Tomorrow's Treasure (51 page)

But might Heyden have been here asking questions?

Evy walked along the road toward Rookswood. Aunt Grace would come home in the jingle, so there was no need to worry about her. Evy wanted to be alone.

Though it was far from an unpleasant day, she could think of little to cheer her mood. The holiday festivities no longer seemed as bright as when she had arrived three days ago. The excitement of returning to Grimston Way had fizzled. Except for seeing Aunt Grace, little remained of the old life she remembered when Uncle Edmund was the beloved vicar. Even Derwent and her village friends had changed. It was as though she were no longer one of them. Even Aunt Grace seemed different … a little sad, perhaps? Or perturbed? Yes, that was it. Perturbed. It must be on account of her poor health.
Undoubtedly she misses her life as it was in the rectory, too.
What else could it be except disappointment with Derwent?

Evy thought of the Kimberly Diamond again. So far, she had avoided upsetting Aunt Grace by discussing it with her. But if Heyden had been asking around the village and word had gotten back to her aunt as well, perhaps it was time to speak to her about it.

Rogan believed her aunt knew something, though even he had not forced the issue with her. He would graduate soon and be off to South
Africa, so surely he would want to learn everything he could before leaving Grimston Way.

Evy cast a glance at the sky now turning as dark as her mood. Yes, perhaps it was time.

The next day, however, Aunt Grace took to bed with a mild fever.

“You must not worry so, Evy. I overdid it a little at the tea, is all. A rest in bed today and I shall be feeling much better tomorrow. But perhaps you should go ahead with our plans to deliver presents today. That is if you do not mind going without me?”

“No, I wouldn't think of your going. The weather has taken a turn for the worse. It looks like a foggy evening.”

“Then do not be late. Mrs. Croft is coming over to make us a good chicken soup.”

Evy's mood was far from festive as she loaded the basket with the cakes and candies they had made on her arrival and carried it to the jingle.

She rode into the village alone, forcing a cheery spirit and trying to leave a blessing in the homes where she called. She delivered the preserves and cakes to Old Lady Armitage, who was still spry and alert in her advanced years. The old woman came out her door to the wicket gate and up to the side of the jingle. The wind blew her thin white hair, and she drew her fringed shawl around her bony shoulders. A gleam flickered in the still-shrewd eyes.

“So it's you, is it, Miss Evy? I daresay you've changed a bit since tripping off to London to play that piano. You look a mite too pretty for the young scoundrels of Grimston Way.” She studied Evy up and down. “Unless it's that chief scoundrel, Rogan Chantry, you've an eye on.”

“Merry Christmas, Miss Armitage.” Evy forced a smile and ignored her comments. “Aunt wanted me to bring you some of her summer preserves.”

“Bless her soul. True blue, she is. Always was. Can't say the same for the rest of 'em … And now Vicar Brown is gone to his reward too. The new vicar laughs too much. I don't care for it. That silly boy of Vicar Brown's hasn't half the wit of his father, either. Derwent lets himself be pushed around like a wet mop. You'd think he'd stand up on his hind feet and demand to chart his own life, wouldn't you? But oh no, not him. Knuckles under to Lady Elosia like a puppy grabbed by the scruff of its neck. A shame, really … Ah, thank you, dearie.” She took the box of preserves and cakes. Evy had put extra inside, along with a new shawl and bonnet she had bought for the woman in the village.

“You're not missing much when it comes to Derwent Brown.” Miss Armitage gave a sage nod of her head and a wink. “Let him have that silly Alice if that's the way of it. Well, Merry Christmas, Miss Evy. You keep playing your piano.”

It was a few moments before Evy could reply, but she finally gathered her scattered wits. “Yes, Merry Christmas, Miss Armitage.”

So that was it! Derwent and Alice!
My suspicions were right.

Evy drove on, and by the time the jingle was empty, she was in a better mood. In fact, she almost overflowed with relief! She did not love Derwent the way a girl should love a man. She'd known it for some time but never really admitted it, mostly because Aunt Grace had always expected the union.
I was told from a child I should marry Derwent.

The relief she felt over admitting this, combined with giving and sharing Christian love with others, cheered her heart and utterly lifted her burden. She was humming “silent night, holy night” when she left the village proper and was on the road back to Rookswood estate. She had not gone far when she met Arcilla riding one of the mellow mares from the Chantry stables. She called to Evy and waved for her to pull over. She came riding up, her cheeks tinted pink with cold and her blue eyes bright. The wind tossed her hair beneath the pert riding hat.

“Hello and cheers! I've been looking for you, Evy. Your aunt said you had come into the village.”

“What brings you out riding alone?”

“I'm a big girl now,” Arcilla jested.

“Yes, but surely any mission important enough to get you on horseback must be worth some kind of escort,” Evy said with a laugh.

Arcilla played with her whip. “Exceedingly important, if you want to know.”

“A dinner ball?”

Arcilla stared at her, clearly amazed. “How did you know?”

Evy laughed. “I know you. When is this one?”

“Tonight. And you
must
be there.”

“Me, tonight? Oh come, Arcilla, you are teasing.”

“No, indeed. There is an emergency, and I need you.”

“Well, it is so grand to be wanted, even if only when an emergency demands it.”

“Oh, you know what I really mean.”

“Yes.”

Arcilla laughed. “Now don't be so moldy. You need some fun as well, so let us conclude we are helping each other. Do say you'll come. Aunt Elosia approves of you, and so does my father. They wouldn't have had your aunt as my governess years ago if they hadn't.”

