CHAPTER ELEVEN
One should keep in mind where one is bound when selecting attire for a journey. A wardrobe for the Egyptian desert would not be appropriate in the Bavarian Alps. However, one can never go far afield with a good-quality skirt and sturdy walking boots. The knowledgeable lady traveler always checks her luggage more than once to make certain it is properly labeled. Lost luggage will disrupt the trip of even the most steadfast among us.
—The Lady Travelers Society Guide
EVEN AT THE house she shared with Heloise in London, India dressed for dinner. It was proper and expected. But her gray suit was simply not up to the task of dining yet again in Lord Brookings’s ornate Parisian dining room with its mural-painted walls and sparkling gold-and-crystal chandelier. Still, she made do—she had no choice. It would have been rude to have stayed in her room. Nonetheless, being impolite might well have been better than being present at dinner. She wouldn’t have believed it possible but she felt even more out of place at the table with his lordship, Derek and the Greers than she had in the lobby of the first Grand Hotel although the second, third and all the way through today’s seventh, while not quite as grand, were still impressive.
It was early evening when Derek decreed they were finished for the day and insisted they return to his stepbrother’s house. Her trunk had still not been located, but Suzette assured her it had probably simply been placed in the wrong room, more than likely in the wrong wing, and every effort was being made to find it. India wasn’t sure she completely believed the woman. What she’d seen of the household staff did not inspire confidence in their efficiency. It was not the least bit surprising that they had misplaced her trunk. However, she had to admit, the food here was excellent, if a bit rich. Still, there was too much on her mind to enjoy the meal or partake in the lively conversation. No one seemed to notice.
It was obvious that Estelle had fallen under the spell of both Derek and Lord Brookings, given the way the older lady fluttered her lashes and emitted the occasional giggle, not to mention the look of adoration in her eyes. As if she were a schoolgirl and not a woman in her late fifties.
Professor Greer seemed to have succumbed to their charms, as well, and much of the conversation consisted of reminiscences of his student days in Paris thirty-some years ago. The three men dedicated a considerable amount of time to comparing and contrasting the Paris of today—with its newly widened boulevards and recently constructed edifices—with the Paris of the professor’s youth. And as much as he appreciated the modern look of the city, he did speak longingly of twisted medieval streets, narrow passageways and ancient buildings. There was a touch of longing, as well, in his memories of some of the more unsavory entertainments Paris had offered, and Lord Brookings assured him some things never change. Thankfully, Derek quickly directed the conversation toward other topics.
No, India would have preferred to avoid dinner altogether and wouldn’t have minded avoiding Derek, as well. She had not been inebriated at the café, but the wine had served to loosen her tongue. But when she reflected upon their conversation, there was little she said that she would not have said without the wine. Although she probably owed him an apology. Her dismissal of his desire not to disappoint was beyond rude; it was petty of her and unkind. A distinct sense of shame washed through her at the thought. He’d been nothing but nice to her, and she’d returned his kindness with sarcasm and disdain. Indeed, she couldn’t help but wonder if he wasn’t quite the scoundrel she’d thought he was but rather misguided in his attempt to prove his worth. It was a thought worth further consideration.
She excused herself after dinner, pleading weariness, which was not entirely untrue. Once more, she was forced to sleep in the same frilly nightwear she’d worn since her arrival while Suzette again took her clothes to be cleaned. While she wasn’t used to such luxury, the silken feel of the garment against her skin was delightful. The thought crossed her mind that she might wish to pamper herself and indulge in something similar when she returned home. And indulge in a mattress that was as welcoming as this one. Silly musings of course, no doubt attributable to this city and this house.
India had awoken this morning with renewed determination. She had again slept later than usual but woke earlier than the past two mornings, intending to join the rest of the household downstairs for breakfast. She’d surrendered to Suzette’s insistence on helping her dress and arranging her hair—even if the end result was decidedly more French than she would have preferred with her usual knot higher on her head and annoying tendrils of curls fringing her face. Suzette had declared it quite fetching, and India had wished to escape more than she’d wished to argue.
“Good morning,” she said brightly, entering the dining room. His lordship wasn’t present, no doubt this was entirely too early for him, but Derek and the Greers were engaged in animated conversation. Derek and the professor both stood at her arrival.
