Yesterday's Promise (22 page)

Rogan recognized the man on horseback riding boldly into camp leading a Company delegation, his brother-in-law Peter Bartley, son of Sir Reginald Bartley, appointed commissioner in Lunjore, India. Julien, for reasons of his own political choosing, had used his connections in the Colonial Office in London more than two years ago to have Peter assigned to South Africa.

Peter, at thirty-two years old, though young for his appointment, was schooled in the ways of Her Majesty's Colonial Office, and his position as a diplomat somewhere in the vast and still growing British Common wealth of Queen Victoria was certain.

Peter was dusty after the long trek from Kimberly, which lay more than a hundred miles south of Rogan's camp. But garbed in a uniform of fitted jacket, vest, and hat, he looked well suited to the distinguished position that had been conferred on him. Riding beside him on a mare was Arcilla, looking like a disgruntled queen. Rogan grinned to himself.

Peter dismounted, leaving his horse's care to one of the Ngwato workers, and came around to help his young wife off her own mount. Arcilla looked about with dismay clearly etched on her tired face. Her ebony hair was tangled from the wind, and her two-piece suit of inappropriate ivory and emerald satin now looked wilted and a trifle downcast along with its owner after the long journey.

Seeing Rogan, Peter saluted in a friendly gesture and said something to Arcilla, as though trying to boost her spirits. Arcilla looked quickly toward her brother, and a sincere smile of relief turned her pouting face into something special to see.

“Rogan,” she cried and came hurrying toward him. “Oh, thank God you're here. It's been positively beastly! Hours and simply hours of horrid riding. Why, it's a wonder I can walk. And Peter was absolutely dreadful. He wouldn't even stop and let me rest. I shall die before this expedition is over! I know I shall.”

Rogan patted her shoulder as she fell into his arms with a sob. His gaze went to Peter and saw both guilt and impatience.

“They are all miserable to me,” she wailed, “both Uncle Julien and Peter. Oh, how I wish I were back home in Grimston Way.”

“Hush,” he said in a low voice. “You'll soon have everyone else wishing the same, including your husband.”

“Good!” She lifted her face from his shoulder and sniffed loudly, glancing over her shoulder toward Peter, who walked toward them with strained dignity.

“It wasn't quite all that dreadful, my dear. You are exaggerating. We went quite slowly for your benefit. We could have made better time alone.”

She pushed away from Rogan, nearly losing her balance and whirled, glaring at her husband. “Then I shan't trouble you any further. Go on
alone
. Serve your precious Company
alone
. I—”

“Darling, I didn't mean—” began Peter.

Rogan smoothed his mustache with a finger. This was going to be a
very engaging expedition. Never mind Arcilla. Could he himself endure all this?

Darinda Bley came out of her wagon when the entourage arrived, and now she stood looking across at them. At length she came strolling over.

“Oh, come, Cousin Arcilla. It's not as bad as all that. Come with me. I'll see you to a wagon. You can rest and wash some of the dust off you. Then I'll bring you some coffee and breakfast. You'll soon feel much better. One of your problems is those clothes. You can't very well run about out here on the veld looking as if you're going dressed for a London tea.”

“I happen to utterly
loathe
London teas, and I won't cavort around in Boer leather with a pistol slung over my hip.”

Darinda dropped her hand from Arcilla's arm, and her face grew serious. “You may wish you had when you come face to face with a spitting cobra.”

She turned and walked away, and Arcilla hesitated, then followed her toward the wagons.

Peter looked on helplessly.

Rogan stood watching the three of them, hands on hips.

When the women had disappeared into one of the wagons, Peter turned and met Rogan's gaze. After a moment they both smiled.

They shook hands, exchanging greetings, but Rogan could see by Peter's expression that he was uneasy over more than his wife. Rogan guessed that his brother-in-law might wonder how matters had gone with Sir Julien over his private expedition. Peter seemed to put off the issue for as long as possible.

“I told Julien that Arcilla should remain at one of the British outposts until after my meeting at Bulawayo. Darinda would be wiser to join her there too.”

