Tomorrow's Treasure (41 page)

She reached for the library door, looking up to see his smile vanish. Could he stop her? She must not let him.

Evy burst into the library.
Yes!
The fire still burned. Gasping to catch her breath, she held the letter in her hand … and time seemed to move in slow motion. She all but stumbled toward the fireplace, ready to hurl the horrid letter to the consuming flames, when there came a movement from a high-backed chair facing the hearth. A man stood and turned to face her.

He looked as surprised as she felt. She had not seen him before. His hair was fair, his eyes a wintry blue, his build rather slender.

Rogan burst into the room and also stopped in his tracks when he saw the man standing there. Evy was caught between the two of them, the letter clutched in her trembling hand.

“Heyden!” The surprise in Rogan's voice wore a thin veneer of … what? Dislike?

“Hello, Rogan. Am I—er—interrupting anything?”

A tense silence fell between Evy and Rogan. His dark gaze glittered, and she could almost believe he had enjoyed the pursuit down three flights of stairs, while she was gasping and holding a cramp in her side. Rogan smiled, casting a quick, calculating glance from her to the flames. Then he sprinted suddenly in her direction.

Evy made a dash for the fireplace.

Rogan intercepted her, catching her wrist and whirling her straight into his strong arms, holding her fast. He plucked the letter from her fingers and stashed it inside his jacket. He was smiling again, his dark eyes dancing.

“You are a tougher competitor than I would have thought, my dear. But alas—though I promised I may surrender to your whims one day, that day has yet to arrive.” And then, as though they were the only two in the room, he drew her closer. Before she could protest, his warm lips covered hers in a kiss that sent her senses reeling and a shiver scurrying down her spine.

When he finally released her, there was a faint look of surprise on his face.

Evy didn't think. Couldn't think. She simply reacted. She drew back and slapped him. The resounding smack split the silence of the room. Rogan did not even flinch.

She dragged breath into her lungs, painfully aware that her breathing trouble had nothing whatsoever to do with the chase she'd just been in. No, it was the capture that had stolen the air from her lungs.

Heyden looked on in silence, and, choking back a sob, Evy ran from the library and out into the hall.

The butler was waiting by the front door, wearing the same dignified expression as before, quite as though he had neither seen nor heard anything amiss. But Evy knew he must have seen part of the chase with Rogan.

The butler opened the heavy door and bowed as she swept past and out onto the front steps of Rookswood.

“A good day to you, Miss,” he said with the same lofty voice.

Down the steps she went into the cold afternoon, the sky a blue-gray with oncoming clouds as the promise of an early autumn sent leaves scuttling along the stone courtyard about her feet. Though exhausted, she hurried on, sniffing back angry tears, forcing her head high as she made her way home.

How dare he kiss her? How dare he make her feel … things she simply
shouldn't
be feeling!

“He's a cad,” she hissed to the darkening sky. “A frustrating, impossible cad!”

Evy did not return to the cottage immediately lest Aunt Grace question her about the teatime she was to have taken with Lady Elosia. Instead, she hurried along one of the garden paths, hoping against hope to rid herself of emotional upset and calm her facial expression.

And to give herself time to forget the feel of Rogan's lips on hers … the way his arms had both imprisoned and sheltered her …

“Stop it!” She clenched her teeth. “Stop thinking about the cad!”

She had wanted the truth about her past, and yet it loomed as a dark, ugly cloud. How could either of her parents possibly be involved in stealing? Especially the theft of something as valuable as the Black Diamond?

No! It was utterly preposterous. She refused to accept any such notion.

She rushed on, the wind cooling her feverish skin. Wasn't the horrid innuendo about her mother terrible enough? How could Rogan have compounded this awful day by taking hold of her that way … by lowering his dark head until all she saw were his eyes and the light burning in their depths?

“Oh, stop it!” Evy pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. How could he have kissed her? And in front of Heyden van Buren! Yet it had not troubled Rogan at all. He had seemed to enjoy the spectacle! Well, of course. Why wouldn't he? The cad had probably planned all along to take advantage of her. What a fool she'd been to trust him, to follow him to Master Henry's rooms.

“Cad!” she hissed to the blowing wind. Yet … she could not stop thinking of him.

She kicked at a rock in the path.
I should be indignant and dislike him heartily.
Unable to deny the truth, she looked to the sky and wailed, “But I don't!”

Her shoes crunched the leaves on the path. She came to a bench on the green beneath an overspreading oak tree. She brushed the leaves from the bench and sank down, limp.

“Oh, Rogan … what have you done?”

She closed her eyes. Could there be any thread of truth in Lady Brewster's letter? Could Evy's mother have been involved in stealing the diamond?

For all her staunch denials, fear nibbled at her. Fear that what appeared impossible might somehow be true … Oh, the idea was humiliating! And made even more so because she'd heard it from Rogan.

She sat mulling over the dark disclosure, over the picture of her mother changing from Christian martyr to thief. The cracked image left her shaking. First Lady Camilla's wild claim, and now Lady Brewster's letter.

Evy straightened. She must talk this over with Aunt Grace.

But even as she was ready to stand, her traitorous mind recalled occasions when Aunt Grace had behaved oddly. Rogan's tale could certainly explain why Aunt Grace had always avoided discussing details about Evy's parents. And there was her strange reaction when Evy mentioned Master Henry's death to Uncle Edmund several years ago.

Could it be …? Was her aunt wary of some sort of scandal coming to light? When the old sexton, Mr. Croft, had mentioned the possibility that Henry did not commit suicide but was murdered, Aunt Grace had been particularly upset. Evy had thought it was just the topic that upset her, but now … Could there be more to it? She frowned. If Aunt Grace discussed the notion of murder openly, wouldn't that eventually introduce the topic of the stolen diamond and her sister Junia?

