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She didn’t doubt Mrs. Linares’ assessment. As proprietors of the hotel, she and her husband would be deeply connected with the community here. She likely knew as well as anyone what the options available to Ellie were, and it sounded as though none of them were good.
Of course, Ellie’s task couldn’t be as simple as Constance had made it sound back in London. Nothing was ever that easy for a woman trying to blaze her own path in the world.
Perhaps Ellie should just return to England and give the map to the men of the Royal Geographical Society. Surely, that was better than letting it languish uninvestigated… or fall into the hands of the thug who was almost certainly on her trail.
Ellie clenched her hands on the arms of the chair. She could not give up that easily—not after she had already come so far.
“The two men you said were trustworthy. Could you make arrangements for me to meet with them?” she asked.
“I can,” Mrs. Linares replied carefully. “Though I would hate to see you waste your time.”
Ellie took a grim sip of her limeade. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a waste of time. After all, she had more than just money to offer. She was carrying the key to a possible legend in her corset. Whoever joined her on this expedition would have the chance to be part of making history. Surely there was value in that—perhaps enough value, even, to outweigh thehandicapof her gender.
“Thank you,” Ellie said as she set down her glass and rose. “You’ve been most kind. Please enjoy the rest of your evening. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”
“It is no trouble at all. Good evening to you as well,” Mrs. Linares said, eyeing Ellie thoughtfully.
Ellie gave Rosalita a nod as well and slipped back out through the gap in the fence.
Evening was settling over the garden, painting it in deeper layers of shadow. Birds chirped and fluttered through the branches of the calabash trees.
Ellie picked her way back up the path to the guest wing, slapping at a mosquito that buzzed by her ear. Her boots thudded gently on the wooden steps as she climbed back onto the lower level veranda—and spotted at a familiar figure reclined in a rocking chair with his still-bare feet propped up on the railing.
It was the maniac from the washroom—Assistant Surveyor General Adam Bates. He had, at least, donned a clean shirt and trousers.
He was smoking a cigar. The stink of it wafted over to where she was standing. Ellie brushed at the air to chase it away.
“That’s a terrible habit, you know,” she pointed out.
Bates glanced over at her and raised a skeptical eyebrow. He placed the cigar to his lips and puffed serenely on it before blowing out a long stream of smoke.
“It’s a very relaxing terrible habit,” he countered. “Goes very nicely with this terribly habitual whiskey.”
Ellie shifted her gaze to his feet.
“Still in need of shoes, I see,” she commented.
He pointed with the cigar, and she saw a pair of abominably muddy boots tumbled beside his chair.
“Waiting for those to dry out,” he replied. “Easier to knock the sludge off.”
“You might try stockings in the meantime,” Ellie retorted.
He wiggled his toes gratuitously.
“It’s good to air them out after a trek,” he said. “Keeps the stink down.”
“Right. Well, then. Have a delightful evening.” Ellie pivoted on her heel, stalking away.
“Sweet dreams, Princess,” he called back in reply.
At the sound of that abominable word—Princess—she momentarily halted, a violent urge shuddering through her. Ellie controlled it, instead lifting her skirt and walking neatly up the stairs.
No, she thought firmly as she crossed the upper veranda to her room—that was one option she would not be pursuing. She would rather face down a live crocodile than ask Adam Bates to guide her into the interior.
Surely her circumstances could never becomethatdesperate.
?
