Tomorrow's Treasure (14 page)

Rogan, now thirteen, had managed to smuggle a book under his
fancy jacket and sat reading it, his expression sober. Evy had once learned from Derwent, who had seen the book, that it contained maps of unexplored Mashonaland, South Africa, with tales about gold deposits. Evy cast Rogan a furtive glance. She always sat in the pew beside Aunt Grace, and he would know that, having seen her here often enough. She thought that the ice may have thawed between them by now, since two days had passed since their meeting at the horse trail. Yet, though she glanced his way several times, he seemed not to notice her. Was he ignoring her?

Evy saw Alice Tisdale, her strawberry-blond curls dancing about her face, and some of the other girls in the village glancing toward Rogan and Parnell. From the silly look on Alice's face, she might have swooned if either of the boys looked her way and smiled. The girls all dreamed of Cinderella romances.

Evy gave a soft snort. Silly twits. Fairy tales never came true.

She wished heartily that Rogan would cast her a glance just so he could see that she was one girl who was not watching him. She lifted her chin a little higher.

Arcilla fussed with her lace-trimmed frock. At twelve, she already had a propensity toward what Mrs. Croft called a “boy-happy” attitude. Not that any of the boys in the village would ever be suitable for Miss Arcilla Chantry. Like her brothers, Arcilla's marriage would be arranged for her. Most likely the three Chantry children would one day marry those from titled families in London—or else wealthy cousins from South Africa. After all, one had to keep the diamond dynasty in the clan.

Arcilla looked about, and Evy was sure she wanted to see what the other village girls were wearing. Just then her blue eyes fell on Evy.

She thinks she's a peacock, and I'm just a little brown wren.
Naturally, girls from the families of farmers, merchants, gardeners, and servants, as well as the vicar's niece, would not be wearing frocks that could compare in the slightest with Arcilla's fine wardrobe. Oddly enough, Evy had the impression that this comforted Arcilla.

Poor Uncle Edmund! Was anyone listening to his sermon? Ashamed,
she sat straighter in the hard-backed pew and concentrated on his message.

After the service Evy spoke with several of her friends from the village. “Did you see what Arcilla was wearing? Oh, to own a frock like it.”

“She always dresses as if she's going to Whitehall instead of church. Mum says she only does it to be noticed.”

“What do you think she'll wear next Sunday?”

“Silk.” Emily, the blacksmiths daughter, sighed. “Pink. I always dream of owning a pink silk frock.”

“Silk is impossible to wash.” Evy crossed her arms. “I do not want silk.” But even as she spoke, she felt a tiny nudge deep within. Was that completely true?

“Arcilla will wear velvet. Soft blue velvet.” Meg, the daughter of the head groom at Rookswood stables, all but crooned the pronouncement. She ran her palm along her rough cotton pinafore as though she could feel the lush velvet on her callused fingers.

“You cannot wash velvet either.” Evy said it in an effort to comfort her friend. “Cotton is … more sensible. We must be sensible, you know.”

“Well, whatever it is she wears next week, it will make her look beautiful.” Megs sigh was deep.

“Every boy will stare at her as goggled-eyed as an old frog in Grimston's pond.” Emily grimaced. “Like our silly brothers do.”

“Milt has a terrible crush on her,” Meg said with sadness.

“So does my brother Tom. As if Arcilla would
ever
look at him in his overalls. The Chantrys will have picked an earl for her to marry.”

“I would not
have
an earl.” Evy lifted her chin a fraction as she spoke.

“My brother insists she
did
look at him,” Meg said.

“The boys' staring at Arcilla is no more silly than every girl in the village gaping at the squire's two sons.” Evy shook her head. “Did you see Alice staring? I nearly laughed at her.”

“As if Rogan would pay her any attention.”