As though she could not help herself, Evy remembered the strange anxiety Aunt Grace had shown when asked to become governess and
live at Rookswood. Perhaps she had known Sir Julien was visiting at Rookswood and feared he might tell Evy that he blamed her mother for the diamond theft.

Feeling as though the weight of a thousand wagons rested on her shoulders, Evy stood and trudged back to the cottage and up the front steps.

“Evy, you are back so soon?” Aunt Grace regarded her, wide-eyed.

“Yes. Lady Elosia developed a headache and took to bed.” Evy struggled to keep her voice from betraying her emotional exhaustion. “I shall put the tea on for us.”

She poured boiling water into the teapot, then covered it with the faded cozy. A counter divided the small kitchen and sitting room. Chairs encircled the small fireplace. Though far from luxurious, the cottage was comfortable and, until the last few weeks of her aunt's illness, cheerful. Now the chilly wind blew about the chimney and windows, and the once sunny summer atmosphere took on a lonely isolation.

Evy stole several sharp glances at her aunt. How to bring up the stark subject gnawing at Evy's soul without making her aunt ill?

I will ask about the Black Diamond without mentioning Lady Brewster's letter … I could bring up Lady Camilla again
…

Evy brought the tea tray with sweet biscuits made by Mrs. Croft to the low wooden table and sat down opposite her aunt.

Aunt Grace was propped up with pillows on two overstuffed chairs pushed together, improvising a daybed. Outside the window the bare branches on the old apple tree moved in the wind.

“Looks as though rain is on the way again.” Grace lifted her teacup to her lips.

One look at her aunt was all it took for Evy to swim in dismay. Aunt Grace was watching her, her large brown eyes troubled and wide with alarm. Evy's heart knew a pang of guilt when she noted the gray in the woman's once brown hair. Aunt Grace had lost so much weight that the skin on her face was taut, showing the fine sculpture of her bones. The bluish splotches under her eyes persisted despite the energy tonic Dr. Tisdale prescribed.

Evy swallowed hard. Aunt Grace had raised her, loved her, and with Uncle Edmund had provided for her earthly needs. Even this cottage was an entitlement granted her because of her aunts faithful service to Grimston Way. To badger her now with questions of the past seemed … cruel.

How can I break her heart by letting her know that I've heard the very worst, what she desired to keep from me, about my mother?

Evy bit back sudden tears. What if burdening Aunt Grace with questions now about a stolen diamond and possible murder shortened her life? She had been so upset over Lady Camilla's suspicions, what would she do about Lady Brewster's letter to Henry Chantry?

No. I cannot do this to her. Not now
 … She swallowed her disappointment and desperation.
Dear God, help me to be wise, to wait upon You.

“You worry too much, Evy.”

At her aunt's unexpected comment, Evy started.

“You heard Dr. Tisdale. My chances for recovery are excellent. Mrs. Croft has offered to come and help me while you are away at school in London.”

Evy sighed. It was well enough that her aunt took her subdued mood for worry about her health. “School? Dear Aunt, we both know that it is out of the question now. It seems selfish of me even to contemplate using the little you have saved for another year at Parkridge. I would much rather take you to London to see a specialist. Dr. Tisdale is a fine man, but I am sure there are better doctors. And Dr. Tisdale, too, expects to be paid. I've been thinking. I could take a leave of absence from my studies and return in, say, another year or so to graduate. Perhaps I can take your place teaching school with the curate. Derwent may be able to arrange for it. He could convince Vicar Brown to authorize my acceptance, I'm sure.”

Aunt Grace set her cup down. “I'll not hear of it, Evy dear. Your learning is more important than ever. Should something happen to me, which is entirely in God's timing, then I want to depart with the peace of knowing your education will provide for your upkeep. If not, I shall feel a failure in spite of my service at the vicarage with Edmund.”

Aunt Grace went on: If Evy graduated music school she would be qualified to teach in London. But once a student left the path of learning to start earning a living, it could become difficult to return to that narrow path.

“Once in a race, it is wise to keep going.”

Aunt Grace would know better than anyone about that. And then Evy paused; for once Aunt Grace did not suggest that marriage to Derwent would bring the secure life that she had always planned for Evy to have.

“Not that I am suggesting marriage to Derwent is the wrong choice for your future,” Grace said as though she had read Evy's mind. “I am certain he will be a good and kind husband for you. Even so, it is wise to have something to fall back upon when I am gone. Just in case.”

Evy shuddered. She could not imagine the quiet, isolated cottage without Aunt Grace, or even living in the rectory. Peering into the future to plan her life was like trying to see through the fog on the London wharf. Only God could see ahead. She did know that peace always came to her when she thought of His wise and caring nature.

Evy's decision came swiftly. She went around the table and knelt beside the daybed. “Aunt, I—I do not mind staying here in Grimston Way. I've had one wonderful year at Parkridge, and I have learned so much. Even now I'm able to teach children and receive a wage for it. True, it will not be much, but I am sure I can get two, possibly even three students whose parents will pay for piano lessons. Madame Ardelle at the London school believes I have talent as a children's instructor. I think she would bp willing to write me a letter of recommendation.”

Grace squeezed her hand. “Yes, I am sure you are qualified now. I was talking to Mrs. Tisdale only yesterday. She tells me she will soon need to give up her piano lessons and mentioned the possibility of you taking over for her.”

“There! You see?” Evy really did try to sound enthusiastic. “God will provide for His children.”

“Yes, even so, it isn't necessary yet that you not go back to London.”