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Ridge flipped through the pages of the journal as his carriage bumped and swayed along the road to Hertfordshire. At first when he’d discovered the odd drawings in the journal, he’d been puzzled, but then he’d realized the pages were written in Pagorian. His excitement mounted when the other entries led him to believe hidden in the indecipherable script was the key to locating the ruins of the ancient city.
But there was still the problem of translating it. Which was why he was traveling to Hertfordshire to the home of India Ashton, daughter of the late Phillip Ashton. Odd name for a woman, but given the fact she had likely been born in India, he supposed her father gave her the name of her homeland.
Ashton and Sir Roderick had been the leading authorities on Pagoria. But now both were dead, and his last hope remained with Ashton’s daughter who traveled with him for the last fifteen years.
According to all the stories that had been printed over the years, Miss Ashton seemed as knowledgeable as her father when it came to historical matters. He only hoped it was true or his trip would be for naught.
The accounts of her return to England were varied and all equally sketchy. Some of the more dramatic ones revolved around her capture by a remote band of rebels in India and her captivity for three months. Miss Ashton had been reticent about the details of her return, shunning interviews and offers to give talks to the historical society. There was mad curiosity about the club over the details of Ashton’s death and how much information he may have held about Pagoria, but Miss Ashton didn’t seem inclined to assuage it.
In fact, were it not for the captain of the ship bearing Miss Ashton home, her return would not be known at all. Ridge thought it more likely she was mourning her father rather than the sensational stories that floated around London. How must it feel to enjoy such a close relationship with the man who sired you? He was sure he had no idea. His own relationship with his father bordered on tolerance.
He had to admit, he burned with curiosity over the mysterious Miss Ashton. She’d had an unconventional upbringing to be sure, and she’d seen places that most other people only dreamed of seeing. Thathehad dreamed of.
That she might bring him closer to realizing his dream of finding irrefutable proof of Pagoria’s existence and location was more than he could contemplate. He would embark on the journey of a lifetime, and when he returned, he would publish his findings, proving once and for all the validity of his claims. And proving his interests weren’t vacuous.
Finally the carriage pulled into a dusty drive and headed up a hill toward a distant house. Automatically, he reached for his spectacles and laid them on the seat beside him. The carriage halted and Ridge descended, waving a hand to dispel the dust that swirled around him. He eyed the small brick home, noting its state of disrepair.
Ivy curled in an unruly manner up the walls nearly taking over the house. The wooden door was dull and fading, appearing to be in need of a good polish. A crack marred one of the upper windows, and the rest suffered under a layer of dust. The house looked—felt—sad.
He shook the feeling and stepped onto the walkway that was chipped and overgrown with weeds. After straightening his coat, he knocked on the door and waited with growing impatience.
To his surprise, a large, dark skinned man wearing a turban swung open the door and stared unwelcomingly at him. His gaze flitted up and down Ridge as if measuring some sort of threat.
Clearing his throat, Ridge offered his card, and the man took it. He glanced down at it then back up at Ridge. “How can I be of service,Sahib?”
“I am here to see Miss Ashton.”
“My regrets,Sahib. She is not receiving callers.”
“Not receiving?” Ridge frowned and checked his fob. It was well past the polite time to call. Was she not at home? But this rather large man hadn’t said that. Just that she wasn’t receiving.
“No,Sahib.”
“I see, well perhaps if you could just tell her that it is most urgent that I speak with her. I’ve come all the way from London.”
The Indian man wiped one hand down his neatly trimmed beard then crossed his arms over his chest and widened his legs in a surly gesture. “I regret that I am unable to do that,Sahib.Mem-Sahibis not receiving callers.” His voice rang with finality, and Ridge could tell he wasn’t going to be swayed.
Well, he hadn’t come all this way to be turned away. Not when he was so close to achieving something so important to him. And whether Miss Ashton was receiving or not, she was going to have a visitor.
He pushed past the imposing man and stood inside the foyer. “If you will direct me to the sitting room, I will await an audience with Miss Ashton.”
The Indian’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you did not hear me,Sahib. Miss Ashton is not receiving.”
“Yes, so you’ve said,” Ridge interrupted. “But I will wait until she is ready to receive me.” He stood with his arms crossed unwilling to move until he was shown into the sitting room.
Anger flitted across the Indian’s face then his expression quickly became shuttered. “Very well. This way,” he said stiffly, turning and stalking into a small room to the right of the front entrance.
Ridge took a seat on a faded damask couch and surveyed the interior of the room. Much like the exterior, the inside of the house had seen its better days. The drapes were bleak from exposure to the sun, and the furniture threadbare.
Adventuring must not bring much in the way of an income if the house and its contents were any indication.
Ridge sat for a long period then became restless as Miss Ashton remained conspicuously absent. He hoped her manners weren’t indicative of her personality. Thebutlerhadn’t even offered him refreshment, a matter he found lacking in proper decorum. Finally, he stood and began to inspect the bookcase across the room.
He wiped the dust from the tops of several then took one out. He squinted then grimaced when he read the title. Poetry. But of course the sitting room would not be filled with any historical books. Those were likely tucked away in her library.
After an hour, he decided Miss Ashton had much more resolve than he would have imagined. Either that or she truly wasn’t at home. In which case, the servants displayed an abysmal lack of ability in their duties.
