Tomorrow's Treasure

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Evy listened, aware how much Derwent still admired Rogan. She could not deny that Rogan’s plans in South Africa seemed much more adventurous than being vicar. The lure of diamonds and faraway places had set Derwent to dreaming.

  “The work in the church is far more important eternally,” she encouraged. “Nourishing God’s flock is a great honor.”

  “Oh, I know that. That’s what troubles me. I don’t feel worthy. And let’s face it, I’m not the spiritual teacher your uncle Edmund was, or even my father. Though his mind seems to be going on him. His memory is, anyway. I’m helping with his sermons. I mean in no way to make light of it, but perhaps some of the talk going on about me is more true than not. Not every son is called to follow in his father’s steps. The Lord does not always gift father and son the same way. If He did, there would be something to say for godliness and spiritual gifts being passed on through heredity and environment rather than sovereign will and grace. I don’t see the Scripture teaching that.”

  She turned her head and smiled down at him. “The fact that you say these things tells me you know the Scripture well enough to be vicar someday.”

  A crooked smile lifted his mouth. “That will need to be a long time from now, Evy. I mean it.” He frowned at his sore thumb, then shook his head.

  Evy turned back to her nails. “A long time … Well, that is not really surprising. It’s hardly wise for the bishop to appoint a young man like yourself to fill the vicar’s position so soon. You must be tested by time.”

  “Aye—I mean yes,” he hastened. “A seasoned man is how they say it. A man who’s walked with the Lord for many years.” Again he shook his head. “But gaining a living will be hard.”

  “I doubt if sailing to the Cape to search for diamonds will give you anything more in your bank account. You may end up with a whole lot less.”

  “That is true, of course. They say Kimberly is a wild and woolly place.”

  “That’s why my parents went there so many years ago to present a witness for God.”

  “And they died for it.”

  She hammered a nail, not responding to this somber reminder.

  “Evy, I just hope—Oh, why hello, Rogan!”

  Oh no! Evy froze, then looked down over her shoulder. Rogan sat astride his horse, an alert, surprised flicker in his gaze. He studied her with sufficient intensity to freeze the smile on her lips into self-consciousness.

  At first she thought he was dismayed to find her atop a ladder—not exactly a ladylike activity. But something in that dark gaze told her that what had startled Rogan had little to do with ladders and nails … and a great deal more to do with Evy herself.

  She shivered, though the day was still quite warm. Rogan looked quite grown-up. His wavy ebony hair still had a tendency to fall across his forehead. His slashing dark brows, bold eyes, and strong jawline gave him a handsome, roguish appearance. How different he was from Derwent.

  Evy became aware she was staring, and scolded herself for that fact just as Rogan seemed to recover from whatever surprise she had given him.

  “You have grown.” The comment was deep and rich, and his gaze held hers.

  She loathed herself for blushing.

  “Miss Evy, Derwent”—Rogan looked at Derwent as though suddenly becoming aware of him—“this is Miss Patricia Bancroft.” Though he nodded to the young woman at his side, his gaze came back to rest on Evy.

  Her gaze swerved from Rogan to confront the girl sitting proudly on the horse beside Rogan’s magnificent mount. She seemed expert at handling her horse, another reason for Rogan’s interest. The cold appraisal Patricia gave Evy made her cling more tightly to the ladder. Clearly, it had not been Patricia’s idea to turn aside from the road to say hello. She looked disapproving and even hostile. Did she resent that Rogan would show friendliness toward her and Derwent—or had she noticed the look he’d given her?

  Evy glanced away. What was she supposed to say?

  “Time goes by so quickly.” The words sounded foolish, even to her own ears.

  Rogan’s smile deepened, and his gaze told her he was aware of her discomfiture. “So it does. We were out riding before lunch and saw you both from the road. Is Derwent teaching you carpentry, or does he prefer the shade?”

  She ignored his amusement, but Derwent held up his injured thumb. “Alas, I’m a poor teacher indeed.”

  Rogan laughed.

  Derwent, apparently unmindful of the undercurrent between Rogan and Evy, sighed. “I was telling Evy how I might enjoy choosing to go to Capetown and work in the diamond business. I admire you and your brother.”