“Well, I could have told you Arcilla would come wearing the latest London fashion,” Emily told them. “Mum says a new seamstress from
London arrived at Rookswood in the Chantry coach. Miss Hildegard, her name is. She is there to make Arcilla, Lady Honoria, and Lady Camilla new winter wardrobes. Mum was cleaning the sewing room when Miss Hildegard arrived. She had all manner of cloth—velvet, taffeta, and silk from India.”

Meg and Evy moaned.

All this was fresh on Evy's mind when she returned to the rectory. The next day she was with Mrs. Croft in the kitchen learning how to cook and bake, and how to preserve jams and watermelon rinds in cinnamon. Cooking was part of Evy's schooling so that one day, when she became a vicar's wife, she would be able to bring food to the sick and infirm among the parishioners.

It was fully expected that Derwent would become curate after his father, and one day a vicar. In another few years he would be going away to divinity school in London. Marriage to Derwent would let Evy continue on at the rectory in a comfortable lifestyle. The idea was sensible and practical.

Evy grimaced. If only she felt some excitement when she thought about Derwent! He was like a comfortable shoe. Pushing the disloyal thought aside, she told Mrs. Croft how Rogan and Parnell ignored her and the other girls.

“As though we are a necessary evil to be tolerated.”

“You wait a few years.” A slight smile tipped Mrs. Croft's lips. “Sudden like, they'll be whistling a different tune. If they be anything like Squire or them before him, they'll be hanging about the girls of Grimston Way like ants around a honey pot. Every decent girl who wants herself a good husband had better watch her reputation. Squire thinks his boys can do no wrong. So if there's mischief to happen, who do you think will be blamed? It won't be Master Parnell or young Rogan—or that sister of his neither, for that matter,” she said, showing Evy how to mash the berries for pound cake. “That young Master Rogan has wanderlust, he does, and he is too comely for his own good.”

Evy licked the berry juice from her finger, and Mrs. Croft gently slapped at her hand. “Bad manners, missy.”

“What does
comely
mean?”

“In the young master's case, pleasing to a girl's eye. Mark my words, little one. That means be cautious of him. He holds promise of becoming a rascally rogue, if you go wanting my opinion.”

Evy smiled. Mrs. Croft would give her opinion whether anyone asked for it or not.

“He fits 'is name, I daresay.”

Rogan … rogue.
Yes, the words even sounded something alike, Evy decided.

Mrs. Croft nodded her gray head. “Aye, but he'll still rise above Parnell, I'm thinking. There's talk about, saying it'll be Rogan who inherits Squire's tide, not Master Parnell. Lizzie's heard tales about young Parnell wanting more diamond shares in the Kimberly mines in place of the title and Rookswood lands. Don't know how this will affect Master Rogan, though.”

Evy supposed she meant that Rogan, too, wanted to go to South Africa when he grew up, and would not look favorably on remaining in Grimston Way to rule Rookswood lands. However, since most of the villagers living in Grimston Way could trace their lineage back to the time of the Crusades, it seemed that if anyone even so much as wished to journey afar, they were accused of suffering from the reckless disease of wanderlust. Derwent also talked of adventure in faraway places, yet he was even more likely than Rogan to be denied his dreams.

Evy stared down at the bowl in her hands and sighed. Was there no one who could live life the way he—or she—wished?

October blew in on a chilly wind, bearing change in more than just the seasons. The village doctor, Dr. Tisdale, came through Rookswood's gate in his coach and called on Vicar Edmund. The vicar was needed up at Rookswood right away, he said. The long-ailing Lady Honoria, the squire's wife, had passed away in her sleep the night before.

A few days later the sky was roiling with clouds, and the fall wind
shook away the few remaining leaves on the chestnut trees. Almost the entire village of Grimston Way lined the road from Rookswood to St. Graves chapel as the Chantry coaches made the slow procession down to the cemetery.

Because the vicar was Evy's uncle, she was permitted to attend. The Chantry family was all in black, including Miss Arcilla. She wore a veiled hat, as did Lady Camilla, who held the young girls hand. Miss Hortense, the governess, was there too, wiping her eyes on a handkerchief and ho doubt recalling being governess to Honoria when she was but a little girl in Capetown.