“Good morning, my dear.” Professor Greer smiled. “You look lovely today.”
“You do indeed, India.” Estelle nodded with enthusiasm. “Paris obviously agrees with you.”
“I wouldn’t wager on that.” Derek studied her curiously. “Is there something different about you today?”
“Nothing I can think of.” India resisted the urge to pat her hair back into its usual place. Her glance strayed to the sideboard. “Is that an English breakfast?”
“With a few French pastries thrown in for good measure.” Delight sounded in Estelle’s voice. “His lordship apparently appreciates the benefit of both French and English offerings at breakfast. Frederick and I think it’s a custom we might well adopt ourselves when we return home.”
“Lord Brookings has always believed in taking the best of both cultures,” Derek added. “There’s a specially blended coffee, as well.”
“How very...worldly of him.” India gestured to the others to take their seats, then hurried to the sideboard. It was a breakfast to rival even the heartiest offering to be found in England: eggs cooked three different ways, sausages, an assortment of cheeses, fish and fruit, as well as croissants and several other types of pastries. For a fleeting moment, she envied those whose wealth allowed them to indulge this way every morning. She filled her plate and took a seat at the table.
“Derek,” she began, “as much as I am eager to return to our search today, I’m afraid there will be an unavoidable delay.”
His brow rose. “A delay?”
She nodded. “I cannot continue to wear the same clothes day after day. As everyone has assured me my trunk must be here somewhere, I intend to take my maid and go through every room in this house until I find it.” India pulled apart a croissant and popped a bite in her mouth.
Derek and the professor traded glances.
“I do hope you intend to ask Lord Brookings before you go barging about his house, India,” Estelle said.
“I have every intention of doing so, but thank you for pointing that out to me.” India stabbed a piece of sausage. The sausages were particularly good.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, my dear,” the professor began, then glanced at Derek, who nodded in an encouraging manner. “But I was unaware your trunk was missing until this morning.”
Perhaps Heloise’s cook could learn to make French pastries.
“Frederick and Estelle had already left for the day when you awoke yesterday,” Derek said.
“Thank you for your concern, Professor,” India said and took a bite of eggs cooked with mushrooms and herbs. It was all she could do not to moan with delight.
“It’s more than concern really.” The professor cleared his throat. “I very much fear I am responsible.”
India froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Oh?”
“If I recall correctly, when I claimed our luggage the other night,” Professor Greer began, “it seemed more than sufficient for four people. There were a number of valises—I’m not sure exactly how many—and three trunks.”
“One of which was mine,” Derek said.
Estelle winced. “The others were ours.”
“I do apologize, but I had no idea we were missing your baggage.” Professor Greer shook his head. “I certainly would have said something at the time if I had realized we were one trunk short.”
“So my trunk is not in the house,” India said slowly.
“Apparently not.” Derek considered her with the same look one might give an unexploded bomb that could detonate at any moment. “However, the instant the professor informed me this morning, I personally returned to the station to see if your trunk was there with other lost bags.”
“And?” She held her breath.
“And...it wasn’t,” Derek said reluctantly. “It’s entirely possible it was somehow misdirected, and instead of coming to Paris it went off on its own travels.”
She set the fork down. “Where?”
Derek hesitated. “That does seem to be the question.”
She drew a deep breath and struggled to stay calm. “And do you have an answer?”
“Not yet.” Derek grimaced. “But I assure you, I am doing everything possible to recover your trunk. Val is lending his assistance, as well. I have no doubt it will turn up.” He paused. “Eventually.”
“Eventually?” She could barely choke out the word. “Eventually?”
“Sooner or later,” he said weakly.
“Yes, I know what eventually means,” she said sharply, her voice rising in spite of her best efforts.
“These things happen when one travels, my dear.” Estelle reached over and patted her hand. “I have never traveled myself, of course, but I understand this does happen on occasion. Why, one of the brochures from the Lady Travelers Society deals with this very subject and offers excellent advice on how to manage without one’s own things until one’s luggage is recovered.”
India had never experienced panic before, but what was surely panic rose within her now. “You belong to the Lady Travelers Society?”
“Oh my, yes.” Estelle dimpled. “I have from very nearly the beginning.”