Evy toyed with the reins. Would Rogan be there? Of course … Patricia Bancroft would no doubt be at his side.

“Aunt Grace is not well and needs me to be home tonight.”

“I already spoke to her. She tells me she will have the company of Mrs. Croft. A party will do you good, she says. So there! No more excuses.”

Arcilla was never one to mince words when it came to protecting someone else's pride or feelings, and she did not do so now. “It's Rogan's friend, Abbot. He's here at Rookswood. I had planned for Cicely to be Abbot's partner tonight, but she became ill this morning. And you have the perfect gown to wear, too. The one you wore to your concert in London. It looked very pretty on you, I must say.”

Evy knew Arcilla would give her no peace if she did not capitulate. “Very well, I will come.”

“I
knew
I could depend on you.” Arcilla's smile beamed on Evy. “I will send Bixby to bring you up to the house around seven.”

It was raining when Bixby helped her into the coach and closed the door.

Evy arrived at the front carriageway, and the footman came to open the door. He carried an umbrella for Evy and escorted her up to the open doorway of Rookswood.

The glittering chandeliers, the decorations of pine and berries, red and gold ribbon, all glowed with festive color. Lilting voices reached her ears, and she realized they came from the expanded ballroom off to her left. Evy held her breath as she waited near the wide double doorway that led into the aristocratic foxes' lair.

Arcilla saw her first and rushed toward her, bringing a handsome young man in evening dress with her.

“This is Abbot Miles. Abbot, my very best friend, Evy Varley.”

He bowed over her hand and smiled. “Fortune has smiled upon me.”

He took her arm, and they stopped at the doorway of the ballroom as their names were announced to the small group, all of whom had turned in their direction. Then Lady Elosia came toward them, a smile on her face, her elegant hand outstretched, the gems glittering on her fingers and wrist.

“Ah, dear Evy, how charming of you to come. And how positively enchanting you have become.”

“Thank you indeed, Lady Elosia.”

“Come, let me introduce you to the others.”

In the next few minutes Evy found herself murmuring all the right responses to all the right greetings from all the right holiday guests—mostly lords and ladies, of course—from London's elite. She felt a little breathless when introduced to an earl and his countess. Then, of course, there was Peter Bartley, looking quite distinguished. Even Arcilla seemed more mature than when Evy had seen her that afternoon. She actually seemed to change in Peter's company, to stand straighter and carry a more somber demeanor. Evy could not help note, however, that the
girlish glow that had shone in her eyes when with Charles Bancroft had dulled to a look of resignation.

A stir passed through the gathering as everyone turned to look toward the doorway. The handsome younger son of the squire himself had arrived, Patricia Bancroft on his arm. Rogan's dark gaze slipped over the faces of those present and then focused on Evy. He looked genuinely shocked for a moment before he recovered. His jaw hardened, and Evy frowned. He did not look pleased.

He did not know I would be here.

“Rogan Chantry and Miss Patricia Bancroft,” the male reader intoned, and the couple advanced into the ballroom, Patricia's hand resting lightly on Rogan's arm. They made the rounds of the guests, exchanging greetings, until they came to Abbot and Evy. Evy felt her heart skip a beat as her gaze met Rogan's.

Yes, he was displeased. She could see an angry spark in the depths of his eyes, and it brought a heat to her cheeks.

“Why didn't you tell me you had such a beautiful neighbor, Rogan?” Abbot grinned. “Or maybe I should say now I
know
why you didn't tell us all these years.”

“Where is Cicely?” Patricia asked the question of Abbot, though her narrowed gaze was fixed on Evy.

“Ill, in her room.”

Patricia's cool gaze slipped from Evy, and she looked at Rogan. “There is Peter … Come, Rogan, I think dinner will soon be served.”

Evy refused to be intimidated by the cool reception. Had she not told Arcilla it would be this way? But she had not expected Rogan to be in opposition to her presence. Was it because he was with Patricia? Rogan had not actually spoken to her yet and now walked Patricia away toward his sister and Peter Bartley.

They all made their way to the table, and Evy lifted her chin. She would not dart away like a timid mouse. She determined to enjoy the evening no matter how coolly Patricia treated her.

Never had Evy seen such elegance. It almost made her head spin with the wonder of it all. The long dining table was adorned with silver
and crystal, all aglitter under the great chandelier. The dining hall must have witnessed many splendid occasions through its years, but never more so than tonight, she thought. Flowers had been brought in from Rookswood greenhouses and were in great ceramic pots on urns and side tables. Candlelight did wonders for the gowns and jewels that adorned the women, as well as the gentlemen adorned in dinner black with startling white frilled shirts. Evy sat toward the end of the long table to the left of Abbot, and though she was aware of the interested glances cast her way from the young men in attendance, she pretended not to notice.

If only she could also have ignored the fact that Rogan was fully attentive to Patricia.

The meal was sumptuous. Evy had never seen such food, including three kinds of roasted meat and a number of side dishes and breads. The conversation as well was stimulating. On her right was an older gentleman, a friend of Sir Lyle's. Evy carried on a fascinating discussion with him through the meal about the prospects of war between England and the Boers of South Africa. He was in favor of ousting the “Boers under that uncivilized Paul Kruger” and planting the Union Jack squarely in the Transvaal, the area controlled by the Dutch.