Today's Embrace (39 page)

“You can't do that—”

“Just watch me. We're going to make sure you don't get near a jug again.”

Parnell glared but apparently realized there was little he could do at the moment. He sank back into the seat and glowered.

“Now,” Rogan said comfortably, refilling Parnell's coffee mug, “tell me about Uncle's expedition into the Matopos. What do you know about it?”

He shrugged. “I'll tell you plenty. It will rile the indunas and put us all on the edge, that's what.”

“Then he's still going? Nothing has happened since Anthony arrived that altered his plans?”

“Maybe something … He's going, all right, but he's got to bide his time.”

Rogan leaned toward him. “What do you mean? I'd think he'd do better to have gone at once. Fact is, I'm plenty surprised he hasn't done it by now.”

“Sure, but he
can't
.”

Rogan exchanged glances with Derwent.

“Can't? You're not making sense, Parnell.”

“Sure I am, little brother. I always make sense.” He smiled to himself about something and reached for the leftover glass of warm beer sitting on the table.

Rogan wearily snatched it up and handed it to Derwent. Derwent took it and tossed it out the open window. Somebody bellowed, and Derwent grimaced. “Sorry, mister,” he called.

“Better explain yourself, Parnell,” Rogan continued.

Parnell smirked. “Am I my brother's keeper, eh?”

“Don't mock. You'll find out at Jakob's. Maybe I'll pack you up and send you back to Aunt Elosia.”

“Do that, and it's war!”

“Go on, talk to me about our beloved Uncle Julien.”

“What do I get if I do tell you a bit of a secret, eh?”

“Nothing,” Rogan said brutally, smiling. “Maybe sugar in your coffee.”

“Cruel people. All right.” He looked at Derwent as though just now remembering he was there. Parnell pointed a finger at his chest. “And you'd better not say a word of any of this to anyone, Vicar Derwent.”

Derwent ran his fingers through his russet hair. “I got no reason to talk, Mr. Parnell.”

“Never mind about Derwent,” Rogan interrupted shortly. “He's proven himself a friend long ago.”

“Better hope so … 'cause if word gets around too much about what's planned, there may be more than ol' Cousin Tony dead.”

Rogan was ready to pounce on that, and why his brother thought so, but Parnell had to be calmed and steadied. He was darting here and there in his crazed brain.

“What plan, Parnell?” Rogan asked with deliberated patience. “Tell me about the plan, okay?”

“Sure. All you had to do was ask. Julien can't get Doc Jameson to agree about the Matopos expedition. After poor Cousin Anthony's death, Doc Jameson came down as hard on Julien as, well—whatever somebody used on Anthony. ‘No Matopos. Understand? No Matopos, Julien!' Doc tells him. And Uncle Julien? He was purple with rage. But he kept quiet. First time I saw Julien take orders.”

Rogan stroked his mustache. Important—yes, what he'd just heard was perhaps the most important news so far. He looked at Derwent. Derwent was squinting with intensity.

“So Julien's waiting until Doc leaves Bulawayo. Then he'll make his move.”

Derwent changed positions on his barrel and looked at Rogan for a ready response. Rogan weighed his brother's words.

“So that's it. Very significant. So that's why Julien hasn't gone by
now. Makes sense. I was worried I wouldn't arrive in time. When is Jameson leaving Bulawayo?”

Parnell looked up and over at the tavern door. “You mean on that … er … secret mission?”

“That's right. The one. When?”

“Haven't the foggiest. Big secret. They're worried about a Boer spy among us. Somebody prepared to send word to Kruger. So Doc and Julien are keeping the day buried.”

“Boer spy?” Rogan asked with incredulity. “In the Company?” He laughed. “Surely you jest.”

Parnell shook his head. “On the contrary, Julien takes it seriously. That's why if he found out I sent the letter to Anthony, he'd have me for treason or something. He'd think I was the spy.” He shook his head suddenly and looked around suspiciously, as though they were being listened to. But the tavern was so noisy no one could have heard.

“I'm not saying any more. I've already said too much.” Parnell stood, a bit wobbly on his feet, his hands on the table. “I'm going back to my bungalow—number twelve. Retford has thirteen. Bad luck.” He rubbed his forehead and grimaced. “I feel awful …”

Rogan stood, intending to get his brother to the bungalow.

“I'll see he gets home, Mr. Rogan. Look, Clive's just come in to talk about the mine.”

At the door Rogan saw the geologist he had hired to work for him at Zambezi. Clive was an older man, tall and gangling, with curly silver hair and a rather rueful smile.

Someone else entered almost at the same moment, and every male eye turned toward the sight. Darinda Bley stood near the door looking toward Rogan's table. She scanned Parnell, and her face hardened.

“Get me out of here, Derwent,” Parnell groaned. “She hates seeing me this way.”

“Bunge him off to bed,” Rogan told Derwent. “I'll be over to the bungalow later. Wait, Parnell—one more thing. Do you know where Anthony's body was found?”

“Sure, on the trail near bungalow number one, where he was staying. Darinda found him—under the wait-a-bit tree. The tree's right there on the trail bank. Can't miss it. Ol' Harry's tagged the tree. 'Bout the only thing he has done so far. Retford says the body was dragged there. Poor ol' Anthony was killed somewhere else. And it all had to happen quickly, too. From the time Darinda first met him on the trail to when she found him dead was, say, somewhere around about thirty or forty minutes.”

“Darinda saw him alive on the trail?” She had not mentioned that in her letter to Camilla.

“She met him, all right. Argued with him too.” He glanced her way. “She doesn't know it,” he slurred, “but Arcilla heard 'em. Real cat and dog fight.”

Rogan looked at his brother sharply. “Has Arcilla told anyone else about this?”

