Yesterday's Promise (44 page)

The coach bore her along the S-shaped carriageway to the mansion, rimmed on one side with white birch and on the other with elm. When
the horses at last came to the end of the S, Mr. Bixby brought them to an easy stop. Evy looked up at the forbidding mansion. Some of it was twelfth century, with crenelated towers and turrets. The same old gargoyles with bulging eyes and evil scowls glared down at her.

Mrs. Wetherly remained as the Chantrys' housekeeper, wearing black bombazine and a stiff white apron, and she smiled warmly as Evy entered the Great Hall.

“How wonderful to see you looking so much stronger, Evy.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wetherly. I do feel much more optimistic. I'm here to have tea with Lady Elosia. Is she in the parlor?”

“Her Ladyship's not come down yet. I'll show you to the parlor, where you may wait.”

Evy had not done much socializing in the parlor while Aunt Grace had worked as governess. She well remembered the time Lady Camilla Brewster had asked her to come down for tea and Sir Julien Bley had unexpectedly walked in on them. He had confronted Lady Camilla, wife of Lord Anthony Brewster, with uncalled-for rudeness. Sir Julien had been overbearing with her. To this hour Evy still wondered if Camilla might not have been contemplating telling her that her mother was not the missionary Junia Varley who had been killed in the Zulu War, but Katie van Buren. Evy also recalled how Sir Julien had faced her in the glaring lamplight, had cupped her face in his hand and boldly searched her features. Now, of course, she knew why he'd done so. He had been making certain in his own mind that she was Katie's daughter. Even so, he had done nothing about it until recently. If she allowed her emotions free rein, she could become very upset over the injustice that had been done her by the secret kept hidden for so many years.

The dark wood furnishings in the parlor were done in burgundy and gold. She moved across the thick rugs to an array of family paintings staged grandly above the huge fireplace mantel. It did not take her long to find Henry Chantry—with his rugged dark features and that somewhat arrogant smile that reminded her of King Charles—and Rogan Chantry. Strange, she had always thought there was some resemblance
between Henry and Rogan rather than Rogan and his father, Sir Lyle. How odd that it was
she
who was related to Henry.

She tried not to look at Rogan's handsome face, but instead she concentrated on Henry. She walked up close to the painting and stood staring at it intently, as though she could will the truth from those dark eyes, that enigmatic smile.

Are you my father?

Moments slipped by, and she was still standing there when a voice said, “A man who did not live out half his days.”

She turned, surprised to see Anthony Brewster. He followed her gaze to Henry's painting as he walked up beside her and stared.

She remembered that Lord Brewster had business that would have brought him here to Rookswood.

“I heard Henry was an adventurer…a bold man with a restless spirit.”

“Yes, he was that.”

“You knew him?”

“I knew him well. I was at Cape House the night Katie ran away to Rorke's Drift looking for you. I was with Sir Julien when we found Henry in the stables. He'd been knocked unconscious and claimed the Black Diamond was stolen from him by Katie.”

“But I think that's not true about Katie.”

“No…she did not steal the diamond from Henry. Someone else did that.”

“You were there too?” she asked, knowing she was being unwise. She continued to look at Henry's likeness, ignoring the veiled suggestion.

“As I said, I was there with Camilla. We'd returned from here in London to marry at Cape House.”

She noted the lines between his brows.

“Who do you think knocked Henry unconscious and took the Black Diamond from him?”

“There's some suggestion it could have been Jendaya, or her Zulu brother, Dumaka. This was before the Zulu War, and Dumaka was a young induna.”

“That seems odd, then, that someone of noble position would be working for Sir Julien Bley, doesn't it?”

“Exceedingly so. I could never get a straight answer from Sir Julien. He claims Jendaya had become a Christian through Dr. Clyde Varley at Rorke's Drift Mission, and Dumaka, in loyalty to her, had come with her to live among the whites.”

“Do you believe that was the real reason?” she ventured.

“No, I think there was something more to it. Something more sinister.” He looked at her, and his hard eyes softened. “It's no concern of yours, Evy. You've enough problems on your shoulders. You know what Elosia will ask of you, don't you?”