And wasn’t that a revelation? Still, it scarcely mattered at the moment. Not when her stomach was twisting, and she could barely drag air into her lungs. Her vision narrowed, and the oddest black dots clouded the edge of her sight.
“If you will excuse me.” India got to her feet and braced her hands on the table, her knees unsteady as if they might fail her at any moment. Dear Lord, was this what it felt like to faint? She was not the type of woman who fainted. Indeed, she’d always had a certain contempt for women who fainted to avoid a pressing problem. In that, she might have been too harsh.
“Are you all right?” Derek jumped to his feet and circled the table toward her.
The professor frowned with alarm as he, too, stood. “You look extraordinarily pale.”
“No, I’m fine.” She pulled in a deep breath, then another.
“Are you sure?” Derek was beside her now, concern in his voice and his eyes. As well as a touch of what might well be guilt. “You don’t look well.”
Indeed, he should feel guilty. He was the one who had seen to the luggage at the beginning of their journey.
“No, really, I’m quite all right.” She straightened, her momentary distress swept aside by anger. Which would serve no one well. She needed to take her leave, at once, before she said something that would only make matters worse. “I think I shall retire to my room and consider all this.” She mustered a weak smile. “Thank you for your concern.” She quickly took her leave.
With every step, her ire eased. If one looked at this in a rational, sensible way, it probably wasn’t Derek’s fault, not completely. Oh certainly, he was responsible for the luggage, but as for the rest of it... It was simply easier to direct her fury at him than to place the blame where it belonged—squarely at her feet. But it had seemed such a clever idea at the time.
Martin had gone on and on about the dangers of travel. About thieves and pickpockets in cities like Paris. About the threats to women traveling even with companions. About how one could be knocked over the head and lose everything. It therefore didn’t seem at all wise to carry her funds in her traveling valise or on her person. Why, in her books of detection and mystery, where valuables were secreted in hidden places, no one ever found them until the final chapter. What could be safer than putting the bulk of her traveling funds in a hidden compartment in her trunk?
It had never been mentioned that the trunk itself could be lost!
She reached her room, closed the door behind her and collapsed against it. Good Lord, what was she going to do? She and Derek had agreed from the beginning that they would each pay their own expenses. The only money she had at the moment was what Martin had given her for telegraphs, and that would not last. At least as long as they remained in Paris, she did not have to pay for a hotel room. But when they left...she shuddered at the thought. She could not under any circumstances take money from Derek. That would be the same as taking it from ladies like Heloise herself.
She pushed away from the door and paced the room. There were few options. She could use what little money she had to return to England and abandon her search for Heloise—praying her cousin would at some point realize she had failed in her correspondence and write to her. Of course, that was assuming Heloise was indeed fine. It was also dependent upon prayer, and India was not confident in divine intervention. Surely God had other things to concern himself with than lost cousins and lost luggage. Besides, he’d never seemed to listen to her before.
No, the only real choice was to stretch what little she had and—should it be absolutely necessary—wire Martin for funds. He wouldn’t be at all averse to assisting her, but she hated the very thought of admitting her stupidity and asking for rescue. She was not a helpless female and did not want to be seen as one. Nor did she wish to be further indebted to Martin. She was already in his debt for her employment. She would send a final telegram, make up some sort of excuse as to why she wouldn’t be telegraphing him further and then make that money last as long as possible. And she would repay him every bit of it when she returned home.
A knock sounded at her door.
“Yes?”
The door opened, and Estelle poked her head in. “My dear girl, are you all right? Everyone is worried about you.”
“That’s very kind of you.” India forced a smile. “But you needn’t worry, I’m fine.”
“Oh, well, then, I’ll leave you be.” Disappointment flickered through the older woman’s eyes, and she turned to go. It really was quite nice of her—of all of them really—to worry about her. Especially given that she might not be the most congenial traveling companion.
“Don’t go,” India said without thinking. “That wasn’t entirely true.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not the least bit fine, I’m afraid.” India brushed an annoying tendril of hair away from her face. “Please, come in.”
“Of course.” Estelle’s face brightened, and she fairly bounced into the room. “You poor child. What can I do to help?”
“I don’t know.” India indicated an upholstered chair. “Do sit down.” Estelle settled in the chair and waited expectantly. India resumed pacing. “I’ve never not known what to do, at least not as far as I can remember. My life is usually well ordered and controlled. Things are not generally out of my hands.”
