Yesterday's Promise (11 page)

It was a showy building, and in some unholy way it suggested to Rogan a religious edifice dedicated to secular achievement. Fancy balconies made of intricate white ironwork graced three floors. The walls were made of red brick. The corners of the walls were stylishly made of hewn-out stone blocks, adding to the grandeur. The windows were of stained glass, and all the door fittings were shiny brass.

The equally fancy guard, if that's what he was, brought Rogan up a sweeping staircase to the third floor.

“Here you are, Mr. Chantry. This is your brother's office. Shall I show you in, sir?”

“No, I'll surprise him. He thinks I'm still in London.”

“Oh, I see, sir…yes, indeed. A pleasant surprise.”

M
R
. P
ARNELL
L. C
HANTRY
, A
SSOCIATE
, the brass plate read. Rogan opened the door and entered. Parnell was not sitting at his huge desk, but standing before a large map pinned to the wall. His back was toward Rogan when he shut the door.

What would his meeting with Parnell reveal of Julien's plans?

Parnell turned, and seeing Rogan, he first showed complete surprise, then recovered.

“Rogan!”

Parnell was a slim, agile young man, an inch shorter than Rogan, with curling chestnut hair and a dark mole on his chin that women seemed to find attractive. He was vain and at times imperious. He wore
an impeccable shirt of Irish linen, and the blue cravat was of the finest Italian silk, all typical of Parnell.

Rogan smiled and walked toward him. “Hello, big brother. Looks like you're doing well for yourself.” He glanced about at the fine furnishings and large windows. “A splendid office you have here. You must be earning your keep with Uncle Julien.”

Parnell laughed shortly and came to meet him. They briefly grabbed each other by the shoulders and shook hands.

“It's been three years,” Parnell said thoughtfully, measuring him. “You're looking well. But what are you doing here this soon away from the London shipping office? I'll wager Julien doesn't know.”

“No, I didn't ask his permission,” Rogan said, feeling irritation. As always, it was Julien. Rogan walked over to the double windows and door that opened onto the balcony. He looked out over the family mine, the BCB, standing for Bley, Chantry, and Brewster.

“So that's it,” Rogan said, hands on hips, as he looked below. “Not much to look at, is it?”

Parnell smiled. “It's what's hidden in the ground, dear fellow—what gets honed from the kimberlite. They call the diggings the ‘Big Hole.' They've been excavating diamonds out of there since the 1860s, and there's no end in sight. The quarry's almost a mile across.”

Rogan was intrigued that even looking down from three stories up, he could not see into its depth. The Hole looked as if a meteor had struck and ripped through the ground. He saw what were known as donkey engines being used to keep water out of the Hole. Diggers—black, white, and in-between skin colors—were all grubbing around in that giant hole scratching and sweating with backs bent beneath the broiling sun for the enigmatic stones, not for their own gain, but for the Company. He knew that guards painstakingly searched each digger before they left at the close of each day, making certain that diamonds were not being smuggled from the mine. Even so, there were always a few who somehow managed to spirit one or two out. These ended up being sold to a smuggling ring and then into the world on the black market.

Parnell pointed through the window. “Each day we burrow deeper and deeper into the Big Hole, following the blue kimberlite conglomerate downward. Already that Hole's produced ten million carats of diamonds.” His hazel-green eyes burned. His mouth widened into a grin. “And Mr. Rhodes's company owns it all.” Parnell's voice came off proud and satisfied. “That means ‘our family' owns plenty, and Uncle Julien is the manager.”

“Unfortunately.”

Parnell chuckled, then glanced over his shoulder as if he were worried that someone might have overheard and caught him laughing. His laughter ended abruptly, although no one was there. He caught Rogan looking at him soberly, and his gaze slanted away and out the window again, as though he knew Rogan's thoughts.

“Julien is not a man to lock horns with. Anyone foolish enough to try ends up the loser. I don't need to warn you. We both know what he's like from our days at Rookswood. That's why I'm worried you're here now.” Parnell looked at him. “He won't like it, you know. I wish you hadn't come now.”

“Arcilla feels quite the opposite.”

