“Out of social courtesy. He’ll soon be leaving.”
“I’ll be content when he does. His ruddy Boer bragging wears on my patience. He’s no blood of ours, is he?”
“No, but he’s affiliated with Sir Julien through his late former ward, a young woman. I must say, though, with all his feverish discussion of possible war between us and the Boers, it shouldn’t bode well for him in Julien’s estimation.”
“Nor mine. For an uninvited guest to allow himself to become so predisposed about Boer rights shows him a bit moldy of manners.”
“Julien sent a wire saying not to receive him, that he was trouble, but that was after I had asked him to stay. One night won’t matter that much.”
“A night that tries my patriotism,” Rogan said dryly.
“Do not forget your social duty, son. I am the squire of this fine village, and someday you will inherit not only my title but my role here. And Heyden has come all the way from London.”
“I wonder why?”
His father shrugged, then turned back to his books and the research paper he was writing on the history of Grimston Way and its lengthy line of squires.
“Did Heyden learn of us through Julien?”
“Yes, though Julien shares your apparent impatience with him.”
Rogan avoided the Afrikaner after dinner, wishing to suspend debates over British policy. He went up to his room early in order to think about a way to convince the rectory girl to go riding with him while he was home. He had noticed she usually went for long walks from the bungalow to a little-used path into the private woods of Rookswood. There was a hill that he could see from his bedroom window. He would often see Evy go there toward sunset and, evidently, daydream. He decided to keep an eye out for the next time she left, then saddle his horse and follow.
He picked up a geology book and sprawled upon his divan to read. It must have been around 10:30 P.M. when he heard stealthy footsteps down the corridor. Rogan listened. He suspected it was the Boer. He waited, snapped his book shut, and got to his feet. A minute later he stepped from his room in time to see Heyden taking the stairs to the third floor.
Third floor? Now why would he be going up there? That was a section of the house he should not be visiting. Henry’s room was located up there.
Rogan followed. If it became necessary to forget his “social” manners, he’d toss him out on his ear.
Rogan walked past the nursery, where, as boys, he and Parnell had suffered the regiments of boring governesses and stuffy male tutors, and where Mrs. Grace Havering, the deceased vicar’s wife, had come with her niece, Evy, to teach his sister, Arcilla.
He soon reached the steep steps leading up to Henry’s old study and silently climbed toward a narrow corridor.
The door was open a crack, and a thin ribbon of light fell onto the corridor above the steps. Rogan’s eyes narrowed. His uncle’s study had been his secret room since childhood, and now this tiresome Boer was snooping around like a common thief. There could be but one reason. He must know about the Black Diamond—but not about Henry’s map, Rogan hoped.
This room was usually locked. It was considered an unpleasant place in the house, a room to be avoided by nearly everyone in Rookswood, except Rogan. Sir Lyle had never come to grips with his younger brother Henry’s untimely death. It had been more than a heartbreak, and all these years it had remained a scandal on the Chantry name that his brother had taken his own life.
Sir Lyle had a key to the room, as did Rogan. He’d had the key since he was a boy. But as far as he knew, no one outside the household had a key, so how did Heyden unlock the door?
Rogan set his jaw and pushed the door open. Heyden was standing in the middle of the room. He didn’t move or seem to hear him until Rogan stepped in and closed the door with a deliberate click.
Heyden turned with a smile.
“Oh, hullo. Hope you don’t mind?”
Rogan did, and he was about to throw the man out, when Heyden spoke up again.
“I’ve heard all the old tales of ‘Henry’s ghost,’ and I suppose there’s still enough boy in me to be intrigued.” Heyden chuckled. “Maybe I should have waited till the old grandfather struck twelve?”
“It’s wise you didn’t. I might have shot a prowler. How did you get in?”
“Lizzie, cute little maid. We got to talking about ghosts and whatnot. You know how it goes. One thing leads to another, and soon I asked to see the room. She promised to leave it unlocked. Bless her heart, she did. Hope it’s all right, Cousin? I should hate to get the girl a scolding.”
