Yesterday's Promise (38 page)

Darinda turned to her grandfather, Sir Julien, and they embraced as well. Then she turned to Parnell, and laying her palms on his forearms, she smiled up at him. Parnell's eyes took on new life, and some of the old sparkle appeared to come back to his face. “You did wonderfully well, Darinda. You did better than I did on the trek.”

She laughed, and her eye caught that of Captain Ryan Retford. He stood with the soldiers, watching her and Parnell, and a small smile showed on his tanned face. Darinda turned toward Parnell, looping her arm through his, and met her grandfather's gaze; he had followed her eyes across the dirt yard to Captain Retford. She turned quickly toward Alice and Derwent Brown.

“Well, Alice, we are finally here in Fort Salisbury. Did you ever think we'd make it, all of us?” Darinda said.

“There were times when I told Derwent we'd all die for sure. But Derwent was right. He said God would bring us here, and He did.” She looked at her husband and smiled.

“What will you do now, Derwent?” Darinda asked amiably.

“I'll be going with Mr. Rogan, Miss.”

“To look for gold,” Alice said cheerfully. “Oh, wait till I write to Mum.”

“I'm afraid that'll be a long time,” Derwent said quietly. “Until Mr. Rhodes sends along more pioneers and opens a better road, we're completely isolated. We'll have to make things do.”

Within a few days the column was disbanded. Frederick Selous and Frank Johnson were paid for their work by Rhodes's partners in the BSA, and the pioneers scattered to stake out their farms and ranches.

Rogan stood with Mornay and Derwent. Despite all the obstacles that had crossed his path since he had sailed from England, he was finally here. He pulled out Henry's map and grinned with confidence.

“Well? What are we waiting for? The land is before us. We'll join forces to stake our own claim in Rhodesia.”

Six Months Later
Near the Zambezi

Rogan had left his base camp and ridden out with Derwent and Mornay. He stopped his horse and looked up and around him, swiveling in the saddle as he studied the layout of the land.

“This could be the place, all right,” Rogan told Derwent and Mornay as he looked at the map. “See that ridge over there?”

Derwent Brown squinted, following where he pointed. Mornay, too, looked off, puffing on his pipe.

“Shall I ride back and tell 'em to break camp?” Derwent asked.

“Let's have a closer inspection first,” Rogan said, folding the map and tucking it inside his shirt.

Mornay nodded sagely as they rode forward.

Months had passed since Rogan and the others first arrived with the pioneers in Rhodes's company to form the British colony. The pioneers
had spent long days building farm huts and tilling the land so they could plant crops. Some had brought along chickens and pigs, and cattle and oxen roamed the cleared land.

“The more I compare Henry's checkpoints with the area before us, the less I'm convinced we're here, Mornay.”

Mornay nodded gravely. His silver-bearded chin seemed to bristle, and his inky brows pulled low over his eyes. “You could be right, monsieur. The area traversed by my father and your uncle Henry. This might not be the land of the map.”

Rogan looked at the hills and rock formations again, still unsettled, despite what seemed to be ample evidence. Despite Mornay's knowledge of geography and his own of geology, Rogan still had questions. He removed the piece of quartz from his pocket that he'd taken from the ridge in question yesterday and compared it with the quartz rock Henry had left him. Rogan's studies at the geology school in London convinced him of the promise of gold in this ridge. But one thing troubled him:
the symbols Henry placed on the map of the bird, the lion, and the baobab tree. What could he have meant?
Rogan had looked the area over for weeks now and could see nothing that resembled the symbols. He also noticed that the two quartz rocks were different. Was there more to Henry's map that he had yet to discover in the months ahead?

Back at camp he would discuss his find with the newest man on this enterprise, a geologist he'd hired named Clive Shepherd. The man had ridden in a few weeks earlier on a private trek following the Pioneer Column.

Rogan continued to ponder the ridge that rose before him. He turned in his saddle and with narrowed gaze studied the land, as he had been doing for days. His mouth hardened beneath his dark ribbon mustache. He patted his pocket where he had returned the piece of jagged quartz he'd taken from farther up the ridge.

“We'll have a talk with Shepherd to see if he backs us up. There's no geologist I trust more than him. Let's go back to camp,” he said briskly.

Rogan now had some fifteen Shona working for him in a land where the Matabele warriors frowned upon the white man's incursion. He'd learned it was useful to use Africans from other tribes as workers and guards, for many of the tribes looked upon one another as the greater enemy. Several African kings had signed treaties with the British government to protect their land from Africans and Boers alike.