Parnell looked suddenly alert. “You saw her already at Cape House? But Julien is there.”

“I didn't go to Cape House. I came straight here to Kimberly. She met me at the harbor.” He could see Parnell's curiosity and surprise as he tried to understand how Arcilla, and not Julien, knew of his arrival.

“Elosia sent a wire, but Arcilla intercepted it in Julien's absence.”

Parnell jammed his hands into his expensive trouser pockets and shook his head. “She shouldn't have done that. It's not wise to keep things back from Julien. He has spies everywhere. He'll find out, and she'll be in more trouble than she is now.”

Rogan did not like what he saw in his brother. Parnell had always wanted to please Julien because he had dreams of getting greater wealth and prestige through marriage to Sir Julien's granddaughter. That had been no secret. But Rogan noticed Parnell seemed more driven now, not
by ambition alone but by worry. He'd grown more tense since Rogan last saw him in London.

“Everyone's afraid of Julien. It's disgusting. Arcilla, now you. What could be worth living in the shadow of his displeasure or favor?”

“Julien knows what he's doing. He has great plans, Rogan. He and Mr. Cecil Rhodes, both.”

Rogan already knew that Julien was more than a well-placed partner in De Beers Consolidated. Julien was allied with Rhodes in his determination to forge South Africa into a British colony.

“Naturally, Uncle Julien is temperamental, maybe even ruthless at times, but the cause is so great, the burden on his mind so heavy that he needs our understanding.”

Rogan gave a short laugh. “If that isn't rubbish, I don't know what is. He's driven by a selfless cause, is that it? Like Rhodes—it's all for Her Majesty and the good of the world. What about that young Irishman, Sheehan? Is Julien also trying to steal his claim on that coal deposit north of here for an honorable, selfless cause?”

At the mention of John Sheehan, Parnell looked away. He walked over to his polished desk and arranged a stack of already neat paper.

“Who told you about Sheehan?”

“I met him by chance when I got off the train this morning. We had breakfast together, and he told me his unhappy story. What do you know about this?”

“I can't talk about business dealings, and you know that. But I do know Sheehan's a feisty troublemaker. The mining laws rule here, Rogan. Fair and square.”

“Fair and square? You're sure about that? Then he should have no trouble, right? Everything out in the open?”

Parnell's mouth thinned. “Don't get involved. This doesn't concern you.”

Rogan read the warning in his brother's voice, almost a plea.

“I didn't come all the way from England to Kimberly to play advocate for John Sheehan. I can't help it if Julien's mask is slipping a bit and
what I'm seeing is rather ugly. Not that his ruthless ambitions ever fooled me much. I always knew he was a hard man, one I wouldn't trust. But a hard man is one thing…a common thief is another.”

“If he heard you talking like that—”

“Oh, I know. He'd be tempted to use that sjambok he favors so well.” A sjambok was a Boer whip made from rhinoceros hide, used by Boer farmers to drive oxen and, more recently, for flogging troublemakers and slaves. “He'd best not give in to his rage with me. Wise up, Parnell. You'll get nothing decent submitting to his greed, just dirty hands. You want Sheehan to lose that claim?”

“I told you,” he said miserably, “I don't make final decisions here. I obey them.”

“And you like that?”

“Of course not.”

Rogan placed his hand on the desk and leaned toward him, smiling almost boyishly. “Then do something, big brother. You've got the means and methods. Look it up, check the wires, find out what happened to that claim he filed. Is it held up somewhere? Who's behind it? Julien? Rhodes himself?”

Parnell drew back in his leather chair, his Irish linen shirt so white it had a bluish cast. The gold ring and diamond pin at his cravat glittered.

“And get demoted if they find out?” Parnell choked. “If I got in his way, what would he do about Darinda? He'd rule against me for sure. I'd never get near her again.”

Rogan straightened, disturbed at the sight of his brother cowering under Julien's constant control. “Has she no say about seeing you again? And what would Darinda think about you if she knew that you helped Julien in that kind of dirty deal?”

Parnell picked at his manicured fingernails.

“What Darinda thinks she keeps to herself.”

Rogan folded his arms. “Sounds a pretty mess, if you ask me.”

