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Mr. Evelyn didn’t share her dilemma. His eyes rarely found hers as he conversed with the group, and she quickly relegated him to the company of rather ordinary Englishmen whose heads were easily turned by Miss Lydia Tyndale.
Though, to be fair, his manner wasn’t the fawning sort. In fact, he listened politely to Lydia’s account of their travels, but there was a general tightness to his jaw that suggested he was eager to make his farewells.
To Helen, he said very little until she asked him directly, “Is Alexandria your destination, sir, or merely a stop in your travels?”
His smile, when he offered it, was slight. “My plans, as of now, are uncertain, Miss Corbyn.”
“What brings you so far from our English shores?” Mrs. Sheffield asked.
“Oh, never say you’re another Egypt-mad gentleman, Mr. Evelyn,” Lydia said before he could reply. “Or at the very least, assure us you collect the pretty bits rather than the dreadful ones. I daresay, Miss Corbyn and her suitor, Lord Thorsby, share an unnatural liking for the ghastliest relics.” She smiled to take the sting from her words, but Helen wasn’t fooled.
Lydia Tyndale, she’d learned, always had a strategy, and Helen didn’t doubt she wished to manage Mr. Evelyn’s opinion before he could form one. But whether Lydia meant to warn him of Helen’s unladylike interest in antiquities or simply imply an understanding with Lord Thorsby that didn’t exist, she couldn’t say.
Mr. Evelyn’s eyes narrowed the merest bit at Lydia’s words. The gentleman seemed disinclined to have his opinion managed for him, and Helen’s estimation climbed a notch.
“Indeed?” he said politely. “Have you no interest then in the ‘pretty bits,’ Miss Corbyn?”
“On the contrary. I’m exceedingly fond of them, but it’s quite possible my notion of ‘pretty’ is not the same as yours.”
He looked as if he might make a reply, and she found herself leaning forward to hear it. When he dipped his head and said only, “Quite so,” she was oddly disappointed.
As soon as politeness allowed, he made his excuses and quit the room, and she had no further opportunity to consider the taciturn Mr. Evelyn and his pale eyes.
CHAPTER FIVE
ABOARD THEORIENTAL
Helen exhaled slowly as she attached a pair of pearl earbobs before the mirror in her cabin. The sickness that had plagued her during the first portion of the journey had lessened, thankfully, but she moved carefully lest she upset her stomach’s fragile truce.
Lydia had gleefully regaled her each night with all that she had missed at supper, from the pleasant conversation at the captain’s table to the fine meals “fit for the grandest estate.”
Tonight, Helen meant to experience it for herself.
Lydia had been pleased to the point of insult on learning she and Helen each had a cabin to themselves, one next to the other with the professor and Mrs. Tyndale across the corridor. The cabins were spacious and well-appointed with plush rugs, polished mahogany furnishings and tasteful Eastern decor. Each cabin had a sitting area and a private room for washing as well as two berths.
Helen thought the expense of paying for two beds was silly—a person could only sleep in one at a time—but she wouldn’t complain as she enjoyed the time apart from the other woman as much as she suspected Lydia did.
A female attendant, an Armenian named Dalita, had been provided for the ladies to share between them. Lydia, of course, had insisted that Dalita attend her first, as her hair took longer to style in the complex arrangement she preferred.
Helen had agreed (there was little point in arguing the matter) and styled and pinned her own hair. She sat then with Wilkinson’s guidebook to await Dalita’s assistance with the last of her buttons.
TheOriental, she learned, had been acquired from the Americans. Its hold could accommodate an impressive number of carriages—both two- and four-wheeled—as well as horses, mules, dogs and assorted other animals. To her delight, Wilkinson’s account included a fare schedule for transporting giraffes and gazelles from Africa, and she wondered if their voyage home might include such fascinating cargo.
Finally, Dalita’s knock sounded at the door. As Helen crossed the thick carpet, the ship rolled on a steep swell and bile rose once again in her throat. She swallowed, pressing a hand to her stomach, and waited for the rolling to ease. When it did and her stomach settled without further upset, she let out a relieved sigh. Some moments later, fully buttoned and gloved, Helen joined the Tyndales.
“I’m so relieved to know you’re feeling better, Miss Corbyn,” Mrs. Tyndale said graciously as she threaded an arm through Helen’s.
“As am I,” Helen replied with a smile. The professor’s wife was a kindly, grandmotherly sort of woman who’d fretted over Helen’s travel sickness. “It’s a delight to see something more than the walls of my own cabin,” she said with feeling.
As they made their way to the first-class dining saloon, laughter, conversation and even the sound of a harmonica could be heard from the deck passengers, who passed the voyage forward of the funnel. Although Helen would not have liked traveling on the deck, the third-class passengers did seem to be enjoying themselves.
Lydia, who walked ahead with the professor, turned to say in all earnestness, “I really do think they should design the ships on a different plan. The division between deck and cabin passengers is by no means sufficient.”
“What do you mean?” Helen asked, although she could guess the direction of the other woman’s thoughts. Miss Lydia Tyndale’s father had been a viscount. Her consequence had suffered when she went to live with her untitled uncle, and she had never quite got over it.
“Now that all sorts of people go abroad, there really ought to be some better means of dividing the classes.”
Helen’s brows dipped. “What do you propose? A brick wall of some sort? Or perhaps the deck passengers should travel in the hold with the giraffes and gazelles.”
