Tomorrow's Treasure (28 page)

“I leave in the morning for school in London. I like looking at Uncle Henry's maps of South Africa, so I wanted a final look before I went away.”

Sir Julien Bley was silent a moment too long, and then he appeared to accept the explanation. “Yes, Camilla tells me you are anxiously looking forward to coming to the Cape after schooling. Well, that pleases me, boy. Especially with Parnell showing so much interest in the diamond business. But I wish you would get this notion out of your head about searching for Henry's Folly. You will do far better in the mines. Prove your worth to me, boy, and I'll leave you a double share in my will.”

“I will remember that, Uncle Julien.”

He sounded so congenial, but Evy suspected he was pretending.

“Well, Rogan, show me the maps that so intrigue you. I can tell at first glimpse if they're up to date and accurate.”

Sir Julien looked around the bedroom, then back down at Rogan. “Are they in here?” The tone of his question implied he knew they were not, which left the obvious question of what Rogan was doing in the bedroom if he were looking at maps. Evy tensed.

But here again, Rogan proved himself quite foxy. “Your stepbrother Henry had a whole drawer full of maps, sir. He kept them here in this ottoman.” He went to a round footstool covered with tapestry and lifted the lid. He stooped down and took out a stack of maps, pencils, and several volumes of books.

Sir Julien came to join him. “Well, well. So you
did
find maps. Brilliant, my boy. Ah yes, indeed. I definitely want you in Capetown in a few years.”

“I like this one best.” Rogan spoke quietly, spreading it out for his uncle to see. “It's of Zululand. Like that painting on the wall over the bed.”

Sir Julien followed his glance to the painting that had given Evy shivers.

“That was the Zulu king Cetshwayo,” Sir Julien said, unpleasantness in his voice. “His twenty thousand Impi attacked and slaughtered our British troops in the Battle of Isandlwana in 1879. A loss we'll never forget.” His jaw tightened. “Reinforcements came in later, and the Zulus were soundly thrashed. We've no trouble with them now—not much, anyway. Let me see that map, my boy.”

Rogan stood and handed it to him.

“Ah.” Sir Julien nodded, apparently satisfied. “It is Zululand all right. So, you were telling me the truth.”

Rogan's eyes widened, making him the picture of innocence. “Why shouldn't I?”

“No reason. Well, good enough. Hand me those maps. I shall have a look through them myself tonight in my room. I, too, am leaving in the morning.”

Whether reluctantly or not, Rogan gathered them up and turned them over to his father's stepbrother. He closed the ottoman lid and went toward the door. “I have a riding lesson in fifteen minutes. Do you want me to lock up?”

“Yes. Lock it up.”

Evy watched them leave the bedroom and heard Sir Julien ask, “How did you get a key to this room?”

Rogan answered something in a muffled voice. Sir Julien laughed as if Rogan amused him with his antics. The door closed behind them and a grating sound was heard in the lock. Evy's hands were folded and tightly intertwined. She must not be discovered. It would mean trouble for Aunt Grace. Relief washed over her that Rogan had kept her presence a secret. But now …

Her eyes widened. She was locked inside! When, and how, would she get out?

Surely Rogan or even Arcilla would come back and open the door. But Arcilla did not have the key and would be afraid to venture here alone anyway. Evy hoped she would not say anything to Aunt Grace.

Oh, Rogan, now what?

He had to go riding, or the instructor would let it be known to Lady Camilla and Sir Julien that he had not shown up. Then Sir Julien would want to know why he had not kept the appointment. Evy crawled out from under the desk and went into the next room.

She would need to wait until Rogan could come back up here and unlock the door. She hoped he would come before the afternoon shadows began to darken the rooms even more.

She walked toward the door to the hall and tried the doorknob, but it was secure. She made her way to the window and looked out. Unless she had a rope she could never escape through the window. Nor could she imagine herself shimmying down a rope even if she had one. She grew dizzy just staring down into the empty courtyard. If someone had murdered Master Henry, that person would have entered through the hall door.

No, there was nothing she could do but wait. With a heavy sigh, she sat down near the door, her eyes on the big clock. The pendulum was not swinging. Perhaps it had not been wound since Master Henry's dreadful death.

It seemed hours before she heard quiet footsteps outside in the hall. She stood and faced the door. A key turned in the lock, and the door opened slowly. Rogan stood there, looking grave. He studied her face.

“I was afraid you would start screaming in panic.”

“I told you. I do not scream.”

“You were brave,” he admitted, unsmiling.

His words did more to lighten her mood than anything else.

“Come along, hurry. I'll need to lock it again. And whatever you do, don't tell Sir Julien you were in here with me.”

“I won't. But he took your maps.”

“I didn't want those anyway.” He smiled. “I kept them in the ottoman for just such an emergency. I'm more clever than anyone thinks.”

She was not surprised. “You don't suspect Sir Julien?” she whispered as they went quietly down the corridor to the steps.

“Of what, murdering Henry?”

Evy clamped her fingers over her mouth. Even to say those dread words sent a shudder through her spine.

“No, Sir Julien doesn't need the Black Diamond, although he wanted it badly. He has diamond mines in Kimberly. He's richer than the Chantrys. He's as hard as a diamond, but some say he has a tender streak too. You would hardly know it by looking at him. Not that I completely trust him. He is greedy.”

They came down the steps and across the hall to the schoolroom. He opened the door and looked inside. Arcilla jumped up from the window seat and looked at them, questioning.

“It is all right,” Rogan said. “I've got to go back to the stables. Mr. Kline is waiting for me. I told him I had to do something important. Good-bye,” he told Evy, smiling, amused again. “I will leave for London early. You have lived up to your boast.” He ran down the hall and disappeared around the corner. She heard his footsteps clattering down the main stairway toward the front door.

