Yesterday's Promise

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Rogan knew about the risk, but he kept from smiling his irony, since she wasn’t likely to understand the risk facing him in the guise of the Capetown randlords, of whom Sir Julien was one. The “white peril” was perhaps as threatening to his safety as the Ndebele warriors, who, like their cousins the Zulu, used the sharp assegai, a slender iron-tipped spear made of the wood of the assegai. An army of mighty impis abode near Bulawayo, where their king, Lobengula, had his great kraal.

  In order to reach the Zambezi, Rogan would need to pass through Lobengula’s Matabeleland, which presented serious dangers if indeed the old chieftain was riled. But Mornay had hinted of a route that might avoid Lobengula’s land and thus his warriors. In past years Lobengula had warred with another tribe, the Shona to the north, and had invaded and conquered the Shona, making them slaves and incorporating some into his army. In his own words, Lobengula had made them his “dirt-eating dogs,” and now he considered Mashonaland an extension of Matabeleland.

  Darinda had said we when she first mentioned finding his camp, and Rogan looked toward the lighted safari coach. Not even Darinda would be allowed to travel alone.

  “Where is Julien?”

  “With the others. All anxious to meet you. There’s been a great lot of talk about Sir Lyle’s ‘other son from England.’ Grandfather has told them obstacles don’t easily deter you once your mind is made up.” She looked intrigued by this.

  “Parnell must be here too. I doubt he’d let you out of his sight.”

  Darinda looked bored. “Parnell bullies me.”

  Rogan smiled his skepticism. “I imagine it’s the other way around.”

  “I’ve told Julien I’ll marry whomever I wish,” she stated firmly. Her eyes found his.

  Why tell him?

  “You underestimate me?”

  His tight smile continued. “Never.”

  Someone stepped from the tent, silhouetted in the flickering lantern light. Rogan would recognize his brother anywhere.

  “Darinda? This is no place to be wandering about alone. Sir Julien is asking for you. Hullo, Rogan.”

  “You see?” she whispered with a smile. “A bully. I wonder what he’s so cautious of?” And placing a hand on Rogan’s arm again, she slowly withdrew it and walked ahead to the tent.

  Rogan watched her until she pulled open the flap and stepped inside.

  Parnell walked toward him. He was unsmiling, but apparently this time he seemed undisturbed that Darinda had come out to greet him. Yet Rogan did not miss the gravity of his brother’s look.

  “I warned you back at Kimberly, Rogan. I told you Julien wouldn’t sit by idly and allow you to lead a rebellion against his interests. You see? I was right, wasn’t I? You have a lot to learn, Rogan.” He seemed satisfied that he thought so. “Your expedition won’t proceed without him. Not even if you’ve managed to snare Mornay. A clever move, by the way. Even Julien’s money couldn’t hold the cold fish for long.”

  “Maybe Mornay has reasons for avoiding Julien’s gilded pond.”

  “Oh, sure, the old Boer has his patriotism, love for the independence of South Africa, and a ruddy dislike for the British Union Jack! But his French pride won’t deter Julien. He’s a master at strategy.”

  “He’s had years to sharpen his craft,” Rogan said dryly. “I wouldn’t be boasting, if I were you.” He gestured toward the elaborate camping rig. “What do you have there? Looks like a traveling safari.”

  Parnell chuckled at Rogan’s wry description of the outfit of tents, wagons, and surreys.

  “You’re not far from the truth. There’s even wine from Paris.” His hand on Rogan’s shoulder held him back a moment longer. Parnell lowered his voice.

  “Darinda told you Julien’s here?”

  “I recognized his golden gelding as soon as I rode in. Look, Parnell…” He felt a weighty spirit settle over him. “We discussed the expedition back at Kimberly. I’ve already explained my plans to you. You were to make my intentions clear to Julien. And since then, nothing has changed.”

  “Ha! Since when did I need to explain your intentions? You made them quite clear yourself at De Beers two months ago. I thought Julien would take that sjambok from his guard and try to use it on you. He was livid that night at Kimberly House. He fired Jorgen, did you know?”

  That, Rogan had not heard. “But he hasn’t decided to play fair with Sheehan and his uncle.”