“Julien isn't going to agree with that. He's permitted his granddaughter to join us. At least they'll be company for each other.”

Peter frowned. “I wish the two women could make friends. It doesn't help with Darinda goading her about her sensitivities to the elements and insects.”

“If all we'll need to worry about is insects, we'll have smooth traveling. What is this I hear about Lobengula's impis urging him to attack the white devils?”

“I'm afraid what you've heard is true. Our spies report much restlessness among the warriors.

Rhodes had pulled out before dawn, and Rogan wondered about Julien's plans. “Is Julien going to Bulawayo?”

“No. He'll remain here at camp until he learns how the meeting at Bulawayo turns out. Then he'll report to Rhodes when he returns to Kimberly.”

Peter frowned, but it wasn't clear to Rogan if the cause was Julien's presence or something else.

“Let's go for a stroll, Rogan. We need to talk.”

After obtaining sidearms, they walked from the camp toward the blue Limpopo River. The distant hills that braced the base camp wore a misty veil this morning. The far-off land of the Zambezi continued to pull him, beckoning. Who knew what awaited? Diamonds, gold, emeralds, danger, perhaps even death?

“Obviously, there won't be a town north of the river until we build it,” Rogan said. “You're quite sure, Peter, this is what you want to do with your life—and marriage? It's going to be rough. You don't need me to tell you that. You know this land and people better than I. You could still tell Julien you've changed your mind and return to London. My father would welcome you both back with open arms. You've been to Rookswood. You've seen how it is. It offers a good life, a comfortable one, and there's no financial lack.”

Peter rubbed his aristocratic chin, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. “A pleasant reverie, but one has his duty, as you well know. I cannot turn back now.”

He stood, hands behind him, looking grim. It was a familiar trait of his, an almost pious, sacrificial loyalty to the BSA.

Rogan thought he could have boxed his ears, but he kept back the wry curl of his lip.

“I am worried about Arcilla, though,” Peter admitted.

From the look in his eyes, Rogan could see he was sincere.

“I tried several times to enlighten Julien on the dangers, and he wouldn't see it.” Peter straightened his shoulders and gazed off toward the river.

Rogan didn't explain the reason for Julien's failure to be enlightened.

“It will be a year before it proves safe enough for any women to join us at the colony,” Rogan suggested again, still hoping Peter would reconsider and return to London.

Peter shook his head. “Even then, it's going to be difficult. I'm surprised she came, considering how difficult it is on her.” Peter's voice took on a strained edge. “She'd much rather stay at the Cape. The social life and all, you understand.” Peter shot him a glance, then looked away again. He drew his shoulders back and stared toward the hills.

Rogan recognized Peter's grim determination. Could he know about his wife's indiscretion in the garden?

Peter snatched his pipe from his jacket and clamped it between his teeth, arms behind his back.

“Arcilla would just as soon voyage back to England, but I refuse to give her an excuse. I'd have thought she would be proud of my dedication to England, but she takes her patriotism quite shabbily, I'm afraid.”

Rogan looked at him, surprised by the sudden frustration in his voice.

Rogan arched a brow. “Oh, come. She's very young, Peter.”

“So is Darinda, but she is a fervent supporter of the push northward.”

Rogan's first instinct was to draw sword in defense of his sister and make a comment about Darinda, but he refrained. It was more important to let Peter know he could confide in him.

Rogan held no flowery illusions about Arcilla. He knew that she was self-centered in some ways and much too vain over her appearance. But she had sacrificed her heart's choice of Charles Bancroft to accept the family's wish for her to marry Peter. He had already mentioned this to her in Capetown. He had his own struggles with bucking the will of the family. What he did know was that Arcilla had relented with dignity and grace in marrying Peter. She'd also been reluctantly willing to go on the planned trek to the new colony before she married Peter, so there was no making excuses for her now that the time had come. She must grow up. In fact, they all had some growing to do.

He wished Peter had taken a stand against Julien when he insisted Arcilla join the trek.

Of course, Peter wouldn't know that Julien had meant to use Arcilla to force a decision from Rogan.

“So, the marriage is going badly, is it? Ruddy luck, but you're more mature than she is and ought to know how to work matters out.”

