Tomorrow's Treasure (50 page)

When they finished their last cup and the teapot was empty, they said good-bye to Miss Henny and went out to where the jingle was parked and waiting with their packages.

As Evy walked to the jingle, she saw Mrs. Tisdale and Alice just getting out of the family carriage. Mrs. Tisdale looked over to see Evy and Aunt Grace, and she smiled and waved. “Oh, hello!”

Evy held the reins while mother and daughter walked up.

“Well, Grace, you are looking much better today. Must be Evy's homecoming. Hello, Evy, how are you?” Mrs. Tisdale went on talking to Aunt Grace, so Evy turned to Alice.

“Alice, hello!”

Evy had not seen Alice for nearly a year. Aunt Grace was right—Alice indeed had changed, at least on the outside. She was nineteen now. Her strawberry blond hair was elaborately styled under a blue hat with a matching satin rose. The colors made her already pale face look waxen. The narrow chin, the tight little mouth, the rather wide forehead with a coquettish curly lock deliberately arranged there seemed testimony to Alice's usual self-satisfaction. Her light eyes reflected whatever
color she wore, so that they now appeared gray-blue, fringed with reddish lashes.

“Hello, Evy.” She played with her gloves, looking at Evy's bare hands holding the horse's reins. “Congratulations on being chosen to play the solo at the school concert. Mrs. Havering told us about it.”

“Thank you. I'll always remember that night.”

Alice smiled. “I don't suppose the competition among Madame Ardelle's students was very rigorous this year. So many of
us
that would have competed weren't there.”

Evy ignored the clearly self-serving remark. It was, after all, Christmas, and the season of goodwill. “Are you still playing, Alice?”

“Not as seriously as before. I enjoy playing the piano at the rectory each Sunday.” She paused, and Evy thought her look held some special meaning. “Unless you wish the position now that you're home again? You always used to do it.”

“I'm sure you do wonderfully.” Evy hoped she showed no curiosity over Alice being involved at the rectory. She had never appeared to like such involvement before. She had changed all right … because of Derwent? But was her faith genuine? Derwent had best find out.

“Then I shall keep the plans as they are,” Alice said. “I'll be playing the carols in the chapel on Christmas Eve as well.”

“Perhaps you should ask Rogan to join you on the violin.” Alice looked startled, and Evy smiled. “He plays beautifully. So serious, yet he has a certain flair for lightness.”

Alice's brows went up. “Rogan?”

Evy felt a small prick of pleasure at Alice's discomfiture. Now Alice was aware how little she knew about Rogan.

Mrs. Tisdale had concluded her chat with Aunt Grace and was bustling herself and Alice off toward the local seamstress shop. “Miss Hildegard has opened her own shop, Evy, did Grace tell you?”

Miss Hildegard had been sent for by Lady Honoria some years ago to make dresses for herself and Arcilla. At that time Miss Hildegard had lived at Rookswood. Since Arcilla had long ago departed for London and had all her clothes made there, the seamstress had opened up a
small shop in Grimston Way. Evy wondered if she received much business other than that of Mrs. Tisdale and Alice—and perhaps Lady Elosia.

“We visit her shop often.” Mrs. Tisdale's rather proud tone grated on Evy's nerves. “Naturally Alice likes to look well. Especially now.” She smiled, and Evy thought, as Mrs. Tisdale glanced sideways at Alice, that the two acted as though they shared some special secret. Alice offered a little smile and touched the rose on her hat. Changed or not, she still had that sidling way about her.

Evy's suspicions grew.

“Well, we're off, girls. We must run. Toodle-oo. Come along, Alice. I'm anxious to see the lace from Brussels.”

Evy picked up the reins to drive back to the cottage, smiling at her aunt to show the Tisdale women did not worry her. Aunt Grace, however, was not smiling. She looked ahead, down the narrow village street.

“Mrs. Tisdale still seems the same,” Evy commented, but not without affection.

“Yes, indeed. Beatrice has always forged ahead with her plans and needles Dr. Tisdale into using every ounce of his influence in the village to get things done the way she wants them.”

Evy glanced at her aunt. It seemed Aunt Grace was more disturbed by the Tisdales than she had been in the past. She must not be feeling well.

“Beatrice has managed to become friendly with Lady Elosia.”

She pondered this. “That should please both Mrs. Tisdale and Alice. They were always quite concerned about getting on socially with Rookswood.”

“Oh, it isn't social, exactly. That is, Beatrice gets on with Lady Elosia on some matters that concern the village and rectory, but the relationship ends there. Neither Arcilla nor Rogan is likely to include Alice in their inner circle. But Beatrice does influence Lady Elosia on some important decisions connected with the rectory.”

Evy waited, but her aunt must have decided she had fallen into gossip, because she stopped and said nothing more for the ride back to the
cottage. Evy couldn't help wondering if some of those decisions included Derwent. The gay holiday mood had evaporated. Perhaps her aunt had overdone herself. Evy would insist she rest for the afternoon until she made their supper.
Tonight I shall make sausage and eggs, and use some of the sweet white bread we bought at the bakery.
Derwent would be coming over as he usually did on Friday evenings. This would be her first time to see him since her return from school. She was anxious to discuss matters with him about divinity school—and his deeper friendship with Alice.

That evening after Evy wrapped her Christmas presents and put them in the cupboard out of sight, she set about to fix their supper. It was six o'clock when Aunt Grace came out to join her. She looked much more peaceful.

“Why the third place setting, Evy?”

