Lady Blodgett took her place at the lectern; the other two seated themselves in chairs behind her and off to the right. Regardless of whether or not the ladies’ endeavor was aboveboard they certainly weren’t the least bit disciplined. Lady Blodgett continued to talk with a woman seated in the front row; the two others on the podium waved to another woman, then exchanged animated comments. Why, the entire room was still filled with feminine chatter. Clearly, with this sort of disorganization, it was entirely possible they weren’t fleecing susceptible females but were simply too scattered to keep track of them.
“I suspect members are always going on trips abroad?”
“Not at all,” Miss Honeywell said. “At least not yet. I’m not sure more than one member that I know of has actually traveled beyond England. It takes a great deal of time and preparation to arrange a trip to the Orient or the Grecian isles or the deserts of Egypt.”
“A great deal of time and dues?”
“Well, one does want to be prepared.” Miss Honeywell nodded. “And the ladies’ lectures do precisely that.”
“I see.” And the longer a woman stayed in London paying monthly dues, the richer the coffers of the Lady Travelers Society became. And wasn’t that an interesting thought?
India wasn’t sure if it was Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore or Mrs. Higginbotham, but one of them abruptly stood, stepped to Lady Blodgett’s side and spoke quietly in her ear. Lady Blodgett winced and glanced toward the back of the room, then sighed and smiled in a resigned manner. India’s gaze followed hers.
A gentleman with a grim expression on his face and a leather satchel in his hand glared at the older lady. He was admittedly handsome with dark hair and broad shoulders, and appeared exceptionally tall. But then everyone seemed tall to India as she was somewhat shorter than she would have preferred.
“Who is that?” she asked Miss Honeywell.
“Lord Charming.” Miss Honeywell fairly sighed the answer.
There was certainly something about the man, an air of confidence perhaps, or something in the assurance of his stride and the set of his chin that, in spite of his serious expression, did seem to scream charming. “His name is Charming?”
The other woman snapped her gaze away from the gentleman, her eyes wide. “I didn’t...oh dear.” A blush washed up her face. “Did I really say that aloud?”
“I’m afraid so.” While India had little patience with women who mooned over men, no matter how attractive they may be, she couldn’t help but feel a touch of sympathy. Gentlemen who looked like Lord Charming rarely preferred more ordinary creatures like Miss Honeywell, or, for that matter, India.
“I don’t know what came over me,” she said under her breath, “I should have said dashing.” She grinned. “No, his name isn’t Charming or Dashing, of course, and he isn’t a lord, at least not yet. But he is the heir to the Earl of Danby. That’s Mr. Saunders. He’s the son of Lady Blodgett’s niece.”
“My apologies but it seems there will be a slight delay,” Lady Blodgett announced. “We should only be a few minutes, but until we return please avail yourselves of the refreshment table. Oh, and—” her gaze flitted over those seated “—where is Miss Honeywell?”
“Yes?” Miss Honeywell stood.
“Be a dear, Sidney, and hand out this week’s pamphlets.” Lady Blodgett smiled and followed her friends to the back of the room. All three ladies kept smiling but India would have wagered all three would have preferred to be anywhere but here at the moment. Mr. Saunders opened the door, and the three women filed through.
India rose to her feet. “Is he here often?”
“I really couldn’t say.” Miss Honeywell frowned. “He was here last week. That was the first time I’d seen him, but, as I said, I am new in this position.”
“Lady Blodgett and the others don’t seem especially happy to see him.” India’s gaze lingered on the door.
“No, I’m afraid not.” A thoughtful note sounded in Miss Honeywell’s voice. “Lady Blodgett seemed quite pleased to see him at first. But no one appeared especially happy after Mr. Saunders and the ladies met privately. They haven’t been quite their usual, cheery selves since.”
“I see,” India murmured. Still, while Mr. Saunders’s connection to the ladies did seem important, she wasn’t entirely sure of its significance.
Part of her hoped that this Lady Travelers Society was legitimate. But if so, why hadn’t anyone here responded to her concerns about Heloise? If the ladies who managed the society weren’t simply taking money for services they were not really providing, why wouldn’t they want to do everything possible to recover one of their own? No, there was something decidedly wrong here.
As much as she hated to admit it, Inspector Cooper might well be right. There might be a man behind it all.
And it was becoming fairly obvious exactly who that man was.
Still, at the moment, it was nothing more than speculation. Far better to face the inspector’s smug, superior attitude when she had found Heloise and was, as well, able to present actual proof that someone had set up an organization for the sole purpose of taking money from those who could least afford it. Worse yet—stealing their long-held dreams of adventures on foreign shores.
India’s resolve hardened. The overly attractive Mr. Saunders might well be able to fool three unsuspecting elderly ladies into being the face of his nefarious scheme, but India Prendergast was made of sterner stuff. She absolutely would not rest until Heloise was safely home. And if one hair on the dear woman’s head was so much as ruffled, India would see to it Mr. Saunders spent the rest of his days in prison.
No matter how dashing and charming he might be.
“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