  “He won’t. Best forget that. Sheehan’s into farming now.”

  “This meeting won’t change my mind,” Rogan insisted, remembering the ugly scene at the Big Hole.

  Parnell slowly shook his head in doubt. “I wonder. This isn’t even Julien’s idea, though he bought into it quickly enough. Coming here was Mr. Rhodes’s idea. He’s here, and so is Dr. Jameson.”

  Cecil Rhodes, here? That surprised Rogan. Rhodes owned the Royal Charter from the queen, which authorized his British South Africa Company to sponsor a colony in the north. The man controlled millions in diamonds and gold.

  “You’ll need to cooperate with him,” Parnell said. “It’ll pay off in the end, though. You’re likely to end up one of the moguls yourself.”

  “That’s your dream, Parnell, not mine. You’ve given in to Julien too easily. He’s had your cooperation since before we went to university in London.”

  Rogan softened the mild rebuke with an understanding smile, though his brother’s decision troubled him.

  “You want Darinda too much.”

  Parnell’s sharpened gaze swung to Rogan. “Why discuss her?”

  “Julien knows what you want. He weighs everything in the balance of getting a good return. He’ll turn you into his indentured servant until he agrees to release her in a marriage that suits his purpose. Like poor Jacob dealing with his Uncle Laban, Uncle Julien will make you serve double time before you get her.”

  Parnell loosened his shirt collar. “You’re being a bit dramatic, aren’t you?”

  “But truthful.”

  “Yes…you’re right. But Julien will make sure you give in too. Don’t think you’ll get away with this trek a free man. There’s no way around him without cooperation. Look, Rogan, don’t rile them tonight. For your sake. Please play along and be the gentleman. Will you?”

  Rogan drew his mouth into a smile that showed his cynicism. “Be compliant, a piece of clay in the hands of the great nation builder, Cecil Rhodes.” He shook his head. “One thing’s wrong with that. Rhodes isn’t the Divine Potter.”

  Parnell jerked his shoulder. “You’ve been listening too much to old Derwent. He should have stayed back in Grimston Way and become the vicar. Look, I’ve already told you back at the Cape you don’t have to like the leaders in the BSA. Few of us do. But you do need to look at things as they are, not as you’d like them to be. Rhodes is a powerful man and owns millions.”

  “Understood, only too well. Money speaks.” As Rogan said it, he was still remembering Sheehan, remembering also that he still needed more money to sponsor his expedition. True, he had made arrangements with Mornay, but money was still needed up front for supplies, extra oxen, horses, mules, fodder, and the hiring of a few more guards with guns. Guards were a necessity. This experience with money was becoming too familiar, bearing a marked resemblance to Henry Chantry’s early days.

  “Well, we were always told money was power, weren’t we?” Rogan said, his voice sharp. “Power to rule. We knew it even as children at Grimston Way when Father’s position as squire meant we owned the village and just about everyone in it.”

  Parnell tilted his head. “What’s come over you? Blackwater fever?”

  “Maybe I just don’t approve of the dirty deal done to Sheehan. I don’t agree with a lot of things I’ve seen since arriving.”

  “You sound like a peasant with rebellion brewing in your mind. I’d swear you’ve changed since you arrived in Africa,” Parnell said, his chestnut brows tufted together.

  Maybe he had. The land…the people. The sight of John Sheehan lying b
loodied in the dust, his claim on the coal deposit stolen legally.

  “Speaking of money and all it brings, I wouldn’t join the peasant’s march too soon,” Parnell goaded lightly. “The ditty about carving up the king’s head on a platter for all to share—it might turn out to be your own. It’s you who will inherit Father’s title and estate. And an even bigger title when you and Patricia wed. You’ll be marching to the tune of Lord Rogan Chantry.”

  Parnell laughed suddenly, good-naturedly. They both did.

  “Maybe you should go ahead and toss Henry’s map to the fires of Africa and return to England,” Parnell said, “making the rounds of the royal parties with little to worry about but sumptuous meals and wine.”

  “It has its allurements…” Rogan said with a sigh. “And its boredom.”