“This is an awkward situation.” Sympathy sounded in Estelle’s voice. “Although we are in Paris, so it’s not as bad as it could be.”
India paused in midstep. “I don’t see how it could be worse.”
“Nonsense. This is the fashion capital of the world, you know. I can’t imagine anything more fun than replenishing one’s wardrobe in Paris, even if one has limited means. It’s an opportunity that does not often come along, at least for most of us. And you have the perfect excuse.”
India stared. “I hadn’t even thought about clothes.”
“Well, you simply can’t continue to wear the same thing day after day.” Estelle’s gaze traveled over the gray dress from bodice to hem and back. “It’s beginning to look a bit—” she winced “—sad.”
“It is being cleaned every night.”
“Clean is one thing, dear. Worn is something else altogether.”
India glanced down at the dependable garment. “I think it’s holding up well.”
“Come now, India.” Estelle’s tone was gentle, as if she were trying to make a small child see reason. “Do you really?”
“Yes,” she said staunchly. “I do.”
Estelle’s brow arched upward.
“I’ve never been particularly concerned with fashion.”
“I’ve noticed, dear.”
“I prefer to choose my clothes for practical reasons—appropriateness and reliability, that sort of thing.”
“Not for appearance then?”
“No.” India shrugged.
“Never?”
“I’ve never seen the need.”
“I see.” Estelle considered her thoughtfully. “Have you never put on a new gown or a dress and enjoyed how it not only made you look but how it made you feel?”
“No.” India had never even considered such a thing.
“Goodness, even I have that experience very nearly every time I don a new frock. Admittedly, it’s been some time since the view in the mirror was as fetching as it once was...” A wistful smile curved Estelle’s lips. “But enough of that. It’s past time you had that same experience, too. Come along, India.” She rose to her feet. “We have shopping to do.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” Estelle waved off India’s objection. “As we shall certainly be here for some time, we shall order you some new clothes at once. Until then, there are a few shops here where clothes are sold ready-to-wear. I have already, out of mild curiosity, stopped at a few, and their charges are quite reasonable. Purchasing ready-made clothing is not something I would normally endorse, you understand, but necessity dictates a modicum of sacrifice. Although the purchase of Paris fashions, even those not made to order, is scarcely—”
“I can’t purchase any clothes.” India’s voice rose.
“Not only can you but you must,” Estelle said firmly.
“No, you don’t understand—I can’t.” India drew a deep breath. “Most of my money is hidden in my trunk.”
Estelle’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened.
“Is there a Lady Travelers Society pamphlet for that?” The panic India had thought laid to rest threatened to return in full force.
“I don’t know.” Estelle stared. “But there certainly should be a pamphlet. ‘What to Do When One Is in a Foreign Country with No Money.’ I shall suggest it when we return.” She hesitated. “But I suspect the first thing it might say is don’t put your money in luggage that could go astray.”
“Yes, well, that would be good advice.” India continued to pace. “I realize it sounds, oh, unwise—”
Estelle snorted, then coughed.
“But it did seem like such a clever idea at the time.” Still, what had she been thinking? Why, she’d been so caught up in worry about Heloise and preparing for a trip she’d never previously considered, with a man she didn’t trust, and Martin was going on and on about rogues and gypsies, and obviously she wasn’t thinking at all. India prided herself on her intelligence but, apparently, when one’s intellect failed, it did so in a spectacular manner. “I see now it was a stupid mistake. Why, if anyone else had done something this absurd—”
“You’d call them an idiot.” Estelle nodded. “And in no uncertain terms, I’d wager.”
India stared at the older woman. She’d never worried about what other people thought of her; it simply wasn’t important. She lived her life as she pleased. Of course, she’d never had a season, never been officially out in society, never even been to a ball. And never particularly cared about what she considered foolish nonsense. Was it even remotely possible that all those things she’d never done—never wanted to do—had made her into the kind of shrew who was so unyielding she couldn’t forgive fault in other people? Who saw nothing wrong in pointing out the flaws of others? Who spoke her mind regardless of what insult she might cause? Who belittled a man’s sincere desire not to disappoint?
