Yesterday's Promise (19 page)

Maybe he had. The land…the people. The sight of John Sheehan lying bloodied in the dust, his claim on the coal deposit stolen legally.

“Speaking of money and all it brings, I wouldn't join the peasant's march too soon,” Parnell goaded lightly. “The ditty about carving up the king's head on a platter for all to share—it might turn out to be your own. It's you who will inherit Father's title and estate. And an even bigger title when you and Patricia wed. You'll be marching to the tune of Lord Rogan Chantry.”

Parnell laughed suddenly, good-naturedly. They both did.

“Maybe you should go ahead and toss Henry's map to the fires of Africa and return to England,” Parnell said, “making the rounds of the royal parties with little to worry about but sumptuous meals and wine.”

“It has its allurements…” Rogan said with a sigh. “And its boredom.”

Parnell laughed. He shrugged his shoulders. “C'mon, His Majesty Rhodes is holding court, and you're an honored guest.”

Night began to settle, casting velvet shades of darkness upon the veld, but the expanse of cloudless sky still retained some indigo where the first star gleamed with brilliance. Soon a plump white moon rose from behind the hills and scattered a shimmering of gold and diamonds across the sky.

Gold…that mysterious map. Unnoticed by the two Chantry brothers, Darinda narrowed her lashes as she stood near the covered mule coach watching them. They talked alone for a few minutes, now and then exchanging smiles, or laughing, now and then serious and challenging, especially the younger one. That one was trouble! He would be difficult to overcome.

Parnell frustrated her! He was weak. By now he should have discovered where his brother kept the map and delivered it to her. If he were as strong as Rogan, he would have succeeded by now. Too bad she and Rogan were not on the same side. Unlike Parnell, she might be able to fall for him, but doing that wasn't in her plans. Nor was she going to marry Parnell. If he were clever, he would have guessed by now that she cared nothing for him. Parnell was all Grandfather's idea.

Yes, Rogan would be difficult. Her mild flirtation with him had merely been a test to discover whether he was susceptible like Parnell. Rogan was on guard. She could feel the armor in place each time she came near him, yet she sensed something else about him too. He was a man, and he found her attractive. That gave her hope. If she could break
through his defenses, she might accomplish her aims without Parnell. She had decided tonight she could not use the same tactics she had with Parnell. Parnell had fallen into her hands like ripe figs. He would do anything for her. But Rogan would not be won by mere flirtation. Maybe there was another way… She would need to discover his strengths and weaknesses. Meanwhile, all she needed to do with Parnell was to work on him awhile longer. Eventually, he would succumb and somehow get the map from Rogan. It must happen on this expedition.

If only Captain Retford were here. She might be able to use him, too. A captain in the military might be vulnerable to the sparkle of a diamond inheritance and a woman who found him irresistible. She would keep him in mind. That foolish nitwit Arcilla! Flirting with Captain Retford. She didn't deserve Peter Bartley. Now, there was a sensible man she could have married and at least been comfortable with. A good, solid, practical head on his shoulders. Poor Peter, married to a silly schoolgirl who couldn't think a whit beyond what pretty frock to put on and what diamond to wear! Grandfather had been cruel to poor Peter by insisting he marry the Chantry flirt. Oh, well. She could live without the men on the expedition. Like Grandfather, she preferred power and fear and respect rather than love. At least she told herself so…

She came alert. Parnell and Rogan were walking toward the tent where the meeting with old man Rhodes would take place. She wanted to be there to study all the men and their weaknesses. That map and new rand somewhere in Zambezia was going to belong to Darinda Bley. When she accomplished that feat, Grandfather would see his mistake in choosing a male heir instead of her. And Uncle Anthony Brewster! Grandfather needed to change his will and place her in charge of the diamond dynasty. She was far more clever than Anthony. She would prove it too, by astounding her grandfather when she presented him the map.

Darinda backed away silently into the warm dark night until she had circled Cecil Rhodes's big meeting tent. She slipped in through the
back opening and found her place beside Grandfather Julien just as Parnell and Rogan entered through the front tent flap.

She was smiling and pleased when she saw both Chantry brothers look over at her. What's more,
both
men noticed her.
Really
noticed her. That was a strong beginning. Her eyes met Rogan's and boldly suggested that she, too, noticed him. It rankled her when a flicker of amusement showed in his dark robust eyes. As though he saw through her facade and found her plans amusing and challenging. For a moment, while he scanned her, her heart skipped a beat. A frightening thought came that made her consider her own weaknesses. That look of his almost said he welcomed the challenge and would beat her at her own game!

Oh no you won't, Rogan Chantry
.

Darinda looked across the tent and was surprised to see Captain Retford, Peter's assistant in military affairs, at the meeting.
Oh, what a delightful surprise! But where are Peter and Arcilla?

Grandfather had placed Captain Retford in Peter's service, but neither the captain nor Peter realized that it was
she
who had recommended him. Darinda had noticed the captain on a trip to Capetown to see Arcilla and thereafter used her position with her grandfather to gain access to Retford's personal records. His reputation as a soldier was impeccable, his schooling was traditional at the Honourable East India Company's Military College in Addiscombe, and he had served with distinction and received a brevet for courage in the fighting in Sudan.

