Disclaimers: as ever.

Thanks for the reviews!

1875: Finchley Residence, Grosvenor Square. The morning after the party.

Sydney was already onto her sixth cup of tea, and was starting to wish that the butler would stop incessantly refilling the delicate china cup, when Nigel finally emerged.

It was nearly half past ten. He wished her a cheery good morning, and took his place at a respectful distance on the other side of the table.

'Good morning, Nigel,' replied Sydney.

'And how are you this morning, Miss Carraway?'

'I'm fine. Call me Sydney, remember? Did you sleep well?'

In pursuing this line of inquiry, Sydney wasn't being as conventional as she sounded. For a reason she had not quite put her finger on, she had been sincerely anxious about Nigel the night before, and was keen to know if he was alright.

'I slept wonderfully,' replied Nigel, stretching his arms behind him as if still waking up. He looked a little pale, but seemed jaunty enough. Sydney decided that her fears were probably unfounded.

The butler poured Nigel a cup of tea.

'Wonderful,' he beamed. 'Thank you, Matthews.'

He took a sip, and then placed the cup down quickly with a clatter. 'I'm terribly sorry, I've completely forgotten my manners. Have you eaten enough, Miss Carr…err, Sydney.'

'More than enough, thankyou,' returned Sydney. 'We don't usually serve Curry for breakfast in Boston. It takes some getting used to!'

'Oh, yes, sorry about that. It's all the rage in the best London houses, you see? Sir Preston likes to keep up with the latest fashions, even at breakfast.' Sydney detected a hint of irony and a barely suppressed scowl.

'And I suppose he wants me to get used to Indian cuisine,' continued Nigel. 'Of course, I like it. But I'm not sure I can take it at breakfast.'

He called over Matthews and requested a couple of slices of buttered toast. The butler acknowledged the desire sympathetically, and scuttled off to sort this out.

'Just out of interest, where is my dear brother?'

'He left an hour or so back,' replied Sydney. 'He had business with a Mr Parker.'

'Oh,' Nigel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'Oh dear.'

'Who is Mr Parker? Is he the moustachioed man from the party last night?'

Nigel was on the verge of lying to her, as Preston had instructed him. He found he just couldn't do it. He moaned with an anguish that shocked his guest, thrust his forehead into his hand, his elbow on the table and entangled his fingers in his hair.

'You might as well know the truth, Miss Carraway. It'll be all over London soon enough and you won't want to be associated with us then.' He quickly checked that none of the servants were in the room.

'Parker is the wine merchant, and Preston owes him money. He owes everyone money, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker…not to mention the bloody tailor! The family estate in Kent is mortgaged to the hilt, and we owe so much back-rent on this place that we can't even give it up. I knew that father left things in a mess… but everything Preston touches turns to disaster!'

Seeing Matthews return with the toast, Nigel stopped talking abruptly and slumped back in his chair, now appearing every bit as tired and dejected as last night. Sydney gave the butler a breezy smile, as he deposited the dish and left the room again. She then arose from her seat and went over to Nigel.

She placed her hand on his shoulder. 'I'm sure it's not as desperate as you think,' she said. 'Preston was not doing badly with his business in Boston, you know? He met with my father - that's how we were introduced. They were thinking of becoming partners on a railroad.'

'He's got nothing left to do business with!' lamented Nigel. 'Your father should stay away, or he'll be tainted with catastrophe too. Oh hell, Preston! Why do you always have to be so inept?'

'He must have some capital left, Nigel. How did he afford your commission in the army?'

'He spent the last of my trust fund on it… my last hope of staying at Oxford.' Nigel sniffed, but added in a resigned tone 'I can't blame him for that, really. It is family tradition for the second son to enter the army.'

'Maybe it's time to break with that tradition?' suggested Sydney.

Nigel shook his head. 'Too late, I'm afraid. I'm just going to make the most of my last month in England. Without spending any money, of course!'

'It's never too late, Nigel.'

Sydney's mind was racing to find a solution to this boy's problems. Indeed, she was somewhat perturbed by the intensity of her desire to do something for him. No obvious solution was forthcoming, but she resolved she would help him - and his brother, if that's what it took.