Peter opened the door to his frustrations even wider.

“I don't see that it can get much worse. She won't explain her feelings to me. Insists I wouldn't understand if she did. A cold fish, she calls me. More interested in what the Company wants than in learning to understand her.”

Rogan knew he was no expert at understanding women. He had certainly learned a few things going head to head with Evy on many occasions. But he had notions of his own on marriage.

“Of course, that goes both ways. She needs to try to understand your obligations.”

“She flounces off in a huff every time I try to talk about the importance of my responsibilities here. It's either tantrums or giddiness. Never logic. Quite annoying. Yes,
most
annoying.”

Rogan didn't dare smile. “I warned you she was young and spoiled before you married her. Maybe you should have taken the advice of her brother to heart.”

Peter laughed suddenly. “So you did.” He filled his pipe with
tobacco and struck a match to it. “Don't misunderstand. This in no way diminishes my devotion to her. She worries me, though.” He frowned as he looked off toward the river.

Rogan, too, was concerned. He had seen Captain Retford about camp, and the young man could catch the fancy of many young women. Rogan had already noticed that Darinda had looked the captain's way, and he hadn't forgotten that Arcilla mentioned him in Capetown. He glanced thoughtfully at Peter. Did he suspect? Was that what worried him?

Anyone thinking straight should have known Arcilla's temperament was wrong for the role of wife to a bureaucrat like Peter. Yet now, they had both willingly vowed to each other before God.

“I tell you, Rogan, there is plenty to be concerned about with Lobengula. This visit to Bulawayo will not be an easy one. Nothing is simple in South Africa. You'll come to appreciate how polarizing different ambitions and conscience can be when there are two sides to every issue.”

“Mornay claims the dispute between Rhodes's delegation under Charles Rudd and Lobengula is the result of Rudd's tricking ‘the old savage,' as some call him, into signing the concession paper.”

Peter waved his pipe. “Nonsense. Mornay is an excellent guide, but he's extremely biased against the British. Rhodes's delegation met with Lobengula at Bulawayo to convince him to sign, allowing the Company to dig for gold, and he agreed. We've Lobengula's mark on the official document to prove it. It's an elephant head ring made for him in Europe. Well, my good fellow, on the ride back to Kimberly, Rudd was so anxious to get there he nearly died of thirst and lost the paper.

“Rhodes set sail for London at once to show the paper to the British government. That's when he received the Royal Charter.”

“Then, what's Lobengula's complaint?”

Peter shrugged, but the gesture lacked enthusiasm, which prompted Rogan to dig further for the facts. Finally, Peter admitted the problem.

“A rival gold company headquartered in London, which had men
operating in Bechuanaland, apparently had the same idea as Rhodes about moving north from the Limpopo into Mashonaland. As soon as Rhodes's delegation scrambled out of Bulawayo, the rival delegation under Lieutenant Maund arrived at the kraal.

“It didn't taken the clever lieutenant long to find out his delegation had been bested to the task by Rhodes, so he came up with a scheme of his own.” He hesitated, puffing his pipe.

“Which was?”

“The rival informed Lobengula that Rhodes's delegation had lied and cheated him. The rival told Lobengula that all his own group wanted was to dig for gold but that Rhodes also wanted their land—the truth is, we did, and still do. Lobengula sent two of his elderly
indunas
to London with Lieutenant Maund to decry what happened before the British government. Meanwhile, Rhodes was not idle.”

“I could never see Mr. Rhodes idle,” Rogan retorted.

“He began buying out his opponents, or rewarding them as shareholders in the new company if they joined forces.”

“Sounds familiar,” Rogan said and thought of the meeting in the tent the night before.

“Soon, even the rival company in London, for which Lieutenant Maund worked, made a settlement. They all agreed to use the mechanism of a British public company empowered by a Royal Charter to govern and develop the territory of Mashonaland in the name of the queen, using gold discoveries to pay for the colony.”

“That was then. What about now?” Rogan remained doubtful of Rhodes's tactics. He had seen them at work more recently and had felt the stinging cut of the sword.