That night at their base camp, Rogan, Derwent, Mornay, and Clive Shepherd sat around the fire, discussing the prospects of the site.

Shepherd was shrewd on the subject of mineral discoveries due to his broad experience in the field. A regular bloodhound when it came to sniffing out gold deposits, he was even said to be “canny.” Such men appeared to gravitate to other men like Rhodes and Sir Julien Bley, but Clive Shepherd had wanted to work for Rogan.

While a student at the geological school in London, Rogan had noticed several of Clive Shepherd's treatises on gold, emeralds, and diamonds. It had seemed a stroke of luck when two months ago Clive had ridden into Fort Salisbury with a new group of pioneers, some fifty in number. Peter had introduced him to Rogan one night at supper.

Rogan reached into his pocket and removed the piece of quartz he'd chipped from the ridge. He looked across the campfire at Shepherd.

“What do you think, Clive?”

Shepherd caught the rock Rogan tossed him.

“This looks very promising.”

Rogan wasn't surprised over Clive's conclusions. They confirmed his own findings, but he didn't believe he'd found Henry's deposit.

“This outcrop might run for miles. It could go very deep,” Rogan stated intently.

Shepherd, a tall, gangling man with a high forehead and a jutting chin, blew smoke rings into the darkness.

“I'm a cautious fellow, Chantry, but I think you've got something here.”

Mornay squatted on his haunches before the fire, his white hair gleaming. “Yes, do not forget,
mon ami
, how the BSA holds a large portion of whatever is discovered.”

Rogan did not like to think of that, but Mornay was right. Rogan put down his empty cup and stood. He thought of Evy and the Black Diamond. He knew a great deal more about the van Burens now that he had visited Dr. Jakob van Buren at his medical mission station farther up the Zambezi River. Jakob had told him about Heyden's earlier trip to locate Jendaya and demand that the Zulu woman contact her brother Dumaka to bring the Black Diamond. Dr. Jakob worried that Heyden might be planning to use Evy in some way to get Jendaya to cooperate. “It would be dangerous,” Jakob kept telling him, “much too dangerous.”

Rogan's thoughts flew back across the sea to Grimston Way, to a girl with green-flecked amber eyes and hair the color of a lion's mane. A woman he should not think about but who filled his memory at night beneath the lonely stars.

“Don't worry,” Rogan said abruptly. “We'll all get our share from the Company. The BSA needs us more than we need them. We're all in this together now.” The arrangement he had been forced to accept disturbed him, but he had settled into it for lack of any way out. And he wanted the gold, regardless.
But…those symbols on Henry's map
.

“We'd better turn in early,” he said. “Come sunrise, I want those prospect holes sunk from here to the hills north of us, along the Zambezi.”

Next morning, when the dawn painted a crimson sky, a rider on horseback from Fort Salisbury entered the camp. It was Captain Retford, Peter's military assistant.

“A letter for you, sir. Mr. Bartley thought it might be important.”

Rogan took the envelope and saw that it was from Capetown, sent by Lady Camilla Brewster.

Rogan frowned. Why would Anthony's wife be writing to him?

He opened the letter and read:

Rogan was still standing there in the warm wind when Derwent came up beside him. The paper scuffled in the wind.

“Bad news, Mr. Rogan?”

Rogan looked at him, hearing Derwent's worry. He set his mouth in a confident smile.

“Both bad and good, Derwent. I must drop everything and return to England immediately.”

Derwent looked at him, stunned.

“I'm turning matters here over to you, Shepherd, and Mornay.”

“Not a funeral, Mr. Rogan?” Derwent asked anxiously.

Rogan folded the letter and put it back into his leather pocket. “Not if I can help it, Derwent. Rather, a wedding.”

Derwent looked after him as Rogan strode off to find Mornay and Shepherd. Derwent scratched his angular nose. Now what could that mean?

When Mrs. Croft handed Evy a letter just delivered and postmarked Grimston Way, the incident on the attic stairs, never far from Evy's mind even here in the rich surroundings of the townhouse, came to a head.

“From those Hooper twins and Wally. They must be wondering when you're coming back. Miss their piano lessons, is my guess.”

Evy opened the envelope and took out the small sheet of paper. Neatly printed at the top in Beth's hand read: “Hooper Detective Agency.”