Читать книгу The Lady Travelers Guide To Scoundrels And Other Gentlemen - Victoria Alexander - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

“LADIES, IF YOU would be so good as to be seated,” Derek Saunders said in his firmest, no-nonsense voice. Up until a few days ago, Derek had been unaware he had a firm, no-nonsense voice. But then, up until a few days ago, he hadn’t needed one.

“I do hope you intend to be brief.” Aunt Guinevere cast him a chastising look and seated herself in one of the surprisingly comfortable leather chairs at the far end of the unoccupied room the Lady Travelers Society had appropriated for its use. Derek still had no idea how his great-aunt and her cohorts had managed to convince the Explorers Club to give them the use of not only a room to serve as an office but a lecture hall, as well, for a fee that was little more than a token. He suspected the elderly ladies wielded their late husbands’ prominence in the men-only club with the unflinching hand of an expert marksman.

“We have members eagerly anticipating Gwen’s lecture, Mr. Saunders,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore pointed out.

“And it’s rude to keep them waiting.” Mrs. Higginbotham pressed her lips together in a disapproving line. “Extremely rude.”

“And we wouldn’t want to be rude, would we?” Derek opened the satchel his uncle had given him in the hopes it would encourage the pursuit of something other than a good time, removed a stack of papers and placed it on the desk. He settled in the chair behind the desk and narrowed his eyes, which did seem to go along with a firm, no-nonsense voice. “Particularly not as you are taking their money under the falsest of pretenses.”

All three ladies gasped. It struck him as both insincere and overly rehearsed. Since his first visit here last week they had no doubt decided exactly how to respond to what he had discovered. Obviously, their intention was to act as innocent and guileless as possible.

“My dear boy, we have no idea what you mean.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s eyes widened in feigned bewilderment.

“And I for one find your comment more than a little insulting.” Mrs. Higginbotham sniffed. “False pretenses indeed.”

“I’m certain, Derek, that this is no more than a bit of confusion on your part. Probably a simple misunderstanding.” Aunt Guinevere favored him with the sort of placating smile one would give a small boy, as if he were still six years old. “I’m confident it’s easily cleared up.”

“I doubt that.” He shuffled through the papers that detailed the workings of the Lady Travelers Society to give himself, and them, a moment to prepare. The impressive stack included the membership roster, membership applications, proposed itineraries for members, the agreement with the Explorers Club and several of the society’s brochures. Not that he hadn’t rehearsed exactly what he planned to say, but practice was one thing, coming face-to-face with these deceptively virtuous-looking creatures was something else altogether. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

Before his mother had left to travel the continent with his current stepfather—her third husband—more than a month ago, she had asked him to keep an eye on Great-Aunt Guinevere, her mother’s sister, as the poor dear was getting on in years and, aside from her two lifelong friends, was quite alone in the world. Derek was one of Lady Guinevere’s few living relations, and wasn’t it his duty to make certain she was well? A duty, Mother had pointed out, that was not at all difficult and would go a long way toward showing he was at last accepting responsibility. And, at this particular juncture in his life, wouldn’t he hate to appear irresponsible in any way? Given that Uncle Edward, the Earl of Danby, had taken the occasion of Derek’s thirty-second birthday six months ago to threaten him with loss of his current income and much of his expected inheritance if he did not change his carefree, frivolous existence and begin acting a bit more like the next Earl of Danby should, appearing irresponsible was the last thing Derek needed.

Under other circumstances, it might well have been unfair for Mother to have played that particular card, but there was no denying she was right. Besides, how difficult could it be to make certain a sweet, elderly relative was well and comfortable? Derek rarely saw the older lady, and the depiction Mother had painted of a feeble, eccentric widow in failing health and mind had played on every sense of guilt he’d ever had.

Mother had lied.

When Derek had finally called on Aunt Guinevere, he’d been informed by her butler that she was not at home but could be found in her offices at the Explorers Club. That in itself struck him as odd, but he attributed it to some sort of benefit for widows of prominent members, which, in hindsight, was stupid of him. When he’d arrived at that hallowed shrine to adventure, he discovered Aunt Guinevere was anything but feeble, at least in mind and spirit. Indeed, the old lady and her equally aged companions were engaged in what, to him, appeared very much like some sort of scheme to extort funds from other older ladies.