Captain Ryan Retford was extremely handsome and very precise. He might be as difficult to crack as Rogan Chantry, but he, too, was a possibility. She knew he had a mother and sister in London who were barely making ends meet partly on his wages. His generosity showed admirable responsibility. Darinda knew her power and money could mold him into exactly what she wanted.

Darinda caught Captain Retford's gaze. He looked away. She felt her lips curve into a satisfied smile. Yes, he, too, had noticed her from afar.

Rogan, who had entered Cecil Rhodes's meeting tent with Parnell, took a moment to measure the man. Mr. Rhodes was the real power behind the BSA and De Beers Consolidated Mining Company, and the political force behind carving a British Empire in Africa. But he looked anything but a great king with the steely ambition to enforce his dream. He was a ponderous man, his skin showing the results of cyanosis from a long-standing heart ailment. His somewhat copper-colored hair was streaked at the temples with gray, and his sleepy, turtlelike eyes gazed steadily from the closing folds of skin around his eyes. Although worth millions, he was not a fastidious dresser like Uncle Julien. Mr. Rhodes's Norfolk jacket was rumpled, hanging askew on his soft, sagging shoulders. He sat slumped forward in a camp chair, his elbows resting on a long trestle table, with his entourage around him.

Cecil Rhodes had first come from England to South Africa years ago to nurse his frail health and be with his brother, who was working in the diamond mines. It was reported that Cecil Rhodes would sit by the rim of the diamond pit at Kimberly by the hour with his legs crossed, watching and talking. He loved to talk more than listen, and he would tell his “big dreams” to anyone willing to listen. Instead of succumbing to his ailments, he outlived his brother and joined with partners to consolidate De Beers into a near diamond monopoly. Now it was gold that had claimed his attention. Gold, and an empire with his name.

Rogan felt Mr. Cecil Rhodes's deceptively sleepy blue eyes appraise him, and he seemed to waste no time drawing conclusions. His thick hand gestured to a chair at the table, his voice brusque.

“So! Rogan Chantry! Julien tells me interesting things about you. I think I'll not be disappointed. Sit down,” he repeated. “Darinda, would you serve my best wine?”

“Delighted, Mr. Rhodes… I believe it's in the back? Perhaps Captain Retford would bring the lantern for me?”

“We trail well equipped,” Cecil told Rogan, gesturing that the captain should help Darinda.

Parnell started to get up from his camp chair, but Sir Julien lifted a silent hand to stop him. Parnell sat down, and Rogan recognized the tightness around his mouth. Rogan's anger rose at seeing his brother treated with contempt. How could he get him to see he was being used and break with Sir Julien Bley?

“Sit down, Rogan,” Rhodes all but commanded.

Rogan looked at the man, feeling his fur ruffled in the wrong direction, yet he remembered his manners and pulled out a chair. He felt he was approaching a monarch and his attendants.

Julien sat at the end of the table. Their gaze held steadily, but surprisingly the violence Julien had displayed when at the Kimberly diamond mine was no longer noticeable. Maybe that should worry him even more.

Darinda returned with Mr. Rhodes's expensive bottle of wine and, with practiced flair, went around the table, serving Mr. Rhodes first, then the others. Her fingers were bedazzled with diamonds as she deliberately rested her hand on her grandfather's shoulder, parading the close relationship between them in a way that would assure any onlooking male of her heiress status.

Mr. Rhodes pushed a silver box holding cheroots toward Rogan, who selected one.

Julien leaned over and struck a match to light it. Above the sharp flame, Rogan looked into his one eye, which reflected the searing white flame.

“Send for Mornay,” Cecil Rhodes told Parnell. “He'll need to be included in our discussion. We'll need him for the trek north.”

Rogan turned his head and looked at him. “He's not for hire, sir.”

Rhodes gazed at him unblinking. “What are you telling me?”

“I'm saying, sir, Giles Mornay has quit my uncle's service and is now working for me as a guide.”

There was another man present, sitting comfortably in his camp
chair, holding a glass of wine, legs crossed at the knees. He spoke for the first time, as though only roused from his evening leisure when there seemed a need to rally defenses in support of Cecil Rhodes.

“Not for hire?” came the quick demand from Dr. Leander Starr Jameson, the personal physician and right-hand ally of Rhodes. “Mr. Rhodes hires whomever he needs,” Dr. Jameson stated. He appeared younger than Rhodes and was a pleasantly featured man with a dark mustache.

Jameson's autocratic manner rankled Rogan. “Mornay has agreed to lead my expedition to Mashonaland, but why it should concern anyone other than myself is curious.”

Jameson lifted his head, as though Rogan were an impudent young chap, but Cecil Rhodes waved his hand as if to stop the matter from being chased by Jameson.

“On the contrary, Chantry. Your bold but unacceptable expedition interests me and the Company very much, and also worries us.”

“How so?” Rogan knew why but was delaying. He could see he was squarely up against some very strong and high-handed men who could not see themselves as ruthless or unfair. They pompously viewed themselves as the self-appointed custodians of an empire they wished to procure for the good of all, especially themselves.

“Sir Julien has explained about Henry Chantry's map—of what could be a large gold find in Mashonaland, or the Zambezi region, as it is sometimes referred to. We think it's well worth the Company's sponsorship. The gold must be in responsible care.”

Responsible care
. For one brief moment a dark thought came: How he could tighten his hands around Cecil Rhodes's throat.