “Did you or did you not arrange Lady Heloise’s travel?”
The trio shifted uneasily in their chairs.
“An answer if you please, ladies.”
“Certainly, we arranged Lady Heloise’s travel.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore chose her words with obvious care.
“There is a possibility,” Mrs. Higginbotham said slowly, “that we did not arrange it as efficiently as one might hope.”
“That is to say, while we did write to hotels and other establishments across the path Lady Heloise wished to take requesting accommodations...” Mrs. Higginbotham began.
“We didn’t actually receive any definitive confirmations,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore finished. “You see, once Lady Heloise decided to embark upon a life of travel, she was impatient to be off. She assured us our assistance had been invaluable.”
“We did our best, Derek, to send her off with all the information she might possibly need, brochures, tourist guides, train and ship timetables. She couldn’t possibly be more prepared,” Aunt Guinevere said staunchly.
“Unless, of course, you had actually confirmed her travel and accommodations.”
“There is that,” one of the ladies conceded.
Derek pressed his fingers to his temples in hopes of forestalling the kind of headache he used to experience only after a night of drunken merriment. He hadn’t the slightest doubt his great-aunt and her friends were well aware of Miss Prendergast’s letters and her valid charge that their society had mislaid her cousin through incompetency and chicanery, as well as her threats to involve the police in the matter if something was not done to locate Lady Heloise and ensure her safety. Aside from the fact that he didn’t want Aunt Guinevere incarcerated, his mother’s request for Derek to keep an eye on her would certainly place the responsibility for any kind of scandal squarely on his shoulders. Especially in Uncle Edward’s eyes. Besides, if he and his mother had paid more attention to the needs of an elderly relative, perhaps she wouldn’t have turned to this scheme in the first place.
Now it was up to him to get Aunt Guinevere out of it. No, he amended the thought, it was up to him to extricate all three old friends from this mess. He suspected if one was drowning, the other two would do whatever was necessary to save her even if it meant they would all sink beneath the waves together.
He drew a steadying breath. “Well, it appears Lady Heloise has vanished. I do not want to think of the consequences if she is not found unharmed. In the letters you claim to be unaware of—” the ladies traded guilty looks “—Miss Prendergast threatens legal action.” He met his aunt’s gaze directly. “She has already contacted Scotland Yard.”
Aunt Guinevere gasped.
“I made inquiries at a private investigation agency about efforts to locate Lady Heloise.”
“How brilliant of you, Mr. Saunders.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore beamed.
“I told you he was clever.” Aunt Guinevere’s smile matched her friend’s. “I knew he would find a way to determine the whereabouts of Lady Heloise.”
“I doubt that she’s truly missing,” Mrs. Higginbotham said. “Why, I myself am quite awful at keeping up with correspondence.”
“Although making certain she has come to no harm is probably a good idea,” Aunt Guinevere pointed out. “We would hate for the membership to be concerned—”
“The membership is now closed,” Derek said firmly. “You will accept no new members until the matter of Lady Heloise is resolved. Nor will you plan trips for any of your current members, and, for God’s sake, should a trip already be in the works, do not let any of them embark upon it. Once Lady Heloise is located, we will then decide the future of your Lady Travelers Society and whether or not it can become something more legitimate than it now appears.”
Mrs. Higginbotham sucked in a short breath, but Aunt Guinevere laid a hand on her arm and the other woman’s mouth snapped shut.
“Unfortunately, the agency I contacted warned me it would take some time and considerable resources to locate a woman missing outside England. Given the increasing level of concern, as well as the growing outrage in Miss Prendergast’s correspondence, time is not on our side.” He ran his hand through his hair. As much as he hated to admit it, his latest discussion with the agency that morning had left him with one inescapable conclusion. “I’m afraid at this juncture, leaving the tracing of Lady Heloise in the hands of even the best of professionals may not be enough.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” A hard feminine voice sounded from the doorway. “That is not nearly enough.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ua26dcde9-0924-581b-b6c4-9dba530cc005)
While travel is the dream of many ladies, the first step in setting forth from one’s native land should not be taken lightly. Without planning and preparation—the keys to successful travel—one might find oneself in unexpected difficulties far from home. Which is not at all the kind of adventure even the most intrepid among us seek.
—The Lady Travelers Society Guide
THE WOMAN HE’D noticed sitting beside Miss Honeywell stood in the now open doorway, a leather lady’s traveling handbag on her arm, an umbrella in her hand. Derek could have sworn he had closed the door, but perhaps she had been listening on the other side. He wouldn’t be surprised. There was an air of determination about her, from the top of her sensible hat perched firmly on nondescript brown hair to the tips of her sturdy, practical shoes. She was at least a head shorter than he, yet managed to convey an impression of towering indignation and barely suppressed ire. This was a woman who would let nothing stand in her path.
“Well, that’s that, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere rose to her feet, Derek a beat behind her. He could almost see the tiny gears and flywheels of her mind working. The woman was planning her escape. “As much as I would love to continue our discussion—” she cast a brilliant smile at the stranger “—it seems we have the needs of a member to attend to.”
“The needs of the membership must come first,” Mrs. Higginbotham said firmly and stood. Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore followed suit.
“I am most certainly not a member,” the intruder said.
“Then you must be here to join.” Enthusiasm rang in Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s voice. “How delightful.”
“I am not here—” the young woman began.
“I beg your pardon, miss, but you are intruding on a private meeting,” Derek said in a harder tone than he might otherwise have taken, but she struck him as the kind of woman who would respond to nothing less than a firm, resolute manner. “However, as it’s obvious you are not going to let a little thing like a closed door dissuade you, please do me the courtesy of allowing me a moment.”
“My apologies for the interruption, but the door was not closed.” She glared at him. “Do go on.”