  “And give up the opportunity for a quiet and peaceful life here at the rectory?” Rogan’s measuring glance seemed to question whether Derwent might also be relinquishing his plans for Evy.

  “Well, there is that, of course.” Derwent glanced about the vicarage grounds, as though contemplating all of Grimston Way.

  “It would surprise me if Miss Evy would approve of your giving up rectory life for the uncertainty and dangers of African diamonds.”

  Evy felt herself stiffen. Rogan talked as though she were not present.

  “I’m sure,” she said, hoping to sound casual, “that my wishes will not be the sole criterion for deciding Derwent’s future.”

  Rogan’s brows lifted. “I would expect your wishes to count a great deal in Derwent’s thoughts about anything, but most especially the future.”

  She ignored his assertion, grateful that Derwent looked as if he hadn’t understood Rogan’s implication. She started down the unsteady ladder, clutching the hammer in one hand. Rogan gestured for Derwent to help her.

  Derwent jumped up to hold the ladder, and Evy felt the heat in her cheeks. What was it about Rogan that flustered her so?

  “Thank you,” she said, not looking at any of them. She set the hammer down and wiped her hands on a cloth, choosing her next words carefully. “It shouldn’t be all that surprising for me to have interests in South Africa as well. Most everyone knows how my parents worked there and were killed in the Zulu War.” She looked up and met Rogan’s challenging stare.

  “You are not afraid to go to the Cape?”

  “No, though I’ve no reason to think I shall ever do so.”

  “I suppose not. I was thinking of Arcilla. You have two more years at Parkridge Music Academy?”

  “Three years.”

  “That’s right … you are younger than she.”

  “Only by three months.”

  At her hasty correction, Rogan regarded her. “Then you are enjoying your schooling?”

  His seeming interest warmed her, and she smiled. “Very much so.” She had not yet thanked him for the pretty hat, but she dared not do so now. Patricia was already fuming. The girl was flipping her small horsewhip, chewing on her rosebud lips while Rogan spoke with Evy.

  Patricia looked over her shoulder toward the road, as if expecting company. “It is getting late, Rogan.” She sounded a bit cross, and Evy had to fight a smirk. “We are to meet Parnell and Christine for luncheon. Remember?”

  He did not appear worried about luncheon, nor even the obvious tone of her voice, but obliged her by turning his horse.

  Derwent’s gaze rested on the horses. “Handsome animals. How is your riding proceeding, Rogan?”

  “I shall know next month.”

  “Next month?”

  He smiled. “I shall ride in the Dublin horse show.”

  Evy had heard much about the show and realized he must be very good indeed if he was in that competition.

  Rogan gestured to the booth. “Yours?” he asked Evy, studying her features again.

  “My aunt’s.” She shifted, longing for the cool of evening—and freedom from that dark gaze, “The annual summer fete you know. The proceeds will go to buy new fruit trees for the rectory,” she managed, brushing her heavy hair away from her shoulder. Anything to cool her face a bit. If only he would stop staring at her so!

  “Interesting and c
ommendable. We will make sure to visit Mrs. Havering’s booth, won’t we, Patricia?”

  “Oh, by all means.” Patricia made no effort to hide her irritation.

  “It is well that Vicar Brown gets some new fruit trees.” Evy felt the situation deteriorating quickly and dragging her down with it.

  Again, Rogan smiled. He watched her as though trying to figure her out, and Evy felt a tinge of trepidation dance across her skin. How could one look both alarm and please her so? It was the kind of look she had secretly dreamed Rogan would give her, yet it made her feel guilty and afraid.

  Breaking his gaze from her, Rogan touched the tip of his smart-looking hat, nodding first to Derwent, then to her. “I will try to visit the fete. When is it?”

  Evy tried to swallow, though her throat felt suddenly bone dry. “Saturday, but I doubt if it will interest you.”

  His look told her he knew she was trying to discourage him. “Oh, I am quite interested already. Au revoir.” With that, he maneuvered his horse and rode after Miss Patricia, who had galloped ahead.

  Evy sank to the footstool, her legs suddenly unwilling to support her.