She had warmed to his unclelike concern. “No, not at all.”

“I should let her explain, then, and whatever you decide, I will stand beside your decision.”

Lord Brewster amazed her. Why this sudden interest in her?

She looked back at Henry's picture and said with boldness, “Lord Brewster, have you any idea who my father was?”

He was silent. She sensed a rigidness come over his stance.

“I suppose you will always wonder. It's natural you would. Knowing that Katie was your mother, you'll never be satisfied until all the truth is uncovered.”

“You don't blame me, do you? If you were in my shoes, wouldn't you wish to know everything?”

He hesitated, then exhaled. “I don't know if I would or not, Evy. You see, I've never learned who
my
father was. And my mother died before I was mature enough to try to persuade her to tell me. I was raised here in England until I was fifteen, going from one school to another until Sir Julien sent for me. I worked in the diamond business for Julien until my marriage to Lady Camilla Montieth was arranged.”

Lord George Montieth, Camilla's father, was the number two man in the FO, the Foreign Office, dealing with all colonial affairs. Evy knew how Sir Julien had deemed it important to have marriage connection to those in the British government whose personal views favored British
expansionism in Africa. The debate continued to rage in Britain: “If we don't take the initiative, the German government will, or Portugal.” The one good thing Evy could see in the forward thrust of the Union Jack into places like Africa, India, Hong Kong, and elsewhere was that it permitted the missionary movement to follow, even though it was often true that the British colonial governments in those countries frowned upon the missionaries. Still, God was sovereign in His dealings with the nations, and the missionary movement was growing.

“Another arranged marriage by Sir Julien Bley,” she said. “At least I'm safe from such concerns,” she commented wryly.

His brows rose. “Do you think so, my dear? I'm not at all convinced of that.”

Her gaze, against her will, strayed to the painting of Rogan Chantry. Lord Brewster noticed, and he searched her face until Evy looked away from Rogan too quickly, feeling the heat in her cheeks. No matter what Heyden had recently said of him, or how hard she tried not to think of him, her heart kept him close to her thoughts.

She moved away from the proud gallery of Chantrys. “I'll never allow Sir Julien to make me marry a man I don't love. Anyway, in my situation…” She looked at her crutches.

He did so as well, and his look grew serious. “Don't be foolish, Evy. Few good men would turn and walk away just because you have a limp. You are a very beautiful young woman with character and, yes, an inheritance. I would think a gentleman of both family and importance would be anxious to marry you. Besides, you'll get stronger. I talked with Dr. Harris before leaving London. He assures me you are still improving. Who knows? The day may come when you may not need crutches at all.”

“You're kind to say all this, sir. I suspect you're trying to make me feel better.” She smiled.

“Nonsense,” he said. “I mean every word of it.”

“But I still won't marry to please Sir Julien Bley.”

Unconsciously, she betrayed herself again by glancing at Rogan's painting.

“You've heard Rogan and Lady Patricia will marry?”

She tried to sound glib. “Of course, who has not? It's been arranged for years, if my memory is correct.”

“You do know she's here?”

Here in Rookswood? No, she hadn't known. Her muscles tensed. She did not want to run into Patricia now. Evy remained silent.

“Then you have not yet heard. Rogan has arrived in London too. He should be here soon at Rookswood, perhaps tomorrow. The marriage is to take place shortly, from what Elosia tells me.”

He had said all this quietly, as if to soften the blow. But Evy remained a little dazed.
Rogan…here. I won't see him. I won't!

At the sound of a swish of skirts, Evy turned, expecting to see Patricia gloating.

“Ah, there you are, Anthony, dear,” Lady Elosia said. “Lyle is waiting to discuss the diamond sale with you in his office.” She entered the spacious parlor and gestured to the plush divan. “Evy, do sit down, please. The maid will be coming with our tea momentarily.”

Elosia was a woman with a certain aloofness about her that reminded Evy of chilly elegance. The possibility that this woman could be her aunt by blood through her brother Henry seemed as remote as her glance that swept over Evy.

“A pity about the need for crutches. Ah, well. You've always been a strong girl. You'll adjust.”