“Derwent always comes on Friday nights.”

“Yes, of course, I should have told you. He's in London.”

“London?” Evy turned to her aunt.

“Yes, he said he had some business there.”

“When did he go there?”

“Oh … a day or so before your return.” She shuffled her dinnerware around.

Evy watched her. “What sort of business could he have?”

Aunt Grace either did not know or did not wish to discuss it. She simply said, “He will be back before Christmas.”

Evy dropped the matter and forced a smile, trying to seem cheerful so as not to worry her aunt. “I do not mind the extra sausage and eggs. I can warm them over for breakfast.”

Christmas drew closer, and Evy could see the various coaches arriving for the drive up the winding road to Rookswood to attend the dinner balls. She did not see Arcilla or Rogan, but she heard from Mrs. Croft that Lizzie had told her that Miss Patricia Bancroft had arrived for the weekend. Her brother Charles was noticeably absent.

“I hear Miss Arcilla has herself a new beau,” Mrs. Croft said with a curious glint in her eyes. “There was quite a going-on up there, before
them guests arrived, there was, says Lizzie. Miss Arcilla is in a weepy state one day, then all stoic, and cheerful as a wee elf the next, but keeping firm company with that Peter Bartley from Capetown.”

Evy did not tell Mrs. Croft that she already knew what was happening in Arcilla's life. Sir Lyle must have decided that his daughter would indeed marry Peter. Evidently Mr. Bartley's pending political position in South Africa was deemed more important than any danger of war upon Sir Lyle's only daughter.

Evy shook her head at the idea of spoiled, flighty Arcilla in South Africa! How would she ever endure?

On a crisp, sunny morning near Christmas, Evy walked the trail up to the hillock, where she could enjoy the wide, sweeping view of Rookswood and the surrounding estate grounds. She'd come here nearly every day since her return … though she finally admitted it wasn't for the view.

Sadly, Rogan did not once ride up to the hill as he had that day in what now seemed the distant past. It was foolish to expect him to come, of course, with Patricia staying in the great house.

Evy pressed her lips together. How had she ever permitted her emotions to get out of hand? It was unwise to wish to see him again, to walk here thinking he might show up, but neither could she stay away.

It was his presence in London at the concert that made her think so unwisely about him, and his playing the violin. She had mistaken his interest in her plans for an interest in her.
Foolish, foolish girl
, she chastised herself.
That will never be.
It was clear that when Patricia Bancroft occupied his time, Evy Varley did not enter the picture. She was, and always had been, little more than Arcilla's childhood companion—the rectory girl.

Clearly attending her concert and inviting her to the Chantry Townhouse for supper had been suggested as much for Arcilla's sake as for Rogan's.

Nevertheless she remained on the hill, determined to enjoy the view, looking toward Rookswood. She drank in the sight of the sun shining on its windows, fondly recalling events, then turned away and walked back down the trail.

She came to the bottom of the hill. Before she turned on the path leading toward the cottage, she heard male voices and the
clop
of horses' hooves. Reluctant to meet anyone with her emotions still so raw, she stepped aside where trees grew close together. A few moments later she was surprised to see Rogan and Derwent riding by, side by side.

They rode past her, going away from the cottage, and Derwent was laughing.

Evy waited until they rounded the fork in the road and then resumed her walk home.

The rooks gabbled in the tops of the trees, and a chill wind blew against her. Strange that Derwent had not been by the cottage to see her since he had returned from London yesterday … Or was it? Perhaps stranger still, that he was to be found in Rogan's, company.

What, if anything, did it mean? The happy ring of his laughter had conveyed a carefree message she believed was clear.

Christmas tea took place as it always had at the vicarage, with one distinct difference. Derwent did not attend.

“Derwent is working today,” Vicar Osgood told Evy when she inquired.

“Working?” Evy was unable to conceal her surprise.

“For Rogan Chantry. He's been spending quite a lot of time at Rookswood with the Chantry horses. We are hoping the position of curate opens soon … I'm certain it will.”

His sympathetic look told Evy he understood that marriage could only take place once Derwent received the position. Evy's annoyance with Derwent was growing. How much had he told the new vicar?

It appears as though he is doing a good deal of explaining about his situation to everyone except me.

So Derwent was working at Rookswood estate for Rogan! Then that explained why she saw them riding together yesterday.

Derwent was not the only absentee. Lady Elosia, who made it a point to maintain her influence in the village, did not attend either. Someone mentioned she was “a bit under the weather.” In fact, none of the Chantrys were present, nor were the Tisdales. Evy's girlhood friends Meg and Emily, now married, were there. Meg had married Emily's brother, Tom; Emily was married to Meg's brother, Milt. Both women were expecting babies. They were quick to embrace Evy and welcome her home, smiling and congratulating her on success at music school. Evy had always liked the two. They were plain, humble,
and genuine. But even they watched her as though they were on the verge of asking her a question about some matter that troubled them. An exchange of glances between the two appeared to discourage either one from doing so.

When the first group left early to take their children home, Evy used their departure as an opportunity to get away. She left Aunt Grace chatting with the new vicar's wife and wandered out the rectory gate, onto the road. It was odd how everyone watched her. Could her worst fears be true? Could gossip have escaped Pandora's box somehow about her mother stealing the Kimberly Diamond? No, that could not have happened. Not many knew about it, not even Lizzie or Mrs. Croft. Rogan, while a scamp in some ways, would not embarrass or hurt her reputation in the village.