LITMIR.BIZ

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virulent loathing, even among the very best of friends.

      —The Lady Travelers Society Guide

      “I HAVE NO idea where Derek is.” Lady Blodgett refilled India’s teacup and smiled pleasantly. “But I’m certain he’ll be here at any moment.”

      “No doubt,” India murmured. She resisted the need to scream in frustration and instead forced a smile of her own.

      Mr. Saunders was late by a quarter of an hour thus far. It was not an auspicious beginning. Not that she’d expected promptness from him. Why, one could tell from just looking at the man he was not the sort to pay attention to the rules that governed the lives of everyone else in the world. One would think when one’s great-aunt invited one to her home promptly at four o’clock, one would arrive promptly at four o’clock. Aside from meeting the chaperones Lady Blodgett had promised, they had a great deal to discuss. Plans needed to be made.

      “I would imagine he’s making arrangements.” Mrs. Greer piled a few more biscuits on her already-heaping plate. India wasn’t sure if the woman couldn’t make up her mind which of the delightful offerings to take or if she feared this was her last chance to ever have a biscuit again.

      “As well he should,” Professor Greer said under his breath, reaching for another biscuit, although he had already emptied and refilled his plate at least once.

      Lady Blodgett had presented the retired professor and his wife to India with something of a satisfied flourish. The couple was old enough to be suitable as chaperones but not so old as to impede speedy progress. As much as India would have preferred not to have them at all, they were necessary to abide by the dictates of proper behavior.

      The Greers were not particularly objectionable and did seem pleasant enough. The professor looked exactly as one would expect a former professor to look—a bit portly, with graying hair, full beard and kind brown eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles. Clad in expected tweed, he had the slightest air of pomposity that declared his superior intelligence. Whereas the professor exuded solid, English stock, his wife struck India as a more exotic creature. Or perhaps a wren disguised as something more akin to a tropical bird. She was obviously enamored of bright colors. Her hair was a fading shade of red, her round figure clothed in a startling chartreuse gown bedecked with ruffles and ribbons, and her hat, well, there was much to observe in her hat, including an array of peach-tinted flowers and, of course, feathers. But her blue eyes were bright and inquisitive and friendly.

      The couple was more than pleasant. They were very nearly overwhelming in their eagerness over what Lady Blodgett kept referring to as their quest. India wasn’t at all sure she liked the term quest—it brought to mind grand adventures and legendary pursuits. She preferred to think of this as a serious search, even a mission of rescue. Although she did hope rescue would not be necessary. She hoped—she prayed—nothing had happened to Heloise and she was simply unable to write for whatever reason. A reason that might well turn out to be completely insignificant. Heloise did tend to be a bit scatterbrained and easily distracted. Still, as much as India tried to convince herself of that, the horrible weight of doubt still lodged in the pit of her stomach.

      India glanced at the clock on the mantel in Lady Blodgett’s parlor and resisted the urge to shudder. The clock was a dark bronze and perhaps the most ornate thing she’d ever seen. Mythical figures cavorted about its base, and fictitious beasts writhed around the sides, climbing toward a goddess figure at the top. One could barely see the clock face for the embellishments. Matching urns supporting candelabra flanked the timepiece, the epitome of the current overindulgent style. But then everything in Lady Blodgett’s cluttered parlor—from the small Egyptian mummy case—apparently for a cat—in one corner to the Grecian statue centered between the front windows to the ancient Roman swords hanging on the far wall—was at once unique and far-fetched. And better suited to a museum than a home. There wasn’t so much as an inch of the ornately carved tabletops in the parlor not covered with a Dresden figurine, a knickknack of some sort or a souvenir from Sir Charles’s travels. Aside from the lack of poorly executed art on the walls, Heloise would have felt completely at home in this room. She would have described it as whimsical.

      It was not the word India would have used. Even though India shared Heloise’s London house, her private rooms were on the second floor, and she’d decorated them with an eye toward simplicity and function. Aside from her collection of novels of mystery and detection, little in India’s quarters would have revealed much of herself to a casual observer. Whereas Heloise’s friendly nature and delightful demeanor was evident in every nook and cranny of the rest of the house. The older woman had never met a knickknack or objet d’art she didn’t love.

      India would not have termed Lady Blodgett’s filled to overflowing room as shabby, either, but it had obviously seen better days. Heloise would have felt at home with that, as well.

      “Perhaps, while we wait for Derek, you would like to explain to Professor and Mrs. Greer exactly how you plan to find Lady Heloise.” Lady Blodgett stared at her expectantly.

      “You must have a plan, you know,” the professor said firmly. “Can’t go running about the world willy-nilly. Even the most intrepid adventurers have some sort of plan.” While a longtime member of the Explorers Club, the professor had apparently rarely set foot out of England, which only heightened his enthusiasm for the quest.

      “Our plans are not definitive as of yet. There are still some decisions to be made.” India adopted a confidence she did not feel. “At our last meeting, Mr. Saunders suggested following my cousin’s footsteps insofar as we know them. I do have the letters she wrote to me from various places and of course there is her itinerary. I assume the society has a copy of that?”

      “I would think so.” Lady Blodgett gestured absently.

      “Fortunately, I made a copy before Lady Heloise left England, which I will share with Mr. Saunders.” India tried and failed to keep the annoyance from her voice. “Should he ever arrive.”

      “Come now, Miss Prendergast,” Professor Greer said in a chastising manner. “I have no doubt Mr. Saunders is engaged in preparations for our journey, as any good leader of an expedition would be.”

      Indignation surged through India. Good leader, indeed! “On the contrary, Professor, I would imagine Mr.—”

      “Parkhurst!” Lady Blodgett interrupted, calling to her butler. “We seem to be running low on biscuits. I’m sure Mrs. Greer would care for some more. Wouldn’t you, Estelle?”

      Mrs. Greer glanced from the almost-empty serving platter to her still-full plate, then nodded. “Perhaps another one or two. They are delicious.”

      “Aren’t they, though?” Lady Blodgett beamed. “My cook is really quite wonderful with biscuits, although you should try...”

      Lady Blodgett continued rambling about scones and other baked goods in an obvious effort to avoid any discussion of her great-nephew’s leadership abilities or anything else about him. India could certainly understand that. It had proven surprisingly easy for Martin’s investigator to uncover a great deal of information about Mr. Saunders. Much of the man’s life was an open book. A scandal-ridden digest of impropriety and excess. The kind of book that should be banned from respectable society.

      Derek Saunders was indeed the heir of the Earl of Danby and, like so many young men of privilege, had spent most of his days enjoying the pleasures English life provided the offspring of society. A few years older than India, his reputation for spending, indulgence in gaming, women and drink were the stuff gossips dreamed of. His name had been linked to numerous indiscretions, and while admittedly they were not the kind that ruined lives or toppled empires, they were still notable. The latest rumor was that his uncle was no longer tolerating his irresponsible behavior and had cut him off. One did wonder if he had come up with the idea of siphoning money from susceptible older ladies in the form of dues and charges for travel services after the earl’s edict or before.

      “Now then, Miss Prendergast,” Professor Greer began when Lady Blodgett had at last paused for breath. “You were saying that Mr. Saunders’s plans for our endeavor were

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