So now he was a cousin, was he? A smooth talker, this Boer. Lizzie, the silly chatterbox, would easily fall for his feigned attentions, warming to the dashing stranger from South Africa who wished to see the famous Rookswood “ghost.”
“She told you where the room was?”
Heyden looked at him, still grinning in his own musings. “Yes. I wouldn’t have known otherwise, now, would I?”
“No. Unless you’ve been here before.”
Heyden turned full circle, looking about the room as though it were a museum. “Not much chance of that, is there? This being my first trip to England. I’m not much older than you and Parnell. Strange, isn’t it, how ghost stories get bandied about until a generation or so later the tale is chiseled in stone?” He looked at Rogan. “Makes for good family history and amusing gossip in the village, I suppose.”
“So does the tale of the Kimberly Black Diamond. You’ve heard that one, too, no doubt.”
Instead of showing embarrassment that Rogan’s bluntness had caught him off guard, Heyden drew his golden brows together.
“The diamond. Ah yes, ah yes. There’s hardly a soul who’s worked for Sir Julien at Cape House these past years who hasn’t heard of it. It was monumental news when it happened. I was just a child, but I remember how Henry Chantry stole the Black Diamond and ran off to London with it.” He looked at Rogan with apology.
Rogan folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door, offering a faint smile. He saw mild surprise in Heyden’s eyes, as though Heyden had expected outrage over the accusation about his uncle Henry.
“My uncle was a rascal. I’ve not much doubt Julien is right. Henry was involved with a beautiful woman at Cape House, and the two of them ran off with it. Diamonds are all in the family, you know,” he said, deliberately glib.
Heyden’s smile vanished. “Yes. There was a beautiful woman. But they say it was Henry who brought the Kimberly Black to England. Strange that it’s never shown up on the world markets, though, don’t you think? I wonder where it could be. Did your uncle ever discuss it?”
Rogan measured him carefully. As if he would answer such a question! Heyden wouldn’t get any information from him.
Rogan tried to surprise him.
“You think Henry was murdered in this room for the Black Diamond?”
Heyden’s mouth slipped open. He stared at Rogan. “Murdered— you cannot be serious! I surely would not dare say such a thing. Lizzie says he killed himself.”
“And we can count on everything Lizzie tells us.”
“Well, Sir Julien says the same. It’s no secret in Capetown that Henry Chantry took his own life.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is.”
Heyden gave him a sudden searching look. Rogan stared back evenly.
“The Kimberly Diamond was never returned to South Africa.”
“No, and through the years, I’d say just about everyone in the family has made their pilgrimage here to Rookswood to Henry’s room hoping to find it tucked away in a cobwebbed corner. This appears to be your pilgrimage, van Buren. Am I assuming too much? But you’ll also leave empty-handed because Henry left no clue as to where he hid it. It’s likely not at Rookswood at all.”
“Me?… Looking for it? You misunderstand, Rogan. It was a lark I came here at all. Shouldn’t have, I suppose.”
“Maybe not. But you’re not the only one who still believes it’s hid
den somewhere here. Julien thinks so too. He’s been coming here searching every year since Henry died. Not that he’ll admit it.”
“I don’t know what Julien thinks. I doubt the Black Diamond was his discovery to begin with. But I don’t think your uncle was murdered for it. That’s a serious charge to make, and very macabre.”
“By all accounts.”
Heyden measured him. “Who are you suggesting would do such a thing?”
Rogan shrugged. “Your guess may be as good as mine.”
“I don’t know why. I’m not in the inner circles of the diamond family. I spent my whole life growing up in the Transvaal. But I’ll give you my best guess. I doubt he was murdered for the diamond, even if he did steal it from Cape House. He took his own life, perhaps out of guilt. Because of his wife, Lady Caroline Brewster. She was your mother’s sister, I believe? She died of African fever on one of his treks into Mashonaland. And wasn’t she with child? It must have been hard on him. Especially in his later years. Not an easy burden for a man to carry. It’s likely it got to the poor devil in the end. That, plus the theft of the Kimberly Diamond. The Africans say it belongs to them, and they believe in curses, you know. The Zulu and the Ndebele tribes are cousins.”
