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Grinning, she jumped and began gathering supplies from the saddlebags. As she worked, he knelt beside her, offering comment and critique, until they were both satisfied with the amulet’s new hiding place.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ABOARD THETAMARISK
Miss Lydia Tyndale had almost decided that removing to Africa might not be such a horrid fate after all. She’d learned, to her delight, that one of the gentlemen who’d smiled at her when they first boarded theTamarisk, was unattached. Mr. Northcott traveled to Cairo with an older brother, a sister and his parents. The sister was a silly peahen, but Lydia was prepared to overlook that. If she managed things properly with the gentleman, she might not be obliged to remain in this dry, drab, insect-infested land much longer.
She offered up a smile as one of her new companions made a joke. She was careful not to smile too broadly, of course, but she lent the expression enough sweetness to indicate a pleasant, agreeable nature.
“Miss Tyndale,” Mr. Northcott said, “what will you do first on arriving in Cairo?”
What would she do first? She would secure the services of the hotel maid and enjoy a proper toilette—and certainly not a bath with foreign soap. She didn’t think that was what he meant, though.
“Tea,” she said. “I’ve heard Mr. Shepheard’s hotel sets a fine tea table, and I should like to enjoy it without the floor moving beneath me.”
Mr. Northcott laughed as he’d been expected to. “Say you’ll join us on the veranda when we arrive, with your aunt and uncle, of course.”
Lydia nodded her head in genteel acceptance of the invitation. Tea! It was hardly a marriage proposal, but she must remember to take things one step at a time.
“I dare say something has upset your aunt,” Miss Northcott said in her feathery tone. Lydia looked across the small parlor to where her aunt hurried to her uncle’s side, a frown pulling her brow low. She spoke to him in hushed tones, hands fluttering in agitation. Her uncle’s head jerked back at her words, and his eyes widened in dismay.
Lydia sighed softly to herself. Miss Corbyn was about to disrupt things once again.
——
“Henry! I mustspeak with you at once.”
Professor Henry Tyndale pressed his wife’s hands to still their fluttering. “Dorothea, what has you in such a taking?”
“It’s Miss Corbyn. Oh, Henry, she’s not here!”
“Calm yourself,” he said. “What do you mean, she’s not here?”
“You know I’ve been worried for her—the poor thing doesn’t suffer sea travel well. But we haven’t seen her since we left Alexandria, so I knocked on the door of her cabin. When she didn’t answer, I called out, just to see if she needed anything, of course. She still didn’t answer so I turned the knob. It was unlocked, Henry. Her cabin is empty, and her things are still packed away in her trunk. Oh, what do you think has happened?”
Henry’s stomach pitched uncomfortably at his wife’s words, but he needed to see for himself. “Let us go,” he said as he ushered his wife from theTamarisk’sparlor.
They reached the narrow doorway of Miss Corbyn’s cabin, and it was just as his wife had said. The room was empty, the lady’s trunk still full and neatly packed. Sunlight through the small window showed that her bonnet hung on a peg near the bed and a letter addressed to her parents lay atop the small desk. They were the only indications that Miss Corbyn had ever been in the room.
“When did you see her last?” he said gruffly. “Tell me everything.”
When his wife finished, he removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. He’d assured Harry Corbyn on more than one occasion that he’d see his daughter returned to him safely. His stomach pitched and rolled again. How could they have lost the young woman? More importantly,wherehad they lost her? Miss Corbyn was a sensible sort and quite resourceful, but he wasn’t ignorant of the dangers an unaccompanied lady faced. He couldn’t help but worry for her safety.
“I should have been more diligent,” he muttered.
“Do you think she’s fallen overboard? Oh, Henry, I feel absolutely horrid. I should have checked on her sooner.” Dorothea gripped her hands tightly before her, twisting them as she spoke.
He stilled her hands with his own, his heart hurting at what he must say. “I don’t think Miss Corbyn has fallen overboard, but I do think it’s time we speak with Lydia.” He looked at his wife meaningfully.
Dorothea’s brow dipped lower and she stared at her hands. “Henry, you can’t think she—that Lydia would—” His wife’s eyes filled, and she swallowed before sitting heavily on the end of Miss Corbyn’s bed. “Oh, dear. I fear we’ve been too indulgent with our niece.”
Henry couldn’t disagree. When Lydia’s parents had died ten years before, he and Dorothea, who’d not been blessed with children of their own, had readily accepted the charge of his brother’s only child. But their love and affection, though well-intentioned, had not been tempered with the firm guidance a young lady required. Instead of curbing her whims and correcting her faults, they’d allowed her grief free rein, permitting her to indulge in every fancy she desired. Now, he feared, she’d grown into a young woman of great beauty and charm but lacking in the virtues of self-restraint and humility.
And, if his suspicions were true, basic kindness.
——
Lydia had expectedthe summons to Miss Corbyn’s cabin, but she had not expected her uncle’s firm stare. She glanced around the small room with wide eyes. “What do you mean, Miss Corbyn isn’t here? Where could she have gone?”
