CHAPTER FOUR
“DARE I ASK if your visit to the Lady Travelers Society was successful?” Sir Martin Luckthorne studied India from behind the cluttered desk in his library. She made a mental note to tidy it up before she left for the day.
“It was...” She pressed her lips firmly together. “Adequate.”
“And yet you seem in such a cordial mood,” he said pleasantly.
Her gaze snapped to his. “Sarcasm, Sir Martin, is uncalled for.”
“Sarcasm, Miss Prendergast, is the thinking man’s defense against despair.”
“Is that a legitimate saying, or did you make it up?”
“The fact that I made it up makes it no less legitimate.”
“Now you’re just trying to distract me by being amusing.” She frowned. “I am not fond of your attempts to disarm me.”
“And yet much of the rest of humanity is grateful for my efforts on their behalf.” A wry smile quirked his lips.
“You know I never lose my temper.” India prided herself on keeping her emotions firmly in hand, even on days like today when it was a distinct challenge.
“You, my dear, can say more with the look in your eyes than anyone I’ve ever met,” he said mildly. “A look designed to strike terror into the hearts of even the most stalwart of men.”
“Nonsense.” She sniffed.
He raised a skeptical brow.
“I do nothing of the sort,” she said, although her denial did not ring entirely true. And, unfortunately, Martin knew it. Aside from Heloise, he knew her better than anyone. And why not?
While it would be terribly improper to admit it aloud, she considered her employer a friend. Indeed, aside from Heloise, he was her only friend. It was inevitable really. When one spent almost every day with a man for eight years—taking care of very nearly everything in his life—some sort of cordial relationship would surely develop. Or one would have to move on. Although she hadn’t expected the kind of affection one would feel for an impractical older brother to grow between them. But then neither had she expected to be in his employ for eight years.
In truth, she was fortunate to have found this position at all. While Heloise had a trust from her late father—who’d died long before she took in India—that was sufficient to meet their needs, it provided little beyond what Heloise considered the necessities in life. India had insisted on contributing to their unusual family’s coffers and had sought work the moment she’d finished her education at Miss Bicklesham’s Academy. Heloise knew her ward better than to encourage marriage, and, really, what was the point? Aside from the adequate dowry that Heloise had set aside for her, India had nothing to commend her as a suitable match. Her family was respectable but not noteworthy. She came from neither wealth nor power. As far as society was concerned, she did not exist. She’d had no debutante season nor had she ever desired one. After all, the sole purpose of coming out in society was to find a husband. Marriage was simply not of interest to India. Heloise had never married and she seemed quite content with her life.
Heloise had tried to persuade her to pursue higher education, and they’d had an ongoing dispute about the subject until India had reluctantly agreed to take evening classes at Queen’s College. Classes she continued through her brief employment as a governess and by correspondence during her mercifully short interlude as a teacher at Miss Bicklesham’s. India Prendergast was the first to admit she was not cut out to shape young minds.
While in the throes of trying to determine what kind of position to attempt next—she was fast running out of acceptable employment for a well-bred young lady of good family—she happened across an advertisement for a person of sufficient education to assist a scholarly minded gentleman with correspondence, the cataloguing and organization of various collections, and assorted tasks as required. While India had no idea what “assorted tasks as required” might be, she had nonetheless turned up on Martin’s doorstep that very day.
He had been younger than she’d expected, a scant dozen years older than she. But, at the age of only thirty-three, he had already settled into that category of bachelor that was referred to as confirmed. India suspected, even as a youth, the man was probably set in his ways. And his ways did not include hiring a woman.
Still, he had yet to meet India Prendergast. Within a week she had his correspondence up-to-date. Within a month she had his vast collection of ancient Roman coins categorized by date and emperor. Within three months, she had his financial records in order and his incompetent servants replaced. By the end of her first year of employment, his household and his life were running as smoothly as clockwork. The only chink in India’s fortress of organization was Martin himself, who spent much of his life immersed in whatever project happened to catch his fancy at the moment, be it of a scholarly nature, one of his numerous collections or tinkering with a convoluted—and yet oddly practical—invention of some kind. India considered him a modern renaissance man. Fortunately, he had a great deal of money and could support the quirks of his nature.
They got on quite well together. India thought of him as Martin, although they rarely called each other by their given names. It would be most inappropriate. India enjoyed managing his life and was secretly grateful there was no Lady Luckthorne as she couldn’t imagine a man’s wife being so liberal as to allow him to have a female assistant. Or a female friend.