Estelle was right. India would be the first to call someone who had made as ridiculous a mistake as she had an idiot. That was exactly what she would do. And she’d do so with a great deal of disdain and superiority.
“You’re right.” India sank down on the bed. “I probably would. How terribly...awful of me.”
“I’m not sure awful is the right word,” Estelle said.
India shot her a skeptical look.
“Although I suspect it’s fairly close. However...” Estelle adopted a no-nonsense attitude. “One cannot change if one doesn’t recognize there’s a problem, dear. You are an intelligent, outspoken, independent woman, and I see nothing wrong with that.” She smiled. “But you might consider accepting that the rest of us are flawed, mortal creatures who might not live up to your standards of perfection.”
India nodded slowly. “I could consider that.”
“And that’s all we can hope for. Now then, there’s little I can do about your finances, although I’m sure I can scrape together a bit of a loan. For now...” Estelle studied her closely. “Stand up for a moment so that I may get a good look at you.”
“Why?” India asked but stood nonetheless.
“Turn around please.” Estelle twirled her finger. “Slowly.”
“All right but why am I doing this?”
“So I can best determine which of the articles of clothing I brought with me would be suitable for you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“But you will. I insist, and I will not take no for an answer.” Estelle stood and circled India. “My things will need a few alterations here and there but nothing significant I wouldn’t think. We are of a similar height and while our bosoms are comparable, I’m afraid the rest of me is a bit more curved than you are.”
Stout was a more appropriate word. India cringed to herself. If she was to be less judgmental and, well, nicer, she needed to start now. If Estelle wanted to call herself curved, then curved she should be.
“I’m not unskilled with a needle and thread myself, but I would imagine one of the maids here is probably more adept than I am.” Estelle’s brow furrowed with thought. “I brought far more than I can possibly ever wear, but one never knows what one might encounter when traveling.”
“Is that advice from a Lady Travelers Society pamphlet?”
“Yes, I believe it is,” Estelle said absently, gathering some of the gray wool between her fingers and pulling it tighter. “You’re not quite as plump as I thought you were. It’s simply that your clothes are a bit ill fitting.”
“They are quite comfortable.”
“I imagine they are,” the older woman murmured. “I have several things that will do for you. At least one will take no more than a stitch here and there. I’ll fetch it at once and find a maid, as well.”
“Thank you, Estelle.” Wearing Estelle’s clothes would not have been her choice, but the offer was very kind. And the older woman was right—the gray wool was looking tired. While India was only of moderate means and had never given a second thought to fashion, she did prefer to look neat and precise.
Estelle turned to go.
“One more thing.” India hesitated. “I would appreciate it if you would not mention my financial difficulty to Mr. Saunders.”
“I think he will notice eventually.”
“Not if I’m careful. And not if we do indeed find my cousin soon, which we will surely do as we have only twenty or so more Grand Hotels at which to inquire.” Although it did seem rather a lot. She refused to consider their next step if Heloise was not at a Grand Hotel. If the word grand in her letter was nothing more than a description. Would they then have to inquire at every hotel with a grand appearance? And what if they didn’t find her in Paris at all? “And I did carry a little money with me.” India wasn’t used to asking anyone for anything, but pride did need to be set aside on occasion. “I would hate for him to know how foolish I was.” Strange, how important it seemed. Whatever else Derek might think of her, she would hate for him to think she was stupid.
“I can certainly understand that.” Estelle nodded. “Very well then, this shall be our secret.”
“Once again, you have my gratitude.” India released a relieved breath. “You’re being very kind, and I’ve done nothing to merit it.”
“Nonsense. I have no doubt you’d do the very same thing for me if our positions were reversed.”
India wasn’t entirely sure of that, but it was rather nice that Estelle thought so.
“I am also hoping that you and I can be friends.”
Friends? It had occurred to India the other day when Derek had mentioned something about her friends that, aside from Heloise and Martin, she had none. She’d never given it a second thought, and it had certainly never bothered her before. Odd that it did so now.
She smiled. “I would like that.”
“Good. Then as your friend, I must be honest and admit that providing you with a few garments is a benefit to me, as well. It gives me the opportunity to buy a few things here for myself.” Estelle grinned in what could only be called a wicked manner. “And I have always wanted a gown made in Paris.”