Free Dark Road to Darjeeling by Deanna Raybourn Page A

their husbands.
    “How kind of you, Miss Cavendish,” I said with a broad and insincere smile. “He so regrets that he has been detained in Calcutta, but one cannot very well refuse an invitation from the viceroy. I know he would be deeply vexed if you delayed your entertainment on his account.”
    Plum smothered a snort and Portia raised a brow at me, but I ignored them. There was still much that Miss Cavendish could tell me about the Peacocks and I had every intention of remaining in her good graces.
    Somewhat mollified, she began to tick off on her fingers. “The doctor will be here, his duties permitting, of course. And the Pennyfeathers, the Reverend, his wife, Cassandra, and their children, Primrose and Robin. I expect they will bring that governess with them,” she added, subsiding into disapproval again.
    Catching the scent of intrigue, I rose to the occasion, adopting a sympathetic tone. “It must be quite difficult to secure a governess in so remote a spot. Have the Pennyfeathers had troubles in that regard?”
    Miss Cavendish’s lips tightened. “I suppose Miss Thorne has proven satisfactory by their standards. She is a local girl, educated at a convent in Calcutta.”
    “Indeed? And she returned here to teach? Curious. Her prospects must have been better in Calcutta. Perhaps she was homesick,” I observed.
    “Miss Thorne had her reasons for returning to the valley, of that I have no doubt,” she said tartly. She fidgeted with her chatelaine then and changed the subject so definitively I knew there would be no further discussion on the topic of Miss Thorne. “I should so like you to have met Miss Phipps and her sister, Lady Eastley, but they have sent their regrets. An indisposition.”
    Indisposition indeed! I had my doubts about that. Knowing of our suspicions, Emma must have been deeply alarmed whenshe learned that the Marches had come into the Valley of Eden. But she could not elude us forever.
    “I think you must have forgot, Miss Cavendish, but Miss Phipps and Lady Eastley are our cousins, a cadet branch of the March family,” Plum put in.
    “Oh! I had indeed forgot,” she said, looking momentarily flustered. “We spoke of it on the boat coming home. It made a bond between us, of course, and when Lady Eastley’s husband died, it seemed natural that they should come and stay at the Peacocks until they had got their bearings. Father was very fond of them, particularly Lady Eastley. She has a way with the older generation,” Miss Cavendish confided. “Father could be a little fractious in his last months, and Lady Eastley always seemed to be able to soothe him. They played chess together for hours on end, a diversion for them both, and Lady Eastley was always kind enough to let him win.”
    Portia and I exchanged glances. What Miss Cavendish imputed to kindness, I attributed to stupidity. Lucy was not half so clever as her sister.
    “And how did they find Pine Cottage?” I asked idly.
    “It is part of the estate. Father let it to a widow who died shortly after Lady Eastley and her sister arrived. He offered it to them for a peppercorn rent, and they accepted. It was supposed to be for only a short while as they searched for a property of their own to purchase, but they have left off looking to leave us and mean to stay in our valley.”
    She fell into reverie for a moment, then collected herself. “We will be a small party, but a merry enough one, I think, if our chief cook can manage the seed cakes. There is always trouble with the seed cakes.” She rose and gave us a stiff nod. “Until this afternoon then.”
    Just then Jolly appeared with his little gong.
    “Luncheon is finished.”
     
    To my astonishment, I found myself rather excited about the notion of a garden party. True, the guest list would be tiny, but it would be a chance to meet the neighbours and sleuth out their opinions about the inhabitants of the Peacocks. I should still have to pay separate calls upon the White