A Grand Tour (Timeless Victorian Collection Book 2)

by Anthea Lawson

  Evelyn was still in shock as she walked with her aunt across the platform, moving through the crowd until they boarded the train itself.

  The interior was nicer and homier than Evelyn expected. Yet her heart felt like it was about to hammer right out of her chest.

  “Where are we going?” she said to her aunt as the woman led her along a corridor. Mrs. Jones followed close behind, and Evelyn assumed that Mr. Jones was still dealing with all of their luggage.

  “Ah, here we are,” Margaret said in a triumphant tone. “Compartment fifteen.” She opened a door and ushered Evelyn inside.

  Plush velvet seats lined two of the walls, and heavy curtains half concealed a large window that looked out over the milling crowd outside.

  “Well, what do you think?” Margaret said, clapping her hands together.

  When Evelyn didn’t reply, couldn’t reply, Mrs. Jones said, “It’s lovely, ma’am. Shall I order tea?”

  “That would be excellent,” Margaret said, then drew back the curtain. “I’ve been looking forward to this for ages.”

  Mrs. Jones bustled out of the compartment with a soft laugh, sliding the door shut behind her.

  “Aunt Margaret,” Evelyn said, her voice shaking with trepidation, not only from being on the train but from the fact that they were apparently traveling someplace far away.

  Her aunt released a sigh. “All right, dear, I’ll explain everything now that we’re aboard. You should sit down first.”

  Evelyn sat.

  “Your uncle left the estate to his cousin’s son,” Margaret said. She peeled off her gloves, then settled across from Evelyn. “The new owner of the estate hasn’t signed any papers yet, so I can still access all the money. That is, until he returns to England to sign everything. I’ve decided that while I still have access to my husband’s money, my money, too, that I’m going to spend it.”

  Evelyn had been shocked into silence. She stared at her aunt, trying to comprehend what she’d just been told.

  Margaret smoothed her skirts and smiled as if they were talking about a new recipe for tea cakes. “Can you believe that my home is going to belong to someone else? James and I were married for thirty years. Thirty!” She shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it herself. “I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time—until you finished your schooling—and now, we are to go on a grand adventure. Paris . . . here we come.”

  As if on cue, the train belted out a long, shrill whistle.

  “Paris?” Evelyn said in disbelief as Mrs. Jones opened the door, followed by Mr. Jones pushing a tea cart.

  “Venice, Rome,” her aunt said. “If you can dream of it, we’re going there.”

  “What about Cairo?” Mrs. Jones said, her eyes shining as if she were joining in a child’s game.

  “Cairo too!” Margaret said with a laugh. “In a few weeks’ time, we’ll be floating down the Nile with the crocodiles. It will be marvelous!”

  Evelyn looked from one woman to the other. Both of their faces were flushed pink, their eyes were shining, and they were grinning. Had they gone mad?

  The train heaved forward, and Evelyn placed a hand over her stomach as it lurched along with the train.

  Mr. Jones barely grabbed the tea tray to keep it from rolling across the compartment.

  Margaret trilled a laugh at all the commotion.

  Evelyn could only stare at them in disbelief as they discussed the various places they wanted to go—one more outlandish than the next. Then her gaze was pulled toward the window and the sites of London passing by.

  As the train gained momentum, the noise grew louder, and the scenery sped by faster. Despite the anxiety rolling in her stomach, Evelyn found herself fascinated with the motion of the train. She felt like she was running faster than she’d ever thought possible. But there was no wind.

  “Would you care for a cup of tea, miss?” Mrs. Jones asked.

  “No, thank you,” Evelyn said, her eyes drawn to the window once again. It seemed that Mrs. Jones was moving about quite safely, so Evelyn rose from her seat and walked to the window to look out.

  The movement of the train was a bit unsettling, but Evelyn held onto the windowsill to keep her full balance. She’d never seen London like this—all in one fell swoop. It was like looking at a painting or a picture. She focused on one person, only to have their image whisked away and replaced by another image. Buildings, carts, carriages, women, men, children, dogs . . . all passed in a colorful blur.

  The door to the compartment banged open, and Margaret gasped just as Evelyn turned to see who’d entered.