He drew a deep breath. “I have studied in great detail all the paperwork you gave me last week. However, I do have some questions. Explain to me, if you will, exactly what is entailed in the operation of the Lady Travelers Society and Assistance Agency.”

“In the operation?” Aunt Guinevere furrowed her brow. “Why, we operate right here at the Explorers Club. Three days a week.”

“And we do have one hired staff member,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore added.

“Although Sidney is more borrowed than hired,” Mrs. Higginbotham said thoughtfully. “We’re not actually paying her, after all. She is more in the manner of a volunteer.”

“And a dear, dear girl.” Aunt Guinevere studied him in an assessing manner. “You should meet her, Derek.”

“You’re not yet married—are you, Mr. Saunders?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said with a calculating look in her eyes. Derek had seen that look before, although he wasn’t sure if the ladies weren’t more interested in distracting him than marrying him off.

“No, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore, I am not. And I did meet her the last time I was here, Aunt Guinevere.”

Miss Honeywell was one of those deceptive creatures that at first appeared entirely nondescript but was oddly engaging upon further inspection and might well be quite lovely with minimal effort and clothing designed to flatter the feminine form rather than disguise it. Not that his opinion of Miss Honeywell mattered one way or the other. Women—even those who appeared quite proper and eminently suitable for marriage—were among the pursuits he was currently avoiding in his efforts to convince his uncle of his reformation. In his experience, women in general tended to be a great deal of trouble. Often enjoyable trouble but trouble nonetheless. Still, he couldn’t help but notice that Miss Honeywell, and a stern-looking woman sitting beside her with exceptionally rigid posture, were the only two in the lecture hall under the age of fifty.

Derek forced a pleasant note to his voice. “And while I am aware my marital status might be a topic of some interest, right now we are discussing the operation—”

“Derek,” Aunt Guinevere began.

He held up his hand to quiet her. “Although operation may not be the appropriate term. So let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”

“I suppose if we must.” Mrs. Higginbotham plucked an invisible thread from her sleeve.

“The beginning is always an appropriate place to start, Effie, dear.” Aunt Guinevere nodded in a gracious manner. “Do proceed, Derek.”

“Thank you.” He considered the ladies for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure of Aunt Guinevere’s age, nearing her eighties he thought, but it was difficult to determine. She and her friends were certainly not decrepit in any apparent way. Spry was the word that came to mind. And, from the look in their overly innocent eyes, crafty, as well. It struck him that he would be wise not to underestimate this trio. “Now then, the three of you began this enterprise six months ago?”

“Closer to nine, I think,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said. “We met for the first two months in Gwen’s parlor. But it soon became obvious that would not do.”

“For the purposes of?”

“Why, acquainting women with the benefits of travel, of course.” Aunt Guinevere beamed. “And providing expert assistance and guidance through lectures and brochures and touring services to fulfill their dreams of adventure through travel.”

“And for this expert assistance—” He glanced down at the paper in front of him. “You charge your membership a full one pound sterling every month.” He looked up at the ladies. “Is that correct?”

“It’s really quite reasonable,” Aunt Guinevere chided.

“And if you pay for an entire year at once, we give you a discount. A mere ten pounds.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smiled. “We are a bargain.”

Mrs. Higginbotham nodded. “There is a great deal to take into account when one is traveling beyond England’s shores, you know, Mr. Saunders.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” he said. “And for these alleged benefits—”

“I would dispute the word alleged,” Mrs. Higginbotham said under her breath.

“You now have—” Derek sifted through the papers “—some ninety members. Is that right?”

“Actually, we’re approaching one hundred.” Pride curved Aunt Guinevere’s lips. “We had no idea we’d grow so quickly.”

“You can see why we could no longer meet in Gwen’s parlor.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore leaned forward in a confidential manner. “You’d be surprised at how many women are longing to throw off the shackles of everyday existence and live an adventurous life of travel. It’s quite remarkable.”

“No doubt.” Derek’s gaze shifted from one lady to the next. “So, the society brings in nearly one hundred pounds a month. And for their dues your members receive?”

The ladies exchanged resigned glances.

“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.”