“Well, I'm not asking you. Stay out of it, Rogan. I know what I'm doing.”

Rogan wondered but kept silent.

Parnell came from behind the desk and circled the lavishly decorated room. “It's you who'd best be on guard,” Parnell said as he looked at Rogan seriously. “Henry's dreams about gold beyond the Limpopo may not be as foolish as everyone once thought. That puts you in a precarious spot.”

Alert, Rogan looked at him, studying his tense face.

“Go on.”

Parnell shrugged, looked as if he wished he had kept silent, then gestured to the large map on the wall.

“We had that drawn up by Giles Mornay.”

Rogan stood still. “Mornay?”

“Ah…I see you understand. Yes, Giles is the son of Bertrand Mornay, who worked with Uncle Henry on that Zambezi expedition you've been so fond of all these years.”

In three strides Rogan was standing before the map, his jaw set, studying the drawing meticulously to see how much it matched Henry's. His anger boiled.

Parnell shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and looked sullen.

“Julien's been very interested in Henry's touted gold deposit for a few years now. You know that as well. It's one of the reasons why he bought in so quickly with Mr. Rhodes's idea of an English colony north of the Limpopo. Remember? It's also one of the main reasons he wanted Arcilla and Peter to marry, so he could send them north. It was on your sixteenth birthday, I think. I told you even back then what I thought was the cause behind Julien's interest in a new colony.”

Rogan was hardly listening. His mind was racing with the sickening thought of his uncle's discovering what he had dreamed of since he was a boy. He'd been a fool. He should have known Julien would try to locate Giles Mornay.

Derwent! Why hadn't the boy contacted him, warning him that Mornay and Julien were working together?

“You'll have to join the BSA along with the rest of us,” Parnell said.

Rogan turned sharply, his smile sardonic, and challenging. “Maybe not.”

Parnell's eyes came alive. “What do you mean? You're not much better off than that Irish kid with his fool claim to the coal. I've told you Mornay was paid to make that map of the Zambezi. I could risk Julien's displeasure in even telling you that.”

Rogan knew he would need to be careful about sharing too much with Parnell. Unlike Arcilla, Parnell was Julien's man because of Darinda. A marriage to Darinda meant that together they would inherit a greater share in De Beers Consolidated after Julien's death. Julien would leave Darinda a large fortune. With this glittering promise dangling above Parnell's head just out of reach, his loyalties were likely to side with the one man who could fulfill his dream.

Parnell was watching him. Had he given anything away in his expression?

“So that's the crux of it, is it?” Parnell said. “That's why you're here now instead of next year. You've found out something… Haven't you? About Henry's map?”

Rogan started for the door. He had to find Derwent and talk to Mornay as soon as possible.

Parnell was at his heels following Rogan to the door. He took hold of Rogan's arm. “You found it, didn't you?” Some emotion brightened his eyes.

Rogan didn't like the look of it, but he could not be sure of what it meant. He looked at Parnell evenly, disappointed in the change he saw, or was it change? Had it not always been there, but now was growing stronger in this ripe environment of greed?

“Breathe a word to Julien, and you'll regret it, big brother.”

Parnell stared back, then his hand dropped from Rogan's arm. He let out a slow breath. There was no excitement now, just a sober look. “Rogan, promise me you won't lock horns with him over this.”

Rogan was taken aback by the unexpected look of worry. “I can't promise that, and you know it.”

“I know you, and I know Julien—better than at any time in my life. That's what worries me. He will have his way, and no one will stop him. For one thing, he's close to Rhodes. If there's any English loyalist more determined than even Julien to control mining rights in the north, it's Rhodes. They both see a new colony as a means to provide the wealth that will help them build a powerful empire for England. Rhodes envisions an Africa ‘all red,' as he puts it. A Commonwealth belonging to the throne. He's a driven man…a clever man…and an intelligent man. You can question his motives, you can doubt his right to proceed, but you won't be able to stop him. Nothing will stop him—or Julien. They will squeeze the life out of you as coolly and methodically as a python and will think little about it—a mere sacrifice for a greater purpose. There is no law that can stop them. In many ways, Mr. Rhodes and the Company are the law.”