  “A talented young man.” Derwent looked after Rogan.

  Evy felt an unreasonable surge of irritation. Did Derwent understand nothing? Didn’t it even bother him to have Rogan looking at her the way he had? It certainly had bothered her…far more than it should have.

  But Derwent seemed oblivious to anything amiss. “Rogan is quite different from his brother. Some think he will gain notoriety in the Dublin horse show. It takes discipline to reach that level. He also graduates next year from the geological school, and is in the top of his class. Parnell was not so inclined and spent a good deal of time in London away from his studies, with friends. Parnell is leaving for the Cape in September, did you know?”

  She did, and she knew Rogan was likely to sail there after his graduation. What she didn’t know was whether she was glad about that … or utterly devastated.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It rained on the day of the fete, which prompted a rush to reorganize inside the rectory hall. Of course it was impossible to move so many booths indoors, so there was a scramble to locate enough tables for the ladies to display their baked goods and preserves in the rectory hall.

  “To think we spent all that time on them booths,” Mrs. Croft complained to Evy. “It won’t be nearly as attractive now. Lets hope the villagers turn out.”

  It was a tradition for the squire’s family to support the fete, so about an hour into the event Lady Elosia arrived in the family coach with Arcilla and Parnell. Evy looked around for Rogan, but did not see him. Patricia Bancroft, she thought. If she could keep him away, she would.

  Apparently, though, Patricia hadn’t succeeded, for Rogan came a short time later. Patricia was not with him.

  Evy admitted her surprise that Rogan had actually shown as he said he would. Maybe the Bancroft’s had returned to London, and he had nothing to entertain him. Evy watched Rogan and Parnell from where she stood behind a long serving table covered with a white lace cloth embroidered with spring tulips.

  Dr. Tisdale’s wife was at the next table dipping a ladle into a huge bowl of punch, while Alice cavorted about as though she were a guest. Evy could not remember a time when Alice actually assisted her mother at any of the events. But then, Mrs. Tisdale thought her daughter too important for such menial work as the other rectory girls endured. Mrs. Tisdale looked none the worse for manning the table alone. She was doing a brisk business selling her punch, and she smiled as the coins continued to plunk into the container.

  Alice stopped by to see what Evy was selling. “Our punch bowl is Viennese crystal.” She flipped her hair back. “Mum bought it in Vienna when we went there on tour two years ago.” The pitying glance she directed at her set Evy’s nerves on edge. “You should have seen the music theater! Too awfully grand! I simply must go again.”

  Evy held her tongue, but her thoughts would not be silent. Alice will be in for a bumpy landing once she comes down from her high horse. How can she possibly expect to marry Rogan when Patricia Bancroft has already been approved by the Chantry and Bancroft families?

  Evy turned her attention from Alice to Parnell Chantry. He looked a great deal older since having finished at the university. He divided his time now between Rookswood and the London branch office, where he was learning about the family’s South African diamond business.

  Both brothers looked dashing in their rich attire as they stood beside Lady Elosia and Arcilla. They were soon performing the social duties of the squire’s family, bowing to the ladies and complimenting them on their goods.

  A woman holding a tray approached Evy’s table. Evy held the tongs to a fat apple tart, watching Rogan as Alice approached him.

  Rogan clearly was the more friendly of the squire’s sons, with an easy smile and an appealing way about him that made him more likable in the village. It also made him more dangerous. The village girls were already hopelessly beguiled by him, a fact that both amused and irritated Evy as she looked on. Alice was fanning herself with a new white Vienna lace fan though it was not a bit warm. In fact, Evy had contemplated putting on her wrap. Alice’s giggle carried on the breeze, and Evy glanced at her just in time to see her toss her strawberry blond curls and mince about in her blue dress.

  Evy huffed when Rogan smiled at the ridiculous girl and carried on a polite conversation. But just as Evy was about to look away, Rogan glanced in the direction of her table. He caught her gaze, and his smile broadened.

  “Oh! I am so sorry, Miss Armitage!” Evy’s cheeks blazed as she looked down at the dear old lady’s tray. She had just released the apple tart over her cup instead of her napkin! The cup instantly overflowed, and punch ran across the tray.