“I do hope you are not going to keep details of your foray to yourself.” Martin set his notes aside, rested his forearms on the desk and folded his hands together. “That wouldn’t be at all fair as it was my idea.”
“And an excellent one at that.” India sank into her usual seat in the leather tufted wing chair positioned in front of his desk.
“I know.” He grinned. “Better still, it kept you from descending upon the society like an irate mother hen.”
“Avenging angel actually,” she said. “I should have gone there weeks ago.”
“It’s been a scant six weeks since your last letter from Lady Heloise. You weren’t overly concerned for a fortnight after that.”
“I should have been.”
“Rubbish. The unreliability of foreign postal service could certainly account for a delay in the delivery of Lady Heloise’s letters. No, Miss Prendergast, this is not in any way a failure on your part.”
“Still, I...” She sighed. The man was right, which made her feel no less guilty. And no less helpless. “I should have done more sooner.”
“You sent letters, you spoke to the police and you have confronted the people you deem responsible in person. Now—” he pinned her with a firm look “—tell me. Did you learn anything of substance?”
She thought for a moment. “What I discovered was not in the least surprising, even if most disheartening.” She blew a frustrated breath. “If it had not been for my letters, I doubt that anyone there would have realized Heloise was missing. It strikes me as the most disorganized, haphazard enterprise I have ever encountered.”
“Oh?”
“The three elderly ladies, the widows I told you about?”
He nodded.
“They are allegedly in charge of the society however—” she narrowed her eyes “—I fear your Inspector Cooper was right.”
“He’s not my Inspector Cooper,” he said coolly. “In fact, I thought he was quite taken with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
On occasion Martin had the most absurd idea that she was the kind of woman men considered attractive, but then he had a generous soul. Aside from various meetings and lectures, he did not often venture into society and, other than his housekeeping staff and his cook, India was the only woman in his life.
India was under no illusions as to her appearance. Her features were regular, her form average, tending toward full, her hair an unremarkable brown. Admittedly, her eyes were a lovely shade of green, but beyond that, there was nothing to commend her appearance one way or the other. She had accepted this fact of life as a child, and even Martin’s overly generous nature did not change that. She was, however, intelligent and sensible and well organized, far more important attributes than mere appearance—especially if one was not wealthy and needed to make one’s way in the world.
“I wasn’t being ridiculous. I am nothing if not observant, and it is my observation that the man was definitely flirting with you. Or at least attempting to flirt with you.”
“If that was Inspector Cooper’s attempt at the art of flirtation, he obviously needs practice.” Not that India had any practical experience to base her opinion on. Still, one would think flirtation would be more effective if it was at least noticeable. “I would imagine if a gentleman was taken with a woman he would not belittle her legitimate concerns by accusing her of making a mountain out of a molehill or suggesting female emotions had somehow addled her brain.”
He chuckled. “Yes, well I can see where that would not serve his cause.”
“Again, I do not believe he has a cause as you put it.” As intelligent as Martin was, he truly did not understand the ways of the world. “Now, as I was saying, I think there is indeed a male mastermind hiding behind the facade of these widows.”
“A mastermind?” His brow shot upward. “Have you been reading novels of mystery again?”
“I have no need for a fictional mystery when the question of Heloise’s whereabouts is unanswered,” she said, firmly evading the subject. Martin took a great deal of perverse pleasure in teasing her about her reading habits, which tended toward stories of mystery and detection. It was her one real vice, the one silly indulgence she allowed herself. She had devoured A Study in Scarlet and was hoping another book about Sherlock Holmes would soon be forthcoming. “And mastermind seems the most appropriate term. It was apparent to me that these ladies are no more than a false front to hide the machinations of a Mr. Derek Saunders.”
“And you have jumped to this conclusion because?”
“I’m not jumping to anything. I have calmly and intelligently reached this decision based on my observations. The man is obviously a rogue and a scoundrel.” Why, no true gentleman looked quite that devil-may-care. The spark in his blue eyes, the set of his chin—there was a definite air about the man that spoke of indiscretion and recklessness and...trouble. “While the ladies seem quite pleasant and very sweet, in spite of the experience of their late husbands, I don’t think Lady Blodgett or her friends have so much as a vague idea what they’re doing when it comes to the arrangement of foreign travel. They are, however, trusting and naive. You can tell that just by looking at them. I fear they are no more than blissfully unaware puppets being manipulated by a master puppeteer.” She pressed her lips together. “Why, he wouldn’t even allow them to say what they wished. No doubt for fear they would reveal everything.”
