Yesterday's Promise

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  The dueling words came like short cutting jabs from an expert swordsman, ripping his plans apart. But there was more to Julien’s attack this time than just threats. If his claims were true that the Company did hold jurisdiction over all mining rights in what would become Rhodesia, then this could destroy him. It would mean the Charter Company held all power and authority.

  Julien did not gloat as Rogan would have expected. His face was sober.

  “I see you finally understand Mr. Rhodes. You should have listened to me at Kimberly when I suggested we make the map a family enterprise.”

  “Wouldn’t the Company still have rights?”

  Julien was quiet a long moment. “I may have been able to convince him to back off. Now he knows of the map, of Henry, so there’s no way out for us. We’re both limited to Mr. Rhodes.”

  Rogan was baffled. “You didn’t tell him of the map?”

  “No.” He drank his coffee.

  Rogan studied his face and saw a look of uncertainty. “Arcilla again?”

  “No, no, I think it was Mornay.”

  “Mornay! You’ve got to be wrong. Mornay dislikes Rhodes. He’d never say anything.”

  “No? You’ve still much to learn, my boy, about human nature. Don’t think because he quit working for me to become your guide that he did so out of some sudden flare of character. He did so as a bargaining chip with Rhodes.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Rogan said angrily. “The very idea of the colony and British rule turn him into a dour old Boer.”

  “A dour old Boer who will be mollified with British gold so he can settle down comfortably in the new colony.”

  Rogan considered this and kept silent. It was possible.

  “You’re a practical young man,” Julien continued, more placating now that Rogan was studiously silent. “You heard Rhodes’s offer tonight. A fair and generous offer, by the way. But I have something more to add.”

  Rogan gave him a measuring glance.

  “Peter will arrive here tomorrow. He will lead the Company’s delegation to Lobengula’s kraal at Bulawayo. Peter has specifically requested that you join him on that delegation. Arcilla has begged that you go along. I also want you working with him. Peter has a fine head on his shoulders, but he has his weaknesses. Your particular strengths will make him the better leader once we set up a government for the new colony. We’re calling it Fort Salisbury to begin with, after Lord Salisbury in London.”

  Rogan was irked by his looming defeats and was not in a cooperative mood. “If the Company already owns the land and mineral rights, why the need for a delegation to Bulawayo?”

  Julien showed nothing. “Peter will discuss it with you tomorrow. He’ll want to depart for Bulawayo in the next few days. The parley with Lobengula is urgent before we go any farther into Mashonaland.”

  Rogan placed hands on his hips and returned the level stare. He was curious about the urgency, but also wary of what Julien could be planning.

  “I haven’t even said I would go.”

  “I think you will. You’ve responsibilities to your family name, my boy. It concerns Arcilla.”

  Rogan’s fingers clenched at the veiled threat.

  Julien produced a cheroot, and a match flared. “Peter is to work with Dr. Jameson and others in overseeing the new colony. That gold on the map must be somewhere in the vicinity. With Henry’s map we’ll find it sooner. If you cooperate, Rhodes will give you fifty percent. That is more generous than his usual way.”

  Rogan couldn’t resist the hypocrisy of it all. “More generous than the treatment afforded Sheehan?”

  “That land where he found coal is Company land.”

  The tip of Julien’s cheroot glowed red.

  “Peter will be helping to lead the pioneers this June. Herein lies the problem, my boy. We had planned to have the colony settled with security forces and farm productivity in place before the women joined their husbands. Unfortunately, there will be an exception when Peter begins the trek. You see my dilemma? Both Arcilla and Darinda will be coming on the expedition. Perhaps even Derwent’s little wife. You have an obligation.”

  Rogan’s jaw clamped. He wouldn’t bring up Arcilla’s foolish indiscretion at the Government Ball in Capetown, nor the fact he agreed she should be with her husband.

  Rogan had been protecting Arcilla from her impulsive whims all his life, and he understood her sometimes unwise spirit. This time her behavior had him cornered.

  “This land will destroy Arcilla. She doesn’t have the frame of mind to handle the raw and wild surroundings. She and Peter ought to be sent home to London. You could arrange for Peter to have a government job there, perhaps in the Colonial Office.”

  The smell of tobacco drifted downwind toward Rogan.

  “Perhaps. But not at this time. Whether I do anything about this in the future will depend on your cooperation with the Company.”

  Julien would always have more traps to snare him. Julien understood the leverage to be gained by using Rogan’s concern for Arcilla. Julien had learned such tactics from old Ebenezer Bley. Perhaps Ebenezer had recognized the cold, hard face of power and ambition in his young nephew.

  Julien calmly smoked his cheroot.

  Anger smoldered in Rogan’s chest. He’d been thwarted, and by the one man he had long suspected of murdering his uncle Henry.

  He might not win now where Arcilla was concerned, but there must be a door out of bondage to the Company somewhere. Rogan told himself he wouldn’t quit searching until he found it.

  It was foolish, however, to continue the duel now. He must wait for a more opportune moment, a time when he could win against Sir Julien. He must locate a sharper sword to defeat his nemesis.

  Rogan affected his most disarming smile and bowed.

  “It looks as if there is little choice other than joining hands on the trek to the Zambezi.”

  “And Henry’s map?”

  “Regardless of the Company’s exclusive mining rights, the map remains my private property.”

  Julien looked thoughtful. As Rogan smiled without feeling, Julien answered with the same affected ease. “I’m sure our difficulties will be smoothed over in time. Map included. We can use you, Rogan. I learned even when you were a boy just how formidable an opponent you could be.”

