Yesterday's Promise (33 page)

Julien stood watching him, now showing some alarm.

The silence grew until Julien cleared his throat. He turned away from Rogan's even stare.

“I think it wise for all concerned that we forget the past and build upon a new foundation,” Julien said, fumbling with some objects on the camp table. “Tomorrow we leave for Kimberly to begin preparations for the June expedition to the Zambezi.” Julien turned his head toward him, adding a placating note. “Arcilla needs you. Peter will need your help too. So does my granddaughter.”

Rogan looked at him for a moment. Then, without a word he walked past him into the late evening twilight and away from the camp.

He stood on the warm dusty plain. He was still thinking of the woman with amber eyes and tawny hair he had called the “rectory girl.” He remembered how he had held her in his arms and how their lips had joined in a fiery kiss before he'd left her behind at Rookswood garden. From the first time he'd seen her in the woods at Grimston Way, he had wanted her for his own. Evy Varley, the girl from the rectory…now Evy “van Buren, heiress,” and far worse, Evy “Chantry,” Henry's daughter.

Rogan snatched Henry's old map from beneath his leather vest. In a harsh moment of utter frustration, he crumpled it in his fist. He might have hurled it into the fire to burn to a crisp if there had been one within reach.

Defeated and wretchedly disappointed, he stood in the deepening twilight, the wind brushing against him but not cooling his passions. At that moment he would have given all the gold of Mashonaland for just one opportunity to change the lineage of the woman he loved.

The wind rushed through the grass. The Southern Cross sparkled overhead like gleaming diamonds. As his thoughts drifted back to Grimston Way, Rogan agonized over the difficult decision he knew he must make. For her sake, as well as his, he must
never
see her again.

London

A diamond heiress?

Evy could hardly believe her ears as she sat across the coach from Anthony Brewster. The horses plodded along London's cobbled streets into the swirling gray fog. He had called for her that morning to take her out in the coach for a ride and “a serious conversation.”

Serious indeed! She had just been informed she was an heiress in the diamond mines at Kimberly, on equal footing with the Chantry children, Parnell, Rogan, and Arcilla. Evy was dazed. She hardly noticed that it was growing dim inside the coach due to the thick fog. She looked across at the rugged South African.

“I'm sorry it was necessary to shock you like this,” Anthony Brewster said, concern etched on his face.

She shook her head, trying to comprehend the meaning of what she had just learned. “I didn't realize the van Buren family shared the ownership of the mines. It hasn't been that long since I learned I was a van Buren, and now it's even more surprising that I am actually considered an heir.”

He nodded his head gravely that he understood her confusion.

“I can't say even I understand it all myself, Evy. Sir Julien is the one who controls these matters, and it hasn't been his purpose until recently to divulge this.”

She noticed the unpleasant tone to his voice, making her wonder if there could be some kind of disagreement between them. She had always heard that Anthony Brewster was like a son to Julien Bley.

“Carl van Buren and Sir Julien had been partners in the early days of diamond discovery. They shared equal ownership. But after your grandfather Carl's death, Carl's closest relative, a cousin, sold out the van Buren family interest to Sir Julien. At the time Julien was a friend of Cecil Rhodes and others who already had diamond mines. Eventually, Julien bought in with Mr. Rhodes in buying up other diamond mines, forming what today is De Beers Consolidated. So you see, the van Burens made a grave mistake in selling early on to Julien.”

Anthony went on to explain her inheritance, but from what she could grasp of all that he was telling her, she had no real control over her diamond shares. Sir Julien had final authority until she reached her maturity, which included marriage. Evy's heart sank. Whether or not she gained control depended upon a “suitable” marriage. Sir Julien, of course, would have final say in determining
suitability
, which would ultimately depend upon how well the bridegroom fit into the Company.

“What would happen to my inheritance if my marriage was not deemed
suitable?
“she ventured to ask Brewster.

“Then legal control of your portion remains under
family
control.”

He had said this in a matter-of-fact tone.

“But,” he added, “regardless of that, Evy, you will always have sufficient finances from which to draw. You will be well taken care of, now and in the future. You will have a sizable allowance. Sir Julien has had his lawyer, Mr. Howard, set up a fund from which you may draw expenses at any time. I'm confident you'll find it more than adequately meets your wishes.”

The facts ran crazily around her mind.

“Mr. Brewster, I don't know what to say to all this, really. I'm not going to marry to please Sir Julien Bley.”

“My dear Evy, there's no cause to jump into this now. Of course no one in the family, including Sir Julien, wishes to force a match with a
gentleman you don't approve of. The important thing now is that you continue to grow stronger.”

For some reason she believed him. Anthony Brewster seemed kind, and his sympathetic smile and grave eyes made her feel…protected.

“We all think you should remain at Chantry Townhouse for the foreseeable future. Do you miss Grimston Way very much?”

Evy had to admit she didn't. Nothing seemed the same there, since childhood relationships no longer existed. Arcilla, Rogan, Derwent—they were all gone from her life, far off in South Africa. Except for Mrs. Croft, there were few ties that rooted her to the village. And then there was the incident she had yet to mention to anyone. She tensed, remembering, but he did not seem to notice.