  A tall man stood in the doorway, holding his hat in his hands. His blond hair was a disheveled mess, and his eyes were the deepest green Evelyn had ever seen—reminding her of a painting she’d seen of the Nile River—and his skin . . . was either very tanned or dark. Was he Italian or Spanish? Were Italians ever blond?

  The man was out of breath as if he’d run to catch the train. His gray suit coat was unbuttoned, and he wore no vest. His cream linen shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, and there was no sign of a tie. He scanned the compartment, his gaze temporarily landing on Evelyn before he focused on Margaret. Evelyn didn’t know what to think about the intrusion. The blond man had a positive wildness about him—perhaps a desperation.

  Aunt Margaret rose to her feet. She lifted a trembling hand and pointed to the stranger. “You . . . you, sir, have ruined my life.”

  “Did you find them?” Percy asked, coming up behind Henry. “Oh . . .”

  Percy joined Henry in the doorway. “Well, here we are. Hello, everyone.”

  Henry wanted to clamp his hand over his friend’s mouth and tell him to stop talking immediately. Mrs. Tucker was staring Henry down like a fierce lion stuck in a trap. She was caught, and she knew it.

  After a second letter from the solicitor, Henry had finally consented to return to England. His trip coincided with Percy’s return for his sister’s wedding. It was just as well. The archaeological dig was on hold while Mrs. Lillian Worthen decided if she wanted to bring a legal complaint against Henry for not disclosing that he had funds.

  Fortunately, Percy had done the sweet-talking with Mrs. Worthen, and she’d relented somewhat and promised she wouldn’t do anything drastic until they returned to Giza.

  As if that were comforting.

  Still, Henry was impatient to return to Egypt. The England summer was sticky, and the crowded streets and shops reminded him of why he’d enjoyed the open spaces of the desert. Not to mention the quiet stillness and the nights where the sky seemed to include the entire heavens. His determination to locate Mrs. Tucker had finally paid off after over a week of searching.

  The day after the wedding, Henry had paid a visit to the Tucker estate, only to be told that Mrs. Tucker was not in. He returned the next day, and the next. Henry eventually realized that he was being stood up.

  He’d explained things to his mother, and she didn’t understand why he insisted on speaking with Mrs. Tucker before signing the inheritance papers.

  Henry couldn’t give his mother a solid reason, just that it felt like it was the right thing to do. The past few days had been a wild chase about London as he was told he’d “just missed” her when he arrived at the estate, then tried to catch her at various shops, and finally, this morning, he’d been told by the Tucker’s housekeeper that Mrs. Tucker was catching a train out of London.

  Apparently, he had to buy a train ticket just to speak with Mrs. Tucker. Now, she was staring at him with venom in her eyes.

  “Mrs. Tucker,” Henry said, collecting his wits. “I don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Henry Gaiman, a relative of your husband’s.” He stuck out his hand.

  She ignored the gesture. “I know who you are, Mr. Gaiman. What you and your mother have done is despicable. Get out of this compartment before I call the constable.”

  “My mother?” What was this woman about? Yes, his mother could be a bit difficult at times, but to imply that she s
omehow orchestrated this inheritance was ridiculous. He took a step inside the compartment, although he remained close to the doorway where Percy was standing.

  “My mother has nothing to do with the entailment of your late husband’s estate,” Henry continued. “I’m not sure where you’ve come up with your accusations, but I assure you, my mother and I were both surprised.” Henry wasn’t going to turn back now. He glanced about the room. Every single person was staring at him. From a young woman at the window to an older couple. He turned back to Mrs. Tucker. “Is there some place we could speak more privately?”

  Mrs. Tucker lifted her chin, a double chin that looked quite regal nonetheless. “I have nothing to say to you, sir. Besides, I refuse to be alone with you.”

  Percy moved to stand behind him, and Henry knew he had to be firm. He didn’t want to scare the woman, but he’d gone through too much to back down now. “Can we sit and talk this through?”

  Mrs. Tucker didn’t respond, but her eyes seemed to be watering.

  Was the woman going to cry? Henry felt like she’d used a weapon against him.