Parnell shrugged, quickly appearing to lose interest. “Don't know … She told me. Ask her. Better yet,” he said maliciously, smirking toward Darinda, “ask
her
. She's the one who can tell you a thing or two she hasn't told Harry Whipple.”

Derwent got Parnell out of the tavern, and Rogan looked across the room at Darinda. She had a bit of spunk coming in here like this. A decent woman wouldn't, but with a grandfather like Julien, she could evidently get by with it, since the men knew who she was. They moved aside as she walked boldly through the center of the room toward Rogan. She stopped, hands on hips.

Rogan glanced toward Clive Shepherd, then lifted his hand.
Later
, he seemed to indicate. He then walked up to the counter to order, carrying his coffee mug with him.

Darinda walked up to the counter. “My grandfather wants to see you.”

“Does he? I'll be at Government House tonight to see Peter and Arcilla. I'll look in on him then.”

“He wants to see you
now
. I've the trap out front. I'll bring you.”

Something about her attitude, or maybe it was just Julien's way of making things urgent when he wanted something his way, provoked him. He picked up his mug and finished the contents, though the coffee was cold.

“I've another matter to attend to right now. I'm meeting someone here.”

She lifted her dark, slim brows and scanned him. “Yes, Clive Shepherd. He ran the Zambezi mine after Mornay was killed in the mining accident. The mine's gone broke, hasn't it?”

“Word travels fast, it seems,” Rogan said nonchalantly. He knew Darinda was trying to influence him, but it wouldn't work.

“The Company owns half of everything that mine produced. Do you think Rhodes wouldn't know if it had stopped?”

“Forbid. You can include Julien in on that, too. Is that what he wants to see me about, Zambezi?”

“Grandfather has many things on his mind.”

“A very industrious man.”

“You'll admit, Rogan, you've been in Bulawayo a week, and you haven't called on him yet.”

“He's not exactly what I would call
charming
company, Cousin Darinda.”

“He expected you would come to him at once.”

“No doubt.”

“He
is
your uncle,” she accused. “And don't forget, he has more to say about your share in the diamonds than anyone else in the family.”

He felt an ironic smile tip the corner of his mouth. “And more to say about my bride's? That's it, I suppose. He wants to discuss Evy and her van Buren inheritance. And now that her father's been murdered, she stands to inherit a great deal more from the Brewster side as well. That should be most upsetting for him. And you.”

An angry crimson stained her cheeks. Her dove-gray eyes sparked. “What Evy gains by means of her birth, and now the death of Anthony, doesn't interest me.”

“No?” He smiled. “Come, now. We're old friends, Cousin. The last time we were together on the Limpopo River and the pioneer trek, you made it excruciatingly clear that you have but one aim in life—to boot Anthony aside and take over the reins of the family business.”

“Are you going to come or not?”

“Wait for me at the trap. I'll be there in a few minutes.”

She gave a curt nod of her dark head and, turning on her boot, strode from the tavern looking neither right nor left at the men who watched her.

Clive walked over. “Hello, Rogan. 'Bout time you got back.”

Rogan smiled and shook hands. “Agreed. Ruddy luck things went to ruin. How's that arm and shoulder doing?”

Clive shook his head sadly. “Not as well as I'd like. Too bad about the mine. It fooled us all, Mornay included. He was depressed toward the end. I couldn't find out what was actually troubling him.”

“Troubling him?”

“Rather extraordinary, actually. Couldn't understand why he was so unhappy toward the end. Talked a lot about betrayal. I couldn't tell if he was thinking of himself or someone else.”

“He didn't like the BSA.” Had Derwent been able to direct his thinking toward eternity?

“No. He didn't respect some of the top BSA men, but he worked for them. Did you get all the papers and reports I sent you on the status of the mine?”

“I got them. Looks to me as though we could mine deeper, but it may be a loss. I'm not sure I care to throw money at it right now.”

“I'm still of two minds on the idea myself. You read my report. I think it's time to close down and look elsewhere. Can't see how that particular area could be the golden goose Henry Chantry thought it was.”

“I'm convinced it wasn't. I've some ideas we need to discuss in the future. Unfortunately, now isn't the right time for a trek.”

“That's right. Derwent said you have your wife here with you now.”

Rogan's jaw set. “That's not the reason. She came fully expecting me
to go to the Zambezi. Evy's content out at Dr. Jakob's mission station right now. She's discovering her family history.”

Evy would undoubtedly talk about the strain in their marriage with Dr. Jakob, but Rogan had no inclination to discuss his personal life with anyone. He wanted to push everything to the back of his mind and forget about it. His wife's lack of trust still angered him.

“With what's happened to Anthony Brewster, I'm reluctant to leave just now,” Rogan explained. “On any new expedition I'm likely to follow up on my uncle's old map. Right now, though, I don't want that spread around. We'll keep it between us.”

Clive nodded. After a moment he said, “That was an ugly thing about Lord Brewster. I just heard today when I rode in. Whoever did it is still running around loose. Was it a native?”

Rogan had been thinking a lot about that. In fact, he'd done little else on both the train and the stagecoach line between Kimberly and Bulawayo.

“I would have thought so at first because of Major Tom Willet.” Rogan briefly explained what he'd learned about the major's death near the Matopos, which was first palmed off as a lion attack, and now thought to be an attack with an assegai.

“Anthony was different. The back of his head was hit badly. My guess is that he knew the murderer. They met on the trail between Government House and the bungalows. Anthony walked away, and then unexpectedly—wham, struck from behind.”

“Sounds like there's more than one breed of savages around here,” Clive commented, glancing about.

“The civilized ones are most dangerous.”

By the time Rogan reached the dusty street, Darinda was waiting in the horse-drawn trap. On the seat beside her lay a shotgun with its metal glinting in the afternoon sunlight.