Martin frowned. “You met him?”
“I most certainly did,” she huffed. “He’s the kind of man who thinks he can get whatever he wants through charm alone.”
“So he was charming, was he?”
“In his eyes only.” Although one could possibly see how a woman less susceptible than herself could be taken in by blue eyes set in a handsome face, dark unruly hair and broad shoulders. “I found him annoying.”
“I see.”
“However...” It was the only point in his favor. “Before I confronted him, I overheard him saying he had spoken to investigators about finding Heloise.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“Very little. He only did that much because of the threat in my letters to further involve the authorities. Unfortunately, such an investigation will cost a great deal.”
“I see.” Martin paused. “Then he—they—were of no real help?”
“Well, not yet. He has decided to find Heloise himself, although I doubt he has the skills to do so.”
“You must be pleased by that.”
“Yes, well...” She wasn’t quite sure how to tell him Mr. Saunders would not be traveling alone.
“You are being remarkably reticent to reveal anything of substance, which is not at all like you.” Martin considered her thoughtfully. “It leads me to believe you have something you don’t wish to tell me. As you have never been reluctant to confide in me in the past, I can only surmise this is significant.”
“And you won’t like it.”
“Then perhaps you should tell me and get it over with.”
“Probably.” India braced herself. “When Mr. Saunders sets out from London to follow in Heloise’s footsteps, I shall accompany him.”
“You what?”
“I don’t trust his abilities—or willingness—to find Heloise on his own. I intend to make sure he does whatever is necessary,” she added. “In addition, by watching his every move I may be able to uncover proof of his wrongdoing and thereby save other women just like Heloise. The man belongs in prison. I am certain he is behind this Lady Travelers Society that I fear has no real substance and only exists to separate unsuspecting older women from their money.”
Martin stared at her for a long, silent moment.
“There, now you know everything.” Without thinking, she twisted her hands together in a nervous manner. “I do wish you would say something.”
“How am I to get along without you?”
Any apprehension she’d had about revealing her plans vanished with his words. “Goodness, Martin, you’re a grown man. I’m certain you can manage by yourself.”
His eyes widened. “I don’t know that I can manage at all if you abandon me.”
“I am not abandoning you.” This was not the response she’d expected although she probably should have. “You have a houseful of servants to see to your needs. Your cook will make certain you are fed, your housekeeper will attempt to keep your clutter confined to your library and your butler will keep the rest of the world at bay.”
“But...but...” The man stared as if she were the worst sort of traitor. “Who will handle my correspondence and see to my schedule and organize my notes? You do realize I am trying to put together my reference of ancient Roman desert trade routes so that it may be published soon.”
“Of course I realize that.” What she hadn’t realized was that he was quite so helpless. “You have been putting together that book since before I came to work for you.”
“But I’m now closer to completion than ever,” he said staunchly.
“And my absence will give you the opportunity to devote your attention fully to your work.” Although she would wager her yearly salary that he would be no further along when she returned, whether that was in a week or ten years.
“But...” His brow furrowed; then his expression brightened. The tiniest hint of triumph shone in his eyes. “You accompanying this man—this mastermind—would be shockingly improper. I can’t believe you’re considering such a thing. And I don’t imagine Lady Heloise would approve.”
“As she is not here, that is a moot point. And I have already had this conversation. I’m not especially worried about my reputation.”
“I am and concerned as well about your safety.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “I daresay I won’t have a moment’s rest knowing you are off with this...this villain.”
“I’m not sure villain is entirely accurate—”
He ignored her. “Going off to Europe in the company of a man you know nothing about. A man you don’t trust. A man you think is using a trio of elderly ladies to pilfer money from other elderly ladies. Why, you’ve already referred to him not only as a mastermind but as a scoundrel and a rogue, as well.”
“Indeed I did, but—”
“Manipulation and deception are not qualities one usually looks for in a traveling companion.” His jaw set in a determined manner. “I cannot in all good conscience allow you to go off alone with this man.”
“We won’t be alone,” she said quickly, ignoring the fact that—even if he was her employer—Martin had no right to tell her what she could and could not do. “The ladies insisted on chaperones.”
His eyes narrowed. “How do you know these chaperones are to be trusted?”
“I don’t. Mr. Saunders was not pleased about my demand to go with him, nor was he happy about having chaperones accompany us. It was his great-aunt’s idea.”
“If she is his great-aunt,” he said darkly.