  Without having to be asked, Percy pulled the compartment door shut, at least giving them privacy from anyone who might happen to pass along the corridor.

  Henry moved to the seat closest to the door. “May I?”

  Mrs. Tucker gave the barest of nods.

  Henry sat, and he nodded to Percy, who sat opposite him. The older couple was sitting next to Henry, while Mrs. Tucker was on Percy’s side. The young woman chose to sit on the other side of Mrs. Tucker. Henry didn’t know who the young woman was, but she was striking with her dark hair and her dark eyes—quite a contrast to Mrs. Tucker. Yet the young woman had an aura of innocence, and she was staring, quite unabashedly, at Henry.

  When his gaze caught hers, instead of looking away, she just continued to stare as if she were watching a zoo exhibit.

  Henry supposed this event was close to a zoo exhibit. He also supposed he should begin. He cleared his throat. “Well, I’ve been trying to meet with you for over a week now,” he started. “I’ve come to your home every day and found you quite elusive.”

  Mrs. Tucker kept her chin elevated, her blue gaze steady on him. Henry had to be impressed. Percy nodded his encouragement. Good old Percy.

  “My mother is widowed too,” Henry continued. “So I understand quite well the concerns that you must have at this time. I want to be clear when I say that I don’t want to turn you out of your home.”

  Mrs. Tucker’s eyebrows lifted. Clearly, she didn’t believe him.

  “Let me explain,” he said. “I live in Cairo, and I have no intention of taking up residence in England any time soon. Therefore, you will continue to have a place to live and full use of the estate. I will also offer you a yearly income for your personal use. All estate expenses will, of course, be covered by me.”

  Mrs. Tucker brought her hand to her mouth. Her eyes were watering, but then she lowered her hand and said, “What about when you return to England? What about when you marry?” Her voice had risen an octave.

  “That won’t happen in the foreseeable future,” Henry said. “I have no intentions to marry for now, and my work in Egypt will take several years. When the time comes, and if it comes, for me to change my residence, I am sure we can work out something that will benefit both of us.”

  Mrs. Tucker took a shuddering breath. “Oh my heavens,” she said. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.” She turned to the young lady at her side and grasped her hands. “Did you hear that? We still have a home!”

  We? What did Mrs. Tucker mean by we? Henry knew that Mrs. Tucker had a niece under her care, but he’d thought she’d be much younger than the woman beside her.

  Mrs. Tucker dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief that she’d withdrawn from somewhere within the depths of her voluminous skirts.

  “That is good news,” the young woman said in a quiet voice.

  “My goodness,” Mrs. Tucker blurted out. “We must make introductions. Now that my home isn’t being ripped away from me, I find that I’m am feeling much more affable.” She sent a watery smile toward Henry, then looked pointedly at Percy.

  “This is Percy Smith, my colleague and first assistant on my archaeological dig,” Henry said.

  “Pleased to meet you all,” Percy said, looking at each person in turn.

  Mrs. Tucker patted his hand. “You look like a fine young man.”

  The tips of Percy’s ears pinked, and Henry might have teased him about it if they weren’t amid such mixed, and volatile, company.

  “I’d like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Jones,” Mrs. Tucker said, motioning to the couple sitting on the same side as Henry. Both greeted Henry and Percy. “And this is my niece, Evelyn Tucker, fresh from Mrs. Paddock’s Finishing School for Young Ladies.” Her voice was filled with pride as if Mrs. Tucker had graduated herself.

  Henry’s gaze couldn’t move from the young woman’s. Evelyn was her name. He must have heard his mother mention this niece’s name, since it now seemed familiar to him. He guessed her to be nineteen or twenty. He also guessed that the dim lighting inside the train compartment made her eyes look black, when in fact they were most likely brown.

  “Evelyn’s my elder sister’s daughter, God rest her soul,” Mrs. Tucker continued. “We’ve given her our last name to ward off the questions. When she was ten, her parents were killed in a train crash.”

  Henry blinked. A train crash? Both parents? He didn’t remember his mother telling him of that.