Rogan considered Heyden’s words, then laughed. “Curses and witch doctors? Henry scoffed at such things. Are you now suggesting he wasn’t murdered through malice, but rather a nameless curse walked into his bedroom and shot him?”
“Mock if you will. I am an Afrikaner. Born and raised in South Africa, as my parents and grandparents were. We know the ways of the tribes there. They set great store by such beliefs.” Then, suddenly, Heyden spread his hands. “But as you say, if he hid it somewhere here at Rookswood, it’s not likely to ever be found.”
“In a mansion this size, it could be anywhere. We could tear it apart stone by stone and still not find it. It looks as if the diamond is forever lost.”
“Yes…” Heyden looked about soberly, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. “Yes, anywhere, including the estate grounds.”
“A man could spend his entire life just searching.” Rogan gave him a sharp look as, unexpectedly, something dawned on him. He stared at Heyden, but Heyden didn’t appear to notice.
“I suppose you’ve checked in here already?” Heyden asked, looking about.
Rogan forced a forbearing smile; his silence was answer enough.
Heyden grinned and shrugged. “Yes, as you say, this room would be the first place people would look. But they could all be wrong, you know. The crypt might be the place. That would go along with his knowledge of curses.” He chuckled. “Your uncle has hidden it well. And so, the mystery survives—and the ghost tale? Your descendants will have quite a story to pass on, Cousin Rogan. It should give them hours of amusement fifty to a hundred years from now. Who knows? Maybe one of them will find the Kimberly Diamond!”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Rogan held the door open, pointedly.
“Yes, well, good night.”
“You can find your bedroom all right?” Rogan inquired innocently.
Heyden laughed. “Yes, second floor, fifth door. You and your father have been kind hosts.” He bowed lightly, turned, and left the room, going down the steps.
Rogan was not smiling as he listened to Heyden’s steps fade away. His heart was thudding—not about the Black Diamond, but about Henry’s map. Words that awakened him ran through his mind again and again: He could have hidden it anywhere on Rookswood, including the estate grounds… A man could spend his entire life just searching… In a mansion this size it could be anywhere. We could tear it apart stone by stone and not find it.
Of course! Henry was no fool. Why didn’t I think of this sooner?
Henry had willed Rogan the map because he wanted him to find it and use it. It would have defeated his purpose to hide it so well that he would have no clue where to look.
“And he didn’t,” Rogan murmured decisively.
He stood still, considering again every meeting he’d had with Henry here in this room. He had often come here, and Henry had filled his ears with adventurous tales of Africa.
“There’s gold north of the Crocodile River, Rogan. Plenty of it. Enough to make a man a gold rand. Here, take a look at this.” He placed a rock in his hand. “Keep it. I may never go again. But you will. This is a sample. And I’ve drawn a map from memory that will help you find it. I wish I could have drawn a more detailed map, but we were under attack. We had to get out of there fast. My guide, Bertrand Mornay, was killed. You’ve heard me talk about him before? Yes, a solid man. A Frenchie. There was no better hunter-guide than he. The little Hottentot, Sam, was the one who told me about the gold, but he was killed too. I’ve done my best in drawing the location, but details fade in the heat of battle. By the time I made it out alive to Kimberly, the memory of its location was already a bit muddled. The shock and terror of fighting do that to a man. The bloody deaths of close friends. But the map has enough information for you to stake a claim if you use that head of yours. You take after me, Rogan. You’ll do it. I’ll wager my reputation on you, boy. Just wait till you grow up.”
Henry had taken him by the arm and led him into the other room. “Remember, boy, if something happens to me, I’ve left the map to you. I’ll mention that in my will. And the picture I painted… Take a good look at it. Remember it, Rogan. It’s yours, understand? That will be mentioned in my will too. You do understand, don’t you, boy?”