At least he had admitted she was brave.

When she was alone that night in her bed, remembering, she felt uncertain, even fearful. There was something dark about those rooms … about the maps, the diamonds, and what she'd heard about Master Henry.

But none of it seemed quite so menacing as Sir Julien Bley.

The days seemed to rush by because so much was new and exciting. Then, one quiet Tuesday afternoon, Lizzie appeared in the corridor outside the schoolroom, waving wild hands to catch Evy's attention.

Evy glanced at her aunt, who was busy with Arcilla on a history lesson. She stepped from the room into the corridor and pulled the door almost closed.

“What is it, Lizzie?”

She'd never seen Mrs. Croft's niece quite so excited. “Lady Camilla is sending for you. She wants you to take tea with her in the parlor.” Her bright eyes searched Evy's face as though she might find the meaning of this unexpected invitation written there.

Evy couldn't blame her. She was surprised as well. “Are you certain?”

“
Sure
of it. Something is up, Miss. Lady Camilla's been behaving strange these days. I seen her watching you, nervouslike. She wrote a letter too—to Australia, no less. Then she says to me, funnylike, ‘But he ain't there yet.' Only she didn't say
ain't.
”

Evy glanced at the schoolroom door. Did Aunt Grace know about this invitation to tea? If she did, she had not told Evy earlier. She smoothed her cotton dress and looked down at her shoes. Maybe she should change into her new frock, the one she wore on their arrival to Rookswood.

It was quite a compliment to be invited to tea. Evy recalled the way Lady Camilla had looked at her when they first met at the rectory before
Uncle Edmund's death. “Are you certain you're not making a mistake? Maybe Lady Camilla meant both my aunt and me.”

“No, she said it to Mrs. Wetherly. I heard 'em talking. ‘Bring her now,' her ladyship says. A bit unusual, don't you think, Miss?”

Quite unusual indeed. Lizzie's eyes fairly snapped with curiosity. “And just you alone to tea, without Mrs. Havering nor Miss Arcilla. I said to myself, now what's
this
all about? Lady Camilla has herself something on her mind; wonder what it could be?”

Evy couldn't imagine, unless … Perhaps Lady Camilla Brewster had some interest in her parents? They were martyrs, after all. They had lived in South Africa. It was probably nothing more mysterious than that. Lady Camilla might even have met them at one time and could share some interesting experience.

“And that letter to Australia, I tried seeing who it was addressed to.”

Evy tried to conjure up an expression of disapproval. “It isn't wise to be snooping, Lizzie. Whoever Lady Camilla writes to is none of our affair.”

The stair creaked. Evy jumped and turned to find Mrs. Wetherly, the housekeeper, stopped on the stairway, brows arched and lips pursed when she saw Lizzie.

“You are supposed to be helping Beatrice in the kitchen, Lizzie.”

“Aye, Mrs. Wetherly, I was just going there.” The maid cast Evy a secretive glance and rushed down the stairs toward the kitchen.

Mrs. Wetherly sighed. “That girl is a trial to my patience. If it were not for my friendship with Mrs. Croft, I'd have sought permission from Sir Lyle to be rid of her long before now.”

“Lizzie's curious about things.” Evy did her best to give the woman a patient smile. “She's harmless, though.”

“I certainly hope so. She talks so much about everything.” Mrs. Wetherly studied Evy for a moment. “I expect Lizzie has already brought you Lady Camilla's request?”

“To have tea in the parlor, yes. Is it—Is it proper?”

“When Lady Brewster requests something, it is proper even if out of the ordinary. You come along with me. You look perfectly acceptable and quite pretty.”

“I had better tell my aunt first.”

“I will come back and explain.”

Evy followed Mrs. Wetherly down the wide staircase into the great hall and then toward another intricately engraved door. She knocked quietly, then opened it.

“Miss Evy is here, Lady Camilla.”

“Show her in please, Mrs. Wetherly.”

Evy smoothed her hair into place and entered the parlor, taking in the heavy dark wood furnishings done in burgundy and gold. Lady Camilla stood before an upholstered velvet wing-backed chair; she looked utterly elegant and rather royal. Her long, flowing dress of wispy green material flattered her pale skin and golden hair, but seemed more appropriate for relaxing in the privacy of her room than for tea. Evy had heard Lady Camilla was still “rather ill” and wondered if her having asked Evy to tea might have surprised the household.

Oh, to be so lovely …

Lady Camilla smiled wanly. “Come in, Evy. Do sit down.”

She moved across the thick carpet and took the chair across from Lady Camilla. A low rosewood tea table was set between them. Mrs. Wetherly brought in the silver tea service and went out, closing the heavy door behind her. Evy smiled to herself. So much for Lizzie coming with some vain excuse to loiter about the door. No one could hear through that heavy wood. It looked to be fourteenth century, when it would have protected a Chantry baron who might fear an ax attack from a warring knight!

“Why don't you pour for us, dear?”

Evy did so, suddenly grateful Aunt Grace had taught her the manners and style of fashion: Always remember to lift the little finger. Point up and not down. Never
grip
the handle as if it were a weapon.

Lady Camilla Brewster watched her, and Evy had the impression the woman was pleased. Evy handed her the tea plate, breathing in the sweet fragrance of the delicately arranged sweet jam cakes. Camilla chose the only one without gooey filling. Evy supposed that said something about her. Evy chose a raspberry, and then wondered
how she would eat it without getting any on her chin, which would never do.

Camilla studied her, seeming to take in every aspect of Evy's features. Why had she asked her here? Evy offered a tentative smile.

“I am pleased you are not shy, Evy. Being raised in the vicarage as you were might have turned you into what we call a shrinking violet. Yet you seem confident and interested in adventure.”

“Yes, I guess I am, Lady Brewster.”