  “It was all long ago,” Mrs. Tucker continued, and Henry wondered if Evelyn was bothered by her aunt giving such a deluge of information. “Now Evelyn is all grown up and quite a fine young woman. I suppose when we return from our grand tour we’ll have to find her a husband.” She trilled a laugh.

  Evelyn’s smile was tight. This told Henry that she was feeling as uncomfortable as he was.

  “A grand tour, eh?” Percy broke in. “That sounds like quite the adventure.”

  Until Percy mentioned it, Henry realized he had been watching Evelyn more than he was listening to her aunt.

  “Oh, it will be an adventure,” Mrs. Tucker said, turning her smile upon Percy. Her gaze scanned him from head to foot. “Tell us about yourself, Mr. Smith.”

  No, Mrs. Tucker wasn’t going to get away without explaining. “Let’s hear about your grand tour first,” Henry pressed.

  Mrs. Tucker’s cheeks reddened. Interesting.

  “Well,” she said, smiling brightly. “I thought that since my niece has successfully completed finishing school, it was time she saw the world for herself. At least, part of it.” Her cheeks were still red. “I knew that once you took possession of the house, my funds would be greatly reduced.”

  Henry could feel Percy staring at him—was he thinking what Henry was thinking? Was Mrs. Tucker making a run to spend the money before he received it? “How . . . how long is your tour for?”

  “I hadn’t really planned the exact timing of it.”

  She is just trying to avoid me and spend as much of my inheritance as possible, Henry thought. Just a few weeks ago, he didn’t even know he had such an inheritance. Yet Mrs. Tucker’s boldness was unsettling.

  Mrs. Tucker’s chin lifted again. “My niece is an excellent student of history, and she’ll be able to enlighten us all on our travels.”

  Henry couldn’t decipher the surprised look that Evelyn gave her aunt.

  Mrs. Tucker kept talking, oblivious to how her niece was reacting. “Of course, we’d love to have two young, intelligent gentlemen such as yourselves accompany us.”

  Henry’s eyes nearly popped out. Percy brought his hand to his mouth and coughed.

  “Thank you for the invitation,” Henry finally managed to say. “We’ve got to return to Giza to continue our excavation. Things have been . . . complicated by the event of this inheritance.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Tucker said. “There’s nothing in Egypt that can’t wait for a few more months
.”

  “What are you excavating?” Evelyn cut in before he could reply to her aunt’s rather caustic remark.

  He didn’t miss the bright interest in her eyes or the way she leaned forward, her gaze intent on him. Also, this was the first direct thing Evelyn had said to him.

  “We’ve, ah, uncovered a t-tomb that dates back to the Nineteenth Dynasty.” Henry had never stuttered a day in his life, yet here he was, stumbling over every word. He supposed that the charm Percy claimed Henry had with the ladies had just flown out the train window.

  Percy coughed into his hand. Henry knew he was being warned not to speak too much of the excavation. Such things were kept private until an article could be published on the findings. If other archaeologists got wind that they were on the brink of an important find, they would descend upon the site in droves. The Egyptian government would provide digging grants to the highest bidder.

  “The Nineteenth Dynasty?” Evelyn said, her voice rising with interest. “So, the era of Ramses the first and Ramses the second? Early or late period?”

  Percy coughed again. Henry ignored him. This young woman seemed to know her history—her aunt had been right.

  “We haven’t pinned down the exact decade yet,” Henry said, keeping his gaze on Evelyn alone, even though out of the corner of his eye he could see Percy’s eyebrows aiming for the ceiling. “But we are confident that the tomb belongs to a priest, or at least someone very important to the royal family.”

  “Astounding,” Evelyn said. “What sort of items have you excavated? Any mummies?”

  “Evelyn Cleo Tucker,” Mrs. Tucker cut in. “Let’s not discuss something so morbid.”

  Evelyn didn’t seem put off by her aunt’s reprimand.

  “Cleo is your middle name?” Percy said. “As in Cleopatra?”

  Mrs. Tucker laughed. “Of course not; Cleo is a family name. Who would use a name so ostentatious as Cleopatra? Didn’t she marry her brother or some such thing? There’s a scandal if I ever heard one.”

  Evelyn’s lips twitched, and she looked over at Percy.