  Parnell laughed. He shrugged his shoulders. “C’mon, His Majesty Rhodes is holding court, and you’re an honored guest.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Night began to settle, casting velvet shades of darkness upon the veld, but the expanse of cloudless sky still retained some indigo where the first star gleamed with brilliance. Soon a plump white moon rose from behind the hills and scattered a shimmering of gold and diamonds across the sky.

  Gold…that mysterious map. Unnoticed by the two Chantry brothers, Darinda narrowed her lashes as she stood near the covered mule coach watching them. They talked alone for a few minutes, now and then exchanging smiles, or laughing, now and then serious and challenging, especially the younger one. That one was trouble! He would be difficult to overcome.

  Parnell frustrated her! He was weak. By now he should have discovered where his brother kept the map and delivered it to her. If he were as strong as Rogan, he would have succeeded by now. Too bad she and Rogan were not on the same side. Unlike Parnell, she might be able to fall for him, but doing that wasn’t in her plans. Nor was she going to marry Parnell. If he were clever, he would have guessed by now that she cared nothing for him. Parnell was all Grandfather’s idea.

  Yes, Rogan would be difficult. Her mild flirtation with him had merely been a test to discover whether he was susceptible like Parnell. Rogan was on guard. She could feel the armor in place each time she came near him, yet she sensed something else about him too. He was a man, and he found her attractive. That gave her hope. If she could break through his defenses, she might accomplish her aims without Parnell. She had decided tonight she could not use the same tactics she had with Parnell. Parnell had fallen into her hands like ripe figs. He would do anything for her. But Rogan would not be won by mere flirtation. Maybe there was another way… She would need to discover his strengths and weaknesses. Meanwhile, all she needed to do with Parnell was to work on him awhile longer. Eventually, he would succumb and somehow get the map from Rogan. It must happen on this expedition.

  If only Captain Retford were here. She might be able to use him, too. A captain in the military might be vulnerable to the sparkle of a diamond inheritance and a woman who found him irresistible. She would keep him in mind. That foolish nitwit Arcilla! Flirting with Captain Retford. She didn’t deserve Peter Bartley. Now, there was a sensible man she could have married and at least been comfortable with. A good, solid, practical head on his shoulders. Poor Peter, married to a silly schoolgirl who couldn’t think a whit beyond what pretty frock to put on and what diamond to wear! Grandfather had been cruel to poor Peter by insisting he marry the Chantry flirt. Oh, well. She could live without the men on the expedition. Like Grandfather, she preferred power and fear and respect rather than love. At least she told herself so…

  She came alert. Parnell and Rogan were walking toward the tent where the meeting with old man Rhodes would take place. She wanted to be there to study all the men and their weaknesses. That map and new rand somewhere in Zambezia was going to belong to Darinda Bley. When she accomplished that feat, Grandfather would see his mistake in choosing a male heir instead of her. And Uncle Anthony Brewster! Grandfather needed to change his will and place her in charge of the diamond dynasty. She was far more clever than Anthony. She would prove it too, by astounding her grandfather when she presented him the map.

  Darinda backed away silently into the warm dark night until she had circled Cecil Rhodes’s big meeting tent. She slipped in through the back opening and found her place beside Grandfather Julien just as Parnell and Rogan entered through the front tent flap.

  She was smiling and pleased when she saw both Chantry brothers look over at her. What’s more, both men noticed her. Really noticed her. That was a strong beginning. Her eyes met Rogan’s and boldly suggested that she, too, noticed him. It rankled her when a flicker of amusement showed in his dark robust eyes. As though he saw through her facade and found her plans amusing and challenging. For a moment, while he scanned her, her heart skipped a beat. A frightening thought came that made her consider her own weaknesses. That look of his almost said he welcomed the challenge and would beat her at her own game!

  Oh no you won’t, Rogan Chantry.

  Darinda looked across the tent and was surprised to see Captain Retford, Peter’s assistant in military affairs, at the meeting. Oh, what a delightful surprise! But where are Peter and Arcilla?

  Grandfather had placed Captain Retford in Peter’s service, but neither the captain nor Peter realized that it was she who had recommended him. Darinda had noticed the captain on a trip to Capetown to see Arcilla and thereafter used her position with her grandfather to gain access to Retford’s personal records. His reputation as a soldier was impeccable, his schooling was traditional at the Honourable East India Company’s Military College in Addiscombe, and he had served with distinction and received a brevet for courage in the fighting in Sudan.