'Let's start by making the most of today, shall we?' suggested Sydney cheerily. 'Preston says you're to accompany me into town on business. We'll go after breakfast, shall we? Then we can talk things over? Everything will be just fine, Nigel, I promise.'

Nigel cautiously lifted his own hand to touch her ungloved fingers, still resting on his shoulder. 'Thank you for being so kind, Sydney.' He stroked her hand gently, knowing he was being audacious.

Sydney took his hand in hers and squeezed it. 'I like to help my friends, Nigel. It's what I do.'

Seeing a maidservant enter she reluctantly let him go, and returned to her seat.

'Finish your toast, then,' she instructed perkily. 'We've got a busy day ahead.'

…………………………………………

21st century: Heathrow airport.

By the time Sydney and Nigel's flight touched down in England, and they had waited the best part of an hour to be reunited with their luggage, they were more exhausted and jetlagged than ever.

As they exited the arrivals lounge in the direction of the taxi rank, however, Sydney felt a tingle of anticipation.

'You know, Nigel, London might not be the most exotic location to pursue a relic, but I've got a feeling this is going to be a big one. And I'm just dying to find out more about Sydney Carraway.'

'Miss Carraway, yes, very interesting,' mumbled Nigel, distracted and tired. He flung their bags into the boot of a cab, and clambered into the backseat ahead of Sydney.

'Where to?' asked the driver.

'24 Grosvenor Square, please,' yawned Nigel, lying back against the seat, ready for a nap.

Sydney was confused. 'I thought you said Karen booked us rooms in Bloomsbury?'

'What? Oh, yes, sorry. Russell Square, please.'

'Russell Square, then,' confirmed the cab driver.

'It's an easy mistake,' protested Nigel in response to Sydney's quizzical expression. 'They're both famous London locations.'

'Why number 24?'

'I've no idea,' replied Nigel grumpily. 'Now, if you've finished grilling me, am I allowed to catch up on some sleep? Why is it we only ever have one eye-mask for long plane journeys?'

Sydney raised her hands in submission and kept quiet. As always, she'd offered the eye-mask several times, but Nigel had refused it.

She too settled down for a doze on the long, traffic-clogged trail into the centre of London.

Consequently, neither relic hunters noticed a slim, ginger-haired woman, who had been watching them from a distance, climb into the cab behind.

'Follow the taxi in front,' she ordered the driver. She made an urgent call on her mobile phone.

'Mr Deviega? It's Molly Gages. Fox and Bailey arrived on the flight from Calcutta, as predicted. I'm trailing them now.'

…………………………………………

1875: Finchley Residence, Grosvenor Square.

Nigel Finchley hailed a hanson cab, and ordered it to take them from 24 Grosvenor Square to the offices of the De Veleye Railroad Corporation, which were just off Threadneedle Street.

They chatted cheerily on the way, although Sydney noticed that Nigel went quiet, or swiftly change the subject, whenever she mentioned Preston, money or the army. He was keen to hear all about her travels, however, particularly her amazing finds in Egypt. In turn, she was fiercely interested to know of his education in the classics, his seemingly endless skill with languages, and his book-gained knowledge of ancient civilizations.

As a woman, Sydney had been barred from all universities. She had learned everything from her doting father, or taught herself on her wide-ranging travels. Nigel, on the other hand, may have rarely left the schoolroom and library, but he had been well-taught at Oxford. Sydney began to wonder if there was anything ever put into written form that he hadn't read.

It was the perfect matching of minds.

They were both sorry when the cab drew up at the end of the lane that led the office. The alley-like side-street was too narrow for the hanson. Sydney took Nigel's hand as he helped her down from the carriage - a ritual she normally shunned but found she liked to indulge in the Finchley brothers - and they finished the journey on foot.

When they reached the address, its shabby, timber-framed facade belied origins in the mediaeval period. It was quaint, but a far cry from Sydney's father's fine, Boston apartments. Nevertheless, a brass panel on the door declared that this was the 'De Veleye Railroad Corporation.' Sydney strode up to the rickety wooden door, and wrapped upon it with her knuckles.

After a moment, a truly hideous, hooked-nosed old man came to the door.

'Shwat do you shawnt, m'shlady?'

Sydney could not help but screw up her nose and fan the air beneath it. The London streets smelled bad enough, but nothing had prepared her for his reeking breath and the spray of his spittle. The man was entirely devoid of any teeth.

