substantially more travel experience than you do.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Saunders.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore sniffed. “I resided for nearly six weeks in Paris as a girl.”
“And the late Colonel Higginbotham and myself spent several summers in the Lake District.” Mrs. Higginbotham paused. “Admittedly, that does not equate to foreign travel but it is some distance from here.”
“Domestic travel as it were,” Aunt Guinevere said helpfully.
“And yet I imagine when your members speak of their dreams of adventure through travel, Lake Windermere is not the first destination that comes to mind.”
“Lovely spot, though,” Mrs. Higginbotham murmured.
“There is no need to raise your voice, dear.” Aunt Guinevere cast him a disapproving frown.
“I did not raise my voice. In fact, I have been doing my very best not to raise my voice.” He drew a steadying breath. “Correct me if I’m in error, ladies, but by no stretch of the most fertile imagination could any of you be considered experts in travel or the arrangement of travel.”
Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose if one wanted to base judgment on actual experience alone, that might be considered inaccurate.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Higginbotham said. “I lived with the colonel for thirty-seven years, and he traveled continuously to the most interesting and exotic places. I would think the years spent in his company listening to his endless tales would negate the minor detail that I did not actually accompany him.”
Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore nodded. “Nor did I accompany my dear Malcolm, but he did keep me apprised of his adventures and very often asked my opinion when he was planning one expedition or another.”
“As did your uncle Charles,” Aunt Guinevere added. “Why, he frequently said he could not step a foot off English shores without the benefit of my advice.”
Derek stared in stunned disbelief.
“So you see...” Aunt Guinevere smiled pleasantly, but triumph glittered in her eyes. “Even though we have not traveled extensively, we do have extensive travel knowledge.”
All three ladies shared equally smug looks.
“Let me put it this way.” Derek struggled to keep his voice level. “While it could possibly be argued that you have a certain level of expertise as it relates to travel, most rational individuals would think your claim ridiculous. As would a magistrate or any court of law. What you are engaged in here, ladies, is fraud.”
“Don’t be absurd, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere scoffed.
“I’m not being absurd, I only wish I were. At the very least, the consequences of your activities are scandal. At the worst—prison.” He fixed them with a firm look. “You are falsely representing yourselves as being able to supply a service you are not qualified to provide. And for that you are taking money from women who trust you.”
“Well, we had to do something,” Mrs. Higginbotham snapped. “Minimal pensions and minor inheritances are simply not enough to survive on even with the most frugal manner of living.”
Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore nodded. “It’s not easy getting on in years. It would be one thing if our dear husbands were still with us, but as they are not, we have each found ourselves tottering precipitously on the very edge of financial despair.”
“To be blunt, Derek,” Aunt Guinevere said coolly, “we have outlived our financial resources. We were very nearly penniless.”
“But you all have families,” he said before he thought better of it. He tried to ignore a fresh wave of guilt. He’d had no idea of his great-aunt’s circumstances, and he doubted his mother did, either. Aunt Guinevere had not seen fit to inform them, although, admittedly, they had not taken it upon themselves to inquire after her, either.
“Distant and disinterested.” Mrs. Higginbotham sniffed.
“None of us were fortunate enough to have had children.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore shrugged. “Nothing can be done about that now, although I suppose, in hindsight, breeding like rabbits would have provided some sort of insurance against being left alone in dismal financial circumstances. Still, I daresay poor Eleanor Dorsey has not found it so and she had nine children.”
The other ladies murmured in agreement.
“Even so,” Derek began.
“We have all lived relatively independent lives, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere raised her chin a notch and met his gaze firmly. “We took care of ourselves and each other when our husbands were off doing all those things men so enjoy and do not for a moment think women would appreciate, as well. We do not, at this point in our lives, relish the thought of throwing ourselves on the mercy of relations who barely acknowledge our existence. Nor do we intend to.”
Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore squared her shoulders. “I will not be relegated to the category of poor relation.”
“And if it came to that, we would much prefer, all three of us...” Mrs. Higginbotham’s eyes blazed with determination. “Prison.”
“I doubt that,” he said sharply, then drew a deep breath. “Forgive me, ladies. I do see your position. Truly I do, and I promise you I shall do everything I can to help alleviate your financial woes, but you must understand you cannot continue this endeavor.”
“I don’t see why not.” Mrs. Higginbotham crossed her arms over her chest. “Our members flock to our meetings and lectures and are quite content with our services. Thus far, we have not had one resign her membership. Why, we’ve had no complaints whatsoever from our members.”
“Not from members perhaps.” He leaned forward in his chair. “But do you recall a Miss India Prendergast?”
“India Prendergast?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “A lovely name but if I’ve heard it before I simply can’t remember.” She heaved a wistful sigh. “I fear my memory is not what it once was.”
“She’s written the society a number of times,” Derek said. “Now do you remember?”
“Effie handles most of the correspondence,” Aunt Guinevere offered.
Derek turned to the other woman. “Mrs. Higginbotham?”
“Prendergast you say?” Mrs. Higginbotham asked.
Derek nodded.
“Let me think.” She pursed her lips and considered the question then shrugged. “No, it doesn’t sound the least bit familiar, but then my memory is no better than Poppy’s.” She cast him a helpless smile he didn’t believe for a moment.
“That is odd.” He laid his palm on the stack of papers on the desk. “As she has written you at least five letters demanding to know the whereabouts of her cousin.”
Aunt Guinevere’s eyes widened. “And who is her cousin, dear?”
Oh, they were good, this trio of septuagenarians. He would wager a considerable amount their minds