Parnell Chantry was very somber, as was Rogan, but neither shed tears the way Arcilla did. For the first time ever, Evy's heart went out to the girl.
So she's human after all.

Evy watched Rogan put his arm around his sister's shoulder when she began to cry, and a warmth filled her. How splendid of him to care for his sister that way. He seemed protective of Arcilla, much more so than Parnell, though one would have expected the older brother to take the lead. Evy recalled what Mrs. Croft said about how the squire's title would be given to Rogan. That was odd, but then, so were many of the details about the Chantrys.

Evy was heartened when the service was all over and they could join the unhappy procession back to the rectory. When Aunt Grace went ahead to check on the tables of food waiting inside the rectory hall, Evy edged up alongside the vicar in his black robe.

“Uncle Edmund,” she whispered, “did she go to heaven?”

“My dear child!”

“But Uncle, its important where Lady Honoria went to.”

He smiled and his eyes danced as he reached over to place his loving arm around her shoulders. “You make me a happy man, Evy. Yes, it is all-important where Lady Honoria went. And I feel confident, after having spoken with her many times on the subject of Christ our Savior, that Honoria Chantry is safe in the arms of Jesus.”

Evy's relief escaped on a sigh. “Good. Now I can enjoy all the food everyone brought to the rectory.”

The vicar threw back his head and enjoyed his laughter, then stopped quickly and cleared his throat when Miss Hortense, the retired governess, shot him a shocked glance over her pince-nez.

There was much food waiting in the hall provided by Rookswood servants, who had been sent down earlier that morning to get everything ready.

Evy marveled when she saw roast ducklings and partridges, a ham, and a big leg of lamb. There were breads, butter, pies, persimmons, and pears. But Sir Lyle, looking most unhappy, stayed only long enough to accept condolences from some of the villagers. Lady Camilla went back to Rookswood with Arcilla and the Chantry sons. Evy felt compassion for them. She had contemplated telling Rogan of her sympathy, but the opportunity had not come. Once again, he had not even glanced her way.

The death of a family member was such a lonely time, but Honoria was not lonely now. She was basking in the joyful presence of God.

Sir Lyle shook hands with the vicar and thanked him for his comforting words of sympathy, then he, too, departed.

The parishioners stayed, and after a while the mood cheered a little. Everyone ate so much that Mrs. Croft teased that no one should be able to eat again for another week, so she ought to take a week off from cooking and go home to clear out her old summers garden and get it ready for the coming winter.

There was plenty of food left over. The wives all lined up to receive portions, commensurate to the size of their families, to take home. Meg's family got the most, while old Miss Armitage, who was all alone, received the least. She was quite dour about it and did not mince her words to Aunt Grace.

“Hark! An old lady who cannot be waiting on herself at every turn ought to receive a wee bit more. I'll be turning ninety in December.”

Evy watched Aunt Grace add their own take-home portion to Miss Armitage's basket, assuring the old lady she was absolutely correct.

Evy sighed and nudged Derwent. “There goes my last hope for a piece of apple tart.”

He carried Miss Armitage's basket outside, then drove her to her bungalow before the rains came.

That night Evy prayed especially long for Rogan, Arcilla, and Parnell, who now, like herself, had no mum. She wondered about Lady Camilla Brewster.

The fall rains lingered for several days, making everything chilly, damp, and morosely gray.

A week later Evy was sitting with her fellow students in the rectory hall, which was being used for a schoolroom. Along with her were Meg and her brother Milt, Emily and her brother Tom, Derwent Brown, and Alice Tisdale, the doctor's only child. As Evy sat before her open workbook, Curate Brown spoke.

“It seems Miss Evy is dreaming of faraway places. Do pay attention and begin your Bible lesson.”

“Yes, Mr. Brown.” Evy felt her face turn hot and she read the parable of the rich fool in the gospel of Luke.