'He wants to know what you want,' hissed Nigel in her ear, in case she had not understood the man's slurring, cockney accent.

Sydney nudged him, indicating his intervention was not necessary. 'My name is Sydney Carraway. I would very much like to speak to Mr De Veleye. We've met before and I believe he now wishes to go into business with my father.'

Sydney handed the old man a card, which he did not look at because he could not read. Sydney took a step back before he spoke again, avoiding a repeat of the unpleasantness.

'I'll shee if he's shat home, miss,' gurned the old man. He tottered away, returning just a few moments later and beckoning the pair in. He then led them up a precarious staircase to a room on the first floor.

'Miss Shydney Carraway,' the servant announced, and Sydney strode in without any further ceremony.

De Veleye was a sturdy-built man in his early forties, handsome in a roguish fashion, and endowed with a mass of sandy blond hair. He was seated behind a large wooden desk, covered with papers, but rose when his guests entered.

'Mr De Veleye,' Sydney offered a handshake, and curled a disapproving lip when the gentlemen pressed it to his mouth and kissed it.

'Miss Carraway! To what do I owe this very great honour? Please take a seat… is your father well? I admire him so much. As, you know, I also admire you.'

These words grated with Nigel, who'd already taken a dislike to this suave businessman, not least because so far he'd been completely ignored.

'Nigel Finchley. Very pleased to meet you, I'm sure.' He thrust his hand into the small space between Sydney and De Veleye, forcing the latter to relinquish the lady's hand and shake his.

'Of the Kent Finchley's?' asked De Veleye, doing his best to look down his nose at the presumptuous young fellow.

'Yes,' replied Nigel quietly, wondering miserably how long he'd been ashamed of his name.

'You must be the baronet's younger brother, then.' De Veleye gave a patronizing laugh. 'He's a fine man, is Sir Preston. We've done business together many times and he's always good for a game of cards or billiards down at the Bear-baiters Gentleman's Club. The baronet's a great gambling man!'

'No doubt,' said Nigel scornfully. He wondered how many of the Finchley coffers had found their way into De Veleye's greedy pockets.

Sydney decided it was time to get to the point:

'Mr De Veleye. I have been led to believe that you are in possession of a precious, diamond-shaped ruby. You… 'appropriated' it, shall we say, from a young man in India. Since the ruby was taken from him, death has fallen upon him and disgrace on his family. I am here on behalf of his sister, Meena, a dear friend of mine, who wrote to me for help. She asks for the jewel back, to restore the honour of her brother and of her family.'

De Veleye laughed. 'Miss Carraway. I went to India as a missionary! I was doing God's work, not seeking worldly riches. What on earth makes you think I took a ruby?'

'Cut the horseshit, De Veleye,' snarled Sydney. 'Everybody knows that the missionary act was a cover for…' Sydney caught Nigel's stunned expression, and suddenly felt compelled to spare him the more sordid details of De Veleye's 'business.'

She continued, in a more subdued tone: 'Meena's family, of noble blood, had been trusted to guard the whereabouts of the Diamond Ruby, from the crown of Vishnu, since its temple was ruined by the British in 1799. Enticing him into your circle of gambling and vice, you drove Meena's brother, Achyuta, to such desperation that you gave him no choice but to take the jewel from its hiding place and give to you.'

'Ah, yes. I remember the gentleman…and the girl, too. Very pretty she was! But I'm afraid I took nothing from them.' He leaned in close and whispered sinisterly in her ear. 'Meena was all too happy to give me a little of her virtue, though.'

Sydney's hand stung against his cheek even as he finished the sentence.

'Good God!' Nigel took an automatic step back, wondering if and how he should intervene. What had the man said to her?

De Veleye grinned as Sydney stared daggers. 'That's my girl! You are so beautiful when you are angry, Sydney. Do you remember that first night, in Naples? You struck me then, too.'

'There was no 'first night' De Veleye. Every time we meet, should always be the last. I know you have the Ruby. If you don't give it to me, I shall take it from you. If you know me a jot as well as you claim, you'll know I'm not bluffing. What will it be, De Veleye?'