“Given the way they behave around each other, there is no doubt in my mind as to their familial connection. And while I do think Mr. Saunders is clever enough to manipulate elderly ladies, I doubt that he can arrange diabolical chaperones on a moment’s notice.”
“Even so...” His fingers drummed faster, and she knew by the look in his eyes that he was struggling to come up with another reason why she shouldn’t go. “I suspect if I forbid you to go, if I threaten that your position will not be here when you return,” he said in a measured manner, “it will not be enough to dissuade you from this ill-advised course you’ve set.”
“I do appreciate your concern, but no, it won’t.”
“Then there’s nothing else to do. To ensure your safety and your honor—” he squared his shoulders “—I shall simply have to come with you.”
For perhaps the first time in eight years, India had absolutely no idea how to respond. Martin had a brilliant—if unfocused—mind, but he was not the type of man one would turn to for protection. While not unattractive, he was a bit over average in height with fair, usually unkempt, hair, a boyish look about him—in spite of his age—and a build kept slender by regular exercise. Regardless, he exuded an absentminded air of scholarly endeavor not physical prowess. Why, India was probably more suited to be a rescuing knight than Martin. Beyond that, the poor dear did not take well to travel. Trains upset his stomach in the manner of mal de mer, and the mere thought of crossing the Channel usually turned his complexion green in anticipation.
“That’s very kind of you, but it’s not necessary.”
“Oh, I think it is.”
“Martin,” she said gently, “if you are truly concerned as to my reputation, surely you can see that traveling with two single men—even with chaperones—would make this appear much more shocking.” Indeed, it was a mark of her concern that she was willing to bend propriety this far in the first place. “But I am grateful for the offer.”
“I am not happy about this, India.”
“I’m not especially happy about it myself but...” She shrugged. “I do not trust Mr. Saunders.”
“Perhaps,” he said slowly. “If I paid for the investigation—”
“I cannot permit that, and you know it.” She thought for a moment. “But there is something I will allow you to do for me.”
“I am at your service. Always.”
Usually, Martin’s droll comments were nothing more than mildly amusing, but on occasion, she had wondered if there was more to them than he let on. This was one of those moments. Not that she had time for sentimental speculation.
“I will meet the chaperones on the day after tomorrow, and we leave the day after that. I believe it would be wise to have more information about Mr. Saunders than I currently have.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I will contact an investigator I know, very discreet and very efficient.” He paused, a look of resignation on his face. “You will be careful?”
She nodded. “I will.”
“I expect regular correspondence from you apprising me as to your progress.”
She nodded. “I shall do my utmost.”
“No, on further consideration...” He tapped his fingers on the desk thoughtfully. “I know you will not allow me to finance this endeavor—”
“I have savings as my salary is more than sufficient.”
“Given all your responsibilities, that is debatable. Regardless, as mere correspondence will take entirely too long to reassure me as to your safety, I shall provide you with funds so that you may telegraph me as to your whereabouts and progress.”
“Goodness, I really don’t think that’s—”
“Every third day will do.” She started to protest, but he held up a hand to forestall her. “I will not take no for an answer on this, India.”
“You don’t think every three days is excessive?”
“Probably, but with any luck you will not be gone long.” Resignation sounded in his voice. “I will expect you to telegraph me as well if there’s anything you need—including funds.”
“I doubt that will be necessary, but thank you.” She paused. “And thank you for your friendship as well. I value it, Martin.”
“As I value yours.” He stared at her for a moment as if there was something more he wished to say. At last he nodded. “That’s it then. We should get back to work. What is on our schedule for today?”
She picked up her notebook from its usual spot—precisely in the upper-right corner of his desk. “You wished to order supplies for the experiment you spoke of yesterday and we need to respond to the invitation from the Society of...”
While he could occasionally be somewhat perplexing, India was under no illusions about Martin. He was indeed her friend, and if he wished for more than friendship between them, well, he’d had eight years to do something about that. Not that she would welcome any overtures of a romantic nature. Certainly not from Martin. At this point in her life, India had no particular interest in romance. Any silly dreams she might have had as a girl were abandoned years ago when she’d realized dashing heroes were plentiful between the pages of books but rather lacking in real life. Besides, heroes did not ride to the rescue of heroines who were ordinary in appearance, sensible in nature and had little financial worth.
Without warning, flashing blue eyes and a wicked grin jumped to mind. She ignored it.
No, she had no interest in romance with Martin. Or anyone else.