“It comforts me to know you are so convinced, Lady Elosia.”

Lady Elosia shot her a glance. Evy was nettled by the woman's indifference. Strange how easily she could assure her of victory over a trial, when Lady Elosia would feel very differently if so afflicted.

Elosia's hair was a sculptured gray-gold, her complexion white from years of staying out of the sun, and her skin was painted expertly with pink rouge and lip-tint. Her brows were darkened and arched somewhat complacently above almost pearl-gray eyes. She and Sir Lyle could have been twins.

It amazed Evy to think of the darkly exciting Rogan as the son of Sir
Lyle and the now deceased Lady Honoria, who had much in common with Lady Elosia. How they had produced the willful and sparkling-eyed Arcilla and the adventuresome Rogan seemed a mystery.

Lady Eloisa looked to Evy as though she rarely laughed, as if it were inappropriate to do so. Her determined demeanor set Evy on edge, adding to her discomfort at being called here, and making her feel as if her crutches were an impediment to refinement.

What could she possibly want of me?
Evy wondered as she sat there under Lady Elosia's scrutiny. Certainly this wasn't a social call just to see how she was recuperating. Lord Brewster would have told her all she wanted to know, which Evy was sure did not amount to much.

Evy was unsure how much Lady Elosia knew about Evy's link to the family through Katie, and perhaps Henry Chantry. The family had shown no interest all these years, so there would be little if any reason to believe their attitude should change now, unless it was affected by the van Buren wealth. The Chantrys would know about the diamond inheritance coming to her through her mother, Katie. And how Sir Julien had directed Lord Brewster to set up a financial account on her behalf through his barrister.

A maid Evy did not recognize brought in a silver tea tray with refreshments. The tea was one of the strong Indian varieties. A china serving plate was neatly arranged with some heart-shaped watercress sandwiches and some liver and onion paste. It was all Evy could do to swallow her tea.

“I shall come straight to the point, Evy. Pretending otherwise would not benefit either of us. We are both direct, I believe.”

“Yes, I think you are quite right. Does this have to do with your niece, Arcilla?” Lady Elosia seemed surprised. “Arcilla is the one person I can think of who forms even a thread between me and the Chantrys.”

Elosia thoughtfully slid her spoon once through her cup before laying it aside.

“You are correct,” she confessed. “It concerns Arcilla…and Peter as well. Arcilla is like a daughter to me, and you
know
what Arcilla is like,” she said, as though Evy would understand everything.

Evy did
know
the manner of woman Arcilla was, but she did not understand Lady Elosia's troubled expression. She went on before Evy could respond.

“I understand that it was the wish of Sir Julien that you at last know who your mother was. As to whether that was wise—”

“I beg your pardon, Lady Elosia, but of course I should be told. I should have been told from the very beginning, even when I was a child at the rectory. And the inheritance rightfully belonging to me through Katie van Buren
should
have been shared in part with Vicar Edmund and Grace Havering, as well as to help pay my schooling. When I look back and see how difficult it was for us at times—especially after Vicar Edmund died—I feel the deliberate silence was unjust. Grace had to scrape together her meager earnings to send me to music school at great cost to her, and to me emotionally. If it hadn't been for your nephew Rogan, I wouldn't have been able to finish my final year at all.”

Evy had not planned to say all this and was surprised herself at her sudden boldness. But now that her emotions were out in the open, she wasn't really sorry. She wasn't the only one who had suffered because of it. Uncle Edmund and Aunt Grace had suffered from the injustice, and she wanted them to know she understood it quite well. But of all that she said, it was the mention of Rogan's name that seemed to shock Lady Elosia the most, and she set her tiny porcelain teacup down with a rattle. Her pearl-gray eyes widened unbecomingly.

“Rogan? What has he to do with you?”

“He loaned me the money to finish my schooling in London, and then to open my short-lived music school here in Grimston Way. Surely you were aware? Everyone else in the village seems to talk about it.”

“My dear! I am quite above the common gossip that flits about Grimston Way. As Sir Lyle's sister, I am much too busy assuming many of the important duties of the wife he no longer has.”