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“The Rio Nuevo?” the agent asked. “You will find it on North Front Street by the river. It is quite respectable, but they serve the local sort of food. There is afternoon tea with very nice cream buns at The Imperial.”

“I don’t require cream buns,” Ellie replied shortly. “The Rio Nuevo will do very nicely, thank you.”

The agent shrugged and jotted her name into his logbook… her false name, of course.

Mrs. Nitherscott-Watby

Ellie would make Constance pay for that later.

?

The Hotel Rio Nuevo lay a short distance down the road from the wharf on a lovely avenue of big detached houses with abundant gardens. The hotel was actually one of those same houses, painted white with tidy black shutters, with the addition of a long, two-story wing that extended out from one side of it. Each of the two floors of the wing sported a wide, covered veranda, which looked wonderfully cool and shady.

Ellie paused before climbing the steps, surprised to realize that the building had no foundation. Instead, it had been built on a nest of thick, sturdy pilings driven into the soft ground. She lingered for a moment, distracted by the cleverness of the engineering, before forcing herself to hurry along.

The lobby took up most of the ground floor of the original house. The interior was spacious, with wood-paneled walls and a plethora of potted flowers and tropical ferns. The scattered furniture had seen some years, but all of it was clean and carefully maintained.

Ellie heard the click of billiards balls and a little burst of laughter. She skipped a few steps to the side to peer past the front desk, where a broad doorway led into a well-appointed lounge. A scattering of men of various ethnicities were settled inside. They looked quite comfortable with themselves and seemed more or less respectable.

A pair of posh English accents clanged through the warmer Kriol and Latin inflections, setting Ellie’s nerves jangling. She identified the speakers—two pale men in linen traveling suits. Thankfully, they were too engrossed in their game of cards to pay her much mind.

As Ellie approached the hotel’s front desk, a gentleman with a glowing amber complexion and a fine black mustache stepped out to meet her. The delicate lines at the corners of his eyes added to his admittedly dashing appeal.

“Good afternoon, madam.” His accent revealed a hint of Spanish influence. “I am Mr. Linares Rivas, proprietor. Will you be joining us here at the Hotel Rio Nuevo?”

“I should be very glad to,” Ellie replied stoutly.

“And how long will you be with us?” he asked with his pen poised over his book.

“No more than six days, I should think,” Ellie replied, thinking uncomfortably of steamer timetables and potentially villainous arrivals.

“Do forgive the question, but are you traveling alone, Mrs…?” He paused, waiting for her answer.

“Nitherscott-Watby,” Ellie filled in.

She tried not to wince at Constance’s terrible name, and then scrambled to think of the right answer to the proprietor’s question.

There had been no one but men in the Rio Nuevo’s lounge—or on theSalerno, for that matter, though the boat had carried only a handful of passengers as most of its space was given over to freight. The careful concern Ellie had observed in the customs agent earlier also signaled that European women traveling alone did not often visit this remote colony.

Ellie had no desire to draw more attention to herself than was strictly necessary. She needed a story—quickly.

“I will be joined in a few days by my… uncle,” she offered awkwardly. “My Uncle Oliver. He’s in… investments. Mining. Mining investments.

Mr. Linares blinked at her, though his expression remained otherwise unimpeachably polite.

“Will Mr. Oliver need a room?” he asked.

“What?” Ellie returned, startled.

“Your uncle,” he repeated patiently as his warm brown eyes flashed with just a hint of humor. “Will he need a room?”

“Oh! No. No, I am sure that he won’t,” Ellie quickly replied. “He will—ah… That is, we will be traveling on together as soon as he arrives.”

She flashed the hotelier a reassuring smile that hopefully offset her admittedly scrambled explanation.

Blast it. She was going to need to get much better at lying.

Mr. Linares flipped through his register, then turned and plucked a key from the rack on the wall behind him.