'Ah Miss Carraway. You force my hand,' he leered. 'I'm afraid I do not have the Diamond Ruby. However, if you will grace my rooms with your presence tonight, you and I may be able to come to a little 'business agreement' by which I could let you know its whereabouts.'

'I don't do business with rogues, De Veleye,' spat Sydney.

'Ah, but that isn't the truth, is it. I hate to shock your young friend here – who is endearingly concerned for your untarnished name – but you have, and you always will, 'deal' with the most depraved men. It's your little game, isn't it? Poor little rich girl…'

Sydney restrained herself from giving De Veleye a full-on sock on the jaw, while Nigel's mind boggled about what on earth De Veleye meant.

'No private parties, De Veleye,' she growled. 'Where do you want to meet?'

'Its men only at The Bear-baiters, I'm afraid,' mused De Veleye. 'I know another little place, though, smaller and quieter, 'The Cathedral Close Club.' As I'm the owner, I can tell you now that they allow women…of all varieties.' He chuckled as he scribbled an address on the back of a card and handed it to her.

'I'll see you there at 9 o'clock this evening, Miss Carraway. You could even bring young Finchley, here. He looks like he could do with a little… 'education,' shall we say?'

Nigel glowered, but said nothing. He couldn't believe that Miss Carraway had the kind of habits that De Veleye had implied, despite the frank accounts he'd read in her book. He'd understood she'd just observed the diverse ways of life that she'd written about, all in the name of the art of anthropology.

'I'll be there, De Veleye,' affirmed Sydney. 'But don't even consider trying anything on…'

She swept from the room and down the stairs, with Nigel chasing after her.

'What did he mean…' puffed Nigel, catching up with her as she rounded the corner into Threadneedle Street. 'What did he mean about you dealing with depraved men? Not my brother, I hope? The scoundrel! I hope he hasn't detroyed your reputation, Sydney.'

Sydney could not help but laugh. 'No, Nigel. Not Preston. But don't listen to De Veleye…he knows little of me beyond rumours.'

She looked at her new friend and read burning curiosity in his keen, bright eyes.

'Maybe I should go alone this evening, Nigel. Or persuade Preston to come with me.'

'Good God, no!' retorted Nigel. 'They'd ply him with whisky and rob the coat off his back in that den of iniquity!'

Sydney raised her eyebrows, slightly amused.

'I'm not completely naïve!' he informed her proudly. 'I know all about the sordid underworld. I've read the newspapers… and a certain Miss Carraway's book, remember? Besides, I'm your chaperone on this little adventure, Sydney. And I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not!'

……………………

21st Century: London

After two days of fruitless search, Nigel finally ran down the escalator to meet Sydney in the lobby of the British Library with good news, but mixed feelings.

'Success, Syd! At last! I've found a mention of De Veleye in the papers of an ancient Kentish gentry family, the Finchleys. Seems the 8th baronet, Sir Preston, had fallen on hard times – ha!' Nigel reflected, somewhat amused. 'Ineptitude must go with the name.'

Sydney rolled her eyes. 'I've had more than enough of your feuds with your brother for one lifetime…come on, I need to know more.'

'Well,' said Nigel, brandishing an A4 pad of penciled notes. 'I discovered several letters from Sir Preston to De Veleye. It seems they went into business together in 1873 – something about a canal through the Alps. It was a madcap scheme, and they both lost a lot of money. De Veleye disappeared off to India for a year - apparently as a missionary, but I have my doubts! Sir Preston barely put a step right, either, but he did go to Boston in June 1875 in a last ditch attempt to make his money back. There he met with the Carraways and, the daughter, Sydney, accompanied him back to London.'

'Good work, Nigel!' said Sydney. 'I've had little luck with tracing the Carraways on this side of the Atlantic. The business papers are back in Boston, so I've got Karen onto it. No archive seems to have any Carraway letters or personal writings - so they would be a worthwhile hunt in themselves! Did you get any addresses on De Valeye or the Finchleys?'

Nigel grimaced. 'The Finchley's owned an estate in Kent, Finchley Hall, and rented a house in…err, well, Grosvenor Square. Number 24. '

They shared a look, but said nothing.

'There are two addresses for De Veleye,' continued Nigel. 'One was in a lane just off Threadneedle Street, which was utterly obliterated during the Blitz in 1940. The other was in Dean Court, which is somewhere in the area behind Fleet Street. Once again, the area was badly bombed, but there might just be something left.'