She could easily have told him that she had no intention of returning to the cottage to live. Especially now, while she was dependent upon crutches. The thought of being there alone and unable to get around quickly sent a chill up her spine.

“Someday I'll wish to go back to teaching piano because music means so much to me, but as to where I'll reopen a school, I don't care to think about that now.”

“That's well understood. I'm told you are quite talented. Someday perhaps you will play for me.”

She smiled. “I will enjoy doing so, Mr. Brewster.”

Limpopo River

The stars were still visible in the dawn sky as Rogan stirred awake. Derwent was shaking his shoulder.

“Thought you'd want this now, Mr. Rogan,” he said and handed him a tin mug of black coffee. Derwent squatted on his heels as Rogan sat up and drank. “Wouldn't have wakened you, seeing as how you were up late, but Mornay's up to something I thought you'd want to know about.”

Rogan was fast awake. Rolling out of his blanket, he grabbed his boots, shaking them out before pulling them on. A scorpion, tail up ready to strike over being shook about, confronted him. Rogan used a stick to get rid of it.

“What's our old cantankerous friend up to?”

“For one thing, he's quitting us. Thought he'd talk to you about it first. That's fair play, but he went and decided to join the BSA.”

Rogan splashed water on his face.

Derwent scratched his russet hair. “You're sure enough taking the news calmly, seeing as how we needed him to be our guide. Thought you'd be as troubled as me when I told you. Think you can talk him out of it?”

Rogan frowned at his tin cup. How was he going to tell Derwent that he, too, had decided to sign on for the expedition to the Zambezi?

“I've been expecting Mornay to make that decision for some time now.”

“You did? News to me.”

Rogan felt his friend's troubling gaze and did not respond. Derwent removed his small Bible from his pocket and flipped through it, probably searching for a morning psalm to read to himself. Rogan felt a nip at his conscience.

“Looks like you and me and your hired Ngwato will have to go on that gold hunting safari on our own,” Derwent continued.

“It doesn't surprise me about Mornay,” Rogan went on, avoiding Derwent's statement. “He knows Frederick Selous, and they get on well enough.”

“Selous? The big-game hunter who wrote the book?”

“Same gentlemen. Rhodes hired him for the pioneer trek. Julien told me the news yesterday. Mornay worked with Selous on several past expeditions. So it's not surprising he'd fall in with him now. The wage was good too. Better than I could pay.”

“Seemed to me you offered him plenty.”

“But not what Cecil Rhodes can pay.”

“So that's why Mornay is teaming up, then. He's probably his right-hand man.”

“Most likely.” Rogan stood and looked down at him. He stroked his mustache thoughtfully, then said, “Derwent, you might as well know now. I've no choice but to go along with Sir Julien if I want to reach my goal on the Zambezi. The BSA owns the mining rights there under the Royal Charter from the queen. If I'm to locate Henry's gold find and collect any of it, I've no choice except to form a partnership with Rhodes's company. Besides that, there are a few people involved that concern Evy Varley and the Black Diamond. She has a relative thereabouts. A missionary doctor named Jakob van Buren.”

He expected Derwent to be flabbergasted, but he wasn't. He remained calm and silent until Rogan became uncomfortable.

“Naturally, this doesn't end our relationship,” Rogan said. “Working
with the Company is simply a means and method to accomplishing the same goal.” Did he really believe what he was saying? He went on smoothly, giving Derwent no chance to disrupt the flow of his argument. “I'll arrange with Julien for you to sign on as one of the two hundred pioneers. That will mean three thousand acres for you and Alice. Think of that. You always wanted your own farm—you'll have one of the best. The land, I hear, is very good. There's also fifteen shares in the Company gold mine, and I'll see to it that you receive a fair share of what's coming to me from Henry's map.”

Derwent took his time to reply. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Three thousand acres and gold—why, that's more than I expected from this expedition, Mr. Rogan. But I thought we disapproved of the way Sir Julien was running things. Mr. Rhodes, too. From what I remember of just a few weeks ago, we were both bothered by the BSA's dealings with the Ndebele tribe. And there wasn't supposed to be any land given away, just some mining rights. When everyone got what they came for, we were expecting to go back to our own country and leave Africa to the Africans.”

Though Derwent's words were calm and soft-spoken, they goaded Rogan's conscience. “I haven't changed my mind on any of that, but I haven't much choice. I've planned for this venture on the Zambezi too long to throw it all away now. Besides—the tribes can use some European civilization.”

“Now you sound like men in the Company.”

“Well, I can't help that. It's what I believe,” Rogan said. He was starting to feel anger, since his reasoning didn't seem to be convincing Derwent.

“I didn't think we'd end up compromising to follow the dream through.”

Rogan glared down at him. “I'll compromise nothing of what's truly important to me, Derwent. Don't forget that.”

Derwent stood, fingering his small Bible. He stuffed it inside his pocket. “Seems to me we're both doing some compromising.”

“Speak for yourself,” Rogan snapped, chafing under his friend's lecture. He tossed his tin cup down. “Look, I'm going on the expedition, even if it means joining forces with them. When I reach the Zambezi, I'll follow Henry's map to the gold deposit. The BSA's giving me forty percent of the find and five thousand acres of land. That's an offer I won't throw aside easily. Without a partnership, I might as well toss the map to the flames and sail home to Grimston Way.”