  Captain Ryan Retford was extremely handsome and very precise. He might be as difficult to crack as Rogan Chantry, but he, too, was a possibility. She knew he had a mother and sister in London who were barely making ends meet partly on his wages. His generosity showed admirable responsibility. Darinda knew her power and money could mold him into exactly what she wanted.

  Darinda caught Captain Retford’s gaze. He looked away. She felt her lips curve into a satisfied smile. Yes, he, too, had noticed her from afar.

  Rogan, who had entered Cecil Rhodes’s meeting tent with Parnell, took a moment to measure the man. Mr. Rhodes was the real power behind the BSA and De Beers Consolidated Mining Company, and the political force behind carving a British Empire in Africa. But he looked anything but a great king with the steely ambition to enforce his dream. He was a ponderous man, his skin showing the results of cyanosis from a long-standing heart ailment. His somewhat copper-colored hair was streaked at the temples with gray, and his sleepy, turtlelike eyes gazed steadily from the closing folds of skin around his eyes. Although worth millions, he was not a fastidious dresser like Uncle Julien. Mr. Rhodes’s Norfolk jacket was rumpled, hanging askew on his soft, sagging shoulders. He sat slumped forward in a camp chair, his elbows resting on a long trestle table, with his entourage around him.

  Cecil Rhodes had first come from England to South Africa years ago to nurse his frail health and be with his brother, who was working in the diamond mines. It was reported that Cecil Rhodes would sit by the rim of the diamond pit at Kimberly by the hour with his legs crossed, watching and talking. He loved to talk more than listen, and he would tell his “big dreams” to anyone willing to listen. Instead of succumbing to his ailments, he outlived his brother and joined with partners to consolidate De Beers into a near diamond monopoly. Now it was gold that had claimed his attention. Gold, and an empire with his name.

  Rogan felt Mr. Cecil Rhodes’s deceptively sleepy blue eyes appraise him, and he seemed to waste no time drawing conclusions. His thick hand gestured to a chair at the table, his voice brusque.

  “So! Rogan Chantry! Julien tells me interesting things about you. I think I’ll not be disappointed. Sit down,” he repeated. “Darinda, would you serve my best wine?”

  “Delighted, Mr. Rhodes… I believe it’
s in the back? Perhaps Captain Retford would bring the lantern for me?”

  “We trail well equipped,” Cecil told Rogan, gesturing that the captain should help Darinda.

  Parnell started to get up from his camp chair, but Sir Julien lifted a silent hand to stop him. Parnell sat down, and Rogan recognized the tightness around his mouth. Rogan’s anger rose at seeing his brother treated with contempt. How could he get him to see he was being used and break with Sir Julien Bley?

  “Sit down, Rogan,” Rhodes all but commanded.

  Rogan looked at the man, feeling his fur ruffled in the wrong direction, yet he remembered his manners and pulled out a chair. He felt he was approaching a monarch and his attendants.

  Julien sat at the end of the table. Their gaze held steadily, but surprisingly the violence Julien had displayed when at the Kimberly diamond mine was no longer noticeable. Maybe that should worry him even more.

  Darinda returned with Mr. Rhodes’s expensive bottle of wine and, with practiced flair, went around the table, serving Mr. Rhodes first, then the others. Her fingers were bedazzled with diamonds as she deliberately rested her hand on her grandfather’s shoulder, parading the close relationship between them in a way that would assure any onlooking male of her heiress status.

  Mr. Rhodes pushed a silver box holding cheroots toward Rogan, who selected one.

  Julien leaned over and struck a match to light it. Above the sharp flame, Rogan looked into his one eye, which reflected the searing white flame.

  “Send for Mornay,” Cecil Rhodes told Parnell. “He’ll need to be included in our discussion. We’ll need him for the trek north.”

  Rogan turned his head and looked at him. “He’s not for hire, sir.”

  Rhodes gazed at him unblinking. “What are you telling me?”

  “I’m saying, sir, Giles Mornay has quit my uncle’s service and is now working for me as a guide.”