Yes, finally…now I understand.
Rogan shut the door and slid the bolt securely closed. His mind grabbed hold of the realization and wouldn’t let go. He laughed at himself for having been dense for so long.
Rogan went straight across the room toward the small bedroom Henry had used when working late at night and entered.
This was where he’d hidden Evy the time Uncle Julien surprised them by coming here.
Rogan looked straight at the painting on the wall, the one Henry had willed to him along with the map. Henry said he had painted it upon returning to Rookswood after the Zulu massacre at Rorke’s Drift. Rogan stared, as if seeing it for the first time. He remembered Henry pointing at it, telling him the details again and again. The battle of Isandlwana, Rorke’s Drift, of the strong Zulu warriors called impis. He remembered how Henry would talk about his map at the same time, repeating that if something happened to him before he could return to South Africa, the map was Rogan’s.
The map…and the painting.
With one swoop, Rogan lifted the painting from the wall and turned it over. He pulled the tacks from the frame, removed an outer backing, and…saw something folded, concealed between the painting and the false backing. The map…and something else. His heart began to race with excitement. An envelope with some pages, torn from what must have been a diary of sorts. Rogan recognized Henry’s writing. He had expected a letter addressed to him from Henry, but there was none. Just the map and the diary sheets his uncle had put away securely early on, even while Rogan was yet a boy. Now he was even more convinced that Henry had not expected to die as suddenly as he had. Henry was normally very methodical about everything. If he had planned to take his life, he would have written a letter first and placed it here with the map. Rogan could hardly wait to get alone in his room to study the diary pages and the map!
He put the painting back together and replaced it on the wall. No one would ever guess these clues had been hidden there all these years.
He smiled. This was his secret now. He would tell no one. He would quietly finish his remaining years at the university, do his intern work at the family diamond business in London for a year, and then set sail for Capetown with Henry’s map. He would arrange his own private expedition. Somehow he would convince Derwent to come with him. He could trust Derwent, who grew up in the rectory with Evy, as he could trust few others.
Now, what was the name of the son of Bertrand Mornay, Henry’s guide? Henry had mentioned his guide’s son several times. Giles, th
at was it. According to his uncle, Giles Mornay would follow in the steps of Bertrand to become a hunter and guide as skilled as his famous father. One day he would locate Giles Mornay in Kimberly. He was the right man to take up where his father had left off. Together, with Derwent, they would discover the gold deposit on Henry’s map…
The ship pitched again in the storm raging outside, and the lantern swayed. Rogan turned his attention back to the yellowed pages from Henry’s diary. Though the writing was indistinct in the lamplight, he read again Henry’s warnings…
CHAPTER THREE
22 October 1879
Pietermaritzburg
The Zulu War is about over. After the massacre the impis committed at Rorke’s Drift at the Varley Mission Station, I’ve small pity left for the Zulu. Great warriors they are, but showing scant mercy. I blame Julien for what happened to Katie. I told him so to his face when he showed himself at Lady Brewster’s. He believes the baby is dead too. I think he’s actually relieved. Even Lady Brewster was offended with Julien’s manner and kept the infant’s whereabouts a secret. I confess she does not know all the truth. She will help arrange our travel home with a nursemaid to England.
Julien believes that I have the Black Diamond, but it must be under the rubble and stench at Rorke’s Drift. Where else, if it was Katie who took it from me in the stables? Yet due to the secret love I hold for her, I will keep silent and take the blame for now. But I won’t let this matter rest. I shall continue looking into it. Could it have been Katie who struck me from behind? Reason says yes, but I am not fully satisfied.
5 November
Aboard the Victoria, headed for London
In the end, even Lady Brewster, Caroline’s aunt, turned against me. Julien has convinced her I was to blame for Caroline’s death on the last trek. I’ve written Honoria, brother Lyle’s wife and Caroline’s sister. Dear Honoria is a good person. She wrote me back a most compassionate letter, saying she does not hold me responsible. Caroline wanted to go on the trek with me. She was an adventurous young woman.
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