  “My dear girl,” Miss Armitage said, alarmed.

  Evy grabbed a cloth and hurried around the table to where the elderly woman stood, clearly offended.

  “Oh, my dear Miss Armitage, I do hope the Holland lace is not stained.” She tried to blot a spill that had run from the tray to the woman’s bagging sleeve.

  “Tsk, tsk, Evy. You simply must pay closer attention to what you are doing.”

  “Yes, Miss Armitage. I am so very sorry.”

  “You’ve said that already.” The woman turned her silver head with its outdated 1860 hairdo and looked across the hall toward Rogan and Parnell. The two young men wore tolerant smiles as they talked with Meg and Emily, who had joined Alice. The three girls chattered like excited sparrows.

  “So that’s it.” Miss Armitage’s features pinched even more than usual. “I might have known it.”

  Evy pretended to not understand. “Beg pardon, Miss Armitage?”

  “You know very well what I mean, I daresay. I would think a sensible young lady such as yourself, Evy Varley, would know better than to get absorbed in the likes of those two scamps. And you, with your upbringing in the rectory, should know better than to be daydreaming about them.” She straightened her spectacles and looked around. “Where is that aunt of yours?”

  “She’s a bit ill, I’m afraid. We thought it best that she avoid the rain.” Evy wished she could sink through the floor and hide from those shrewd gray eyes that fixed upon her. “Shall I—Shall I get you another tray of punch and a tart, Miss Armitage?”

  “You do not expect me to eat this mess, do you?”

  “No, of course not. Here, I’ll take that tray away.”

  “I should hope so.”

  A short time later, Evy returned with a tray of fresh punch and another of Aunt Grace’s apple tarts. But before she could escape, Miss Armitage grasped her sleeve.

  “You watch those two scoundrels.” The old woman’s voice was low and full of dire meaning. “They will dance circles around a good girl like you every time. You are no match for them. They’ve been well trained in the house of Master Henry, and now that their father, the squire, is widowed—he could very well have his eye on your aunt.”
>
  Evy must have looked blank, because Miss Armitage made a sound of impatient dismissal. “Untrustworthy scamps, those boys. Word has it from my sister in London. She knows. Oh yes, indeed. Those two have already caused talk in London. Matilda read about it in the society page.”

  With that, Miss Armitage walked away toward Vicar Brown, no doubt to fill his ears with whatever she had read in the London papers. Evy watched her leave, then glanced at Rogan and Parnell. What on earth had the papers said about them?

  She shook her head. Never mind. Whatever it was, it had to be just gossip.

  She took a deep breath and sighed to herself. Lord, do not let me become a gossipy hen when I grow old.

  At least Miss Armitage was gone. Evy moved back behind the table, glancing around her. Had anyone noticed the embarrassing incident? Fortunately, everyone seemed too occupied with conversations to pay attention to her disaster. She looked toward Arcilla, who was as lovely as ever, her hair plaited with silver threads and her summery frock of daffodil yellow satin flowing about her. She had matured into a beautiful young woman.

  Evy’s own dress was quite ordinary by comparison. Cotton, pale blue, with simple white cuffs and a high collar with a bit of lace. The long skirts were quite dignified and proper, and while the dress was no match for Arcilla’s and Alice’s, she would need to be blind to see herself every day in the mirror and not be aware that she, too, had blossomed into a beauty.

  Arcilla was nearing seventeen now and was anxious to complete her last year at the finishing school in London. After that she would have her coming-out in London society when a marriage would be arranged, either to Charles Bancroft, if Arcilla and Lady Elosia had their way, or to Peter Bartley of South Africa, if Sir Julien Bley ruled his family realm. Evy, if she believed in wagering, would bet that Sir Julien would win.

  Evy glanced about, seeking Derwent. She finally spotted him with Tom and Milt. All three were agog, watching Arcilla, who smiled and charmed them, making each one feel special. One thing about Arcilla: She never blushed. If all the boys stared at me that way, I’d turn pink as a new rose! Evy sighed at her lack of poise. Arcilla knew her effect on the young men and played it to full advantage.