'Great! I think we should go after De Veleye before Finchley… despite the thing about, you know…'

'Grosvenor Square?' sighed Nigel.

'Yes. We're going to have to follow that up, you know? It can't just be another coincidence.'

'I suppose we'd better,' he conceded. His prior knowledge of Preston Finchley's London address had been disconcerting, to say the least.

'Fine,' said Sydney. 'Let's go to Fleet Street!'

'Now? Its 7pm on a Friday evening. That's part of the city will be seething.'

'The city's always seething,' retorted Sydney.

'Ah…every true Londoner knows that the historic city of London – the business quarter that is, where the old medieval heart once was – is dead on a Saturday morning. The tourists and shoppers flock to the west end and the workers are at home. If we wait until tomorrow, I promise you, Syd, there will be nobody there.'

Sydney bowed to his superior knowledge. 'Okay, Nigel. Tomorrow it is.'

'Which means we've got time for a nice meal?'

'I guess so,' laughed Sydney. 'I fancy Thai.'

'Lovely!' beamed Nigel. 'I know just the place.'

As Syd and Nigel left the library they saw a redheaded woman, perching on a bench shaped like a book, make an urgent call on her mobile. They never, unfortunately, heard her words:

'Mr Deviega? It's Molly. I've caught up with Fox and Bailey in the British Library. I think they must have a lead on the Diamond Ruby. They look incriminatingly happy.'

The voice on the other end cackled knowingly: 'Follow them, Molly. I'll send backup when you think they're about to make their move.'

The woman hung up and followed Sydney and Nigel, at some distance. She then enjoyed a meal of excellent Thai food.

……………………….

1875: Finchley Residence, Grosvenor Square.

Sir Preston left for 'The Bear-baiters' after dinner, comfortable in the knowledge that his beautiful guest and his little brother were reading Darwin together in the drawing room, before retiring to bed.

'I wish he wouldn't go there,' said Nigel, as they heard the hooves of his horse-drawn carriage fade away. 'It's a terrible place – billiard balls and oaths flying everywhere! And from what De Veleye said earlier, I'm starting to suspect that Preston's been gambling. Knowing my dear brother, he's bound to loose more than he gains.'

'We should try and pry him away,' agreed Sydney as she rose from her chair. 'But Nigel, the Bear-baiters is like the Kent Ladies Temperance Association compared to where we are going tonight. Are you sure you're ready for this?'

'Of course I am!' said Nigel, jumping up. 'I've got your honour to protect, Miss Carraway…Sydney. Besides, hadn't we better hurry? It's nearly 9 o'clock now!'

' Oh no,' replied Sydney. 'I don't actually want to see De Veleye, I just want to check the club for leads on the Diamond Ruby. It might even be hidden there. Believe me, the later we go, the easier it will be.'

'Ah, yes. You're waiting to them all to get drunk!' said Nigel knowingly. ' Shall I call for our walking jackets.'

' Yes,' replied Sydney. 'We might as well make a move. Be sure to wrap up warm'.

'It's still only September!' retorted Nigel, ringing a bell for the maidservant. 'There's no need to mother me,' he added, slightly embarrassed. 'I'm twenty-one, you know.'

Sydney smiled congenially, and wondered why she felt a compulsion to care for Nigel…but then he was a rather appealing young man.

She shrugged off these conjectures as her fashionable jacket bodice arrived, but gladly noted as Nigel put on his thick tweed jacket over his waistcoat.

'I think it's magnificent,' said Nigel, as they walked down the steps into the swirling London fog, 'that you are doing all this for a friend.'

Sydney reached out and squeezed his hand: 'I like to help my friends, Nigel. I told you that.'

He turned to her and grinned excitedly: 'And we're going to retrieve a real Indian relic! I never thought I'd be one for expeditions but, now I'm with you, I feel like nothing can stop me…' He sighed happily. 'I'm on a mission with the greatest Adventuress who ever lived!'

Sydney just hoped she could live up to his expectations. 'Let's get in the cab Nigel,' she said, feeling the sting of the early autumn chill and regarding the ever-descending smog. 'It's a real pea-souper tonight!'

……………………

Thanks for reading. Please review.