  Julien laughed, and Rogan joined in, though coolly.

  “I won’t disappoint you.”

  Sir Julien glanced at him, brow lifted in question, but Rogan continued to smile.

  When Julien had walked away toward the safari wagons, Rogan gazed after him. He saw little room to maneuver. Yet every fiber of his will abhorred submission to an arrogant man like Julien. He had outsmarted Julien on more than one occasion at Rookswood as a boy and had taken great satisfaction in doing so. Now he found himself cornered, with apparently no way out. Could he cooperate with their plans without compromising his independence?

  He must think. He must plan. He did not want to follow in the footsteps of formidable men like Rhodes or Julien, not when simple men like John Sheehan could be trampled on without so much as a backward glance or a twinge of regret for the pain and disappointment.

  He would fight on. He would not give the Company the satisfaction of the map. They would need to work hard to find the gold without any help from him and Henry.

  And his own dreams of the great gold deposit? Once again, the dream must wait until he believed it was safe enough to pursue it. He would go on the expedition as they wished, he would try to protect Arcilla and aid Peter, but his plan to find the gold would be put away with the map until another time.

  He always carried the map on him, trusting few, now that ambitious men knew he had it. And ambitious women?

  He thought of Evy. How different she was from the cool and calculating Darinda Bley and his unwise sister. Evy’s character seemed to shine even brighter out here among the lions hungrily stalking prey.

  Thinking of Evy’s virtuous character reminded him of his own shortcomings. She d
eserved a man who would be faithful on a distant shore, a man of integrity with the strength to resist. With God’s help perhaps he could measure up, but he was also wise enough to know that opposition lay ahead like a cobra poised to strike.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  With the coming of dawn the veld turned golden once more, and the Limpopo came alive with birds of many colors. In the distance a herd of chocolate brown sable antelope were grazing, their tails flicking nervously. The herd’s mammoth buck walked forward, sniffing the breeze while lifting its head, crowned with curved, ridged horns—always alert to approaching danger. Its wide shoulders were shiny black, the underbelly white as snow. Then, tossing its shiny mane, it turned and thundered across the veld, the herd swiftly following its lord.

  Rogan recognized the man on horseback riding boldly into camp leading a Company delegation, his brother-in-law Peter Bartley, son of Sir Reginald Bartley, appointed commissioner in Lunjore, India. Julien, for reasons of his own political choosing, had used his connections in the Colonial Office in London more than two years ago to have Peter assigned to South Africa.

  Peter, at thirty-two years old, though young for his appointment, was schooled in the ways of Her Majesty’s Colonial Office, and his position as a diplomat somewhere in the vast and still growing British Common wealth of Queen Victoria was certain.

  Peter was dusty after the long trek from Kimberly, which lay more than a hundred miles south of Rogan’s camp. But garbed in a uniform of fitted jacket, vest, and hat, he looked well suited to the distinguished position that had been conferred on him. Riding beside him on a mare was Arcilla, looking like a disgruntled queen. Rogan grinned to himself.

  Peter dismounted, leaving his horse’s care to one of the Ngwato workers, and came around to help his young wife off her own mount. Arcilla looked about with dismay clearly etched on her tired face. Her ebony hair was tangled from the wind, and her two-piece suit of inappropriate ivory and emerald satin now looked wilted and a trifle downcast along with its owner after the long journey.

  Seeing Rogan, Peter saluted in a friendly gesture and said something to Arcilla, as though trying to boost her spirits. Arcilla looked quickly toward her brother, and a sincere smile of relief turned her pouting face into something special to see.

  “Rogan,” she cried and came hurrying toward him. “Oh, thank God you’re here. It’s been positively beastly! Hours and simply hours of horrid riding. Why, it’s a wonder I can walk. And Peter was absolutely dreadful. He wouldn’t even stop and let me rest. I shall die before this expedition is over! I know I shall.”

  Rogan patted her shoulder as she fell into his arms with a sob. His gaze went to Peter and saw both guilt and impatience.

  “They are all miserable to me,” she wailed, “both Uncle Julien and Peter. Oh, how I wish I were back home in Grimston Way.”

  “Hush,” he said in a low voice. “You’ll soon have everyone else wishing the same, including your husband.”

  “Good!” She lifted her face from his shoulder and sniffed loudly, glancing over her shoulder toward Peter, who walked toward them with strained dignity.

  “It wasn’t quite all that dreadful, my dear. You are exaggerating. We went quite slowly for your benefit. We could have made better time alone.”

  She pushed away from Rogan, nearly losing her balance and whirled, glaring at her husband. “Then I shan’t trouble you any further. Go on alone. Serve your precious Company alone. I—”

  “Darling, I didn’t mean—” began Peter.

  Rogan smoothed his mustache with a finger. This was going to be a very engaging expedition. Never mind Arcilla. Could he himself endure all this?

  Darinda Bley came out of her wagon when the entourage arrived, and now she stood looking across at them. At length she came strolling over.

  “Oh, come, Cousin Arcilla. It’s not as bad as all that. Come with me. I’ll see you to a wagon. You can rest and wash some of the dust off you. Then I’ll bring you some coffee and breakfast. You’ll soon feel much better. One of your problems is those clothes. You can’t very well run about out here on the veld looking as if you’re going dressed for a London tea.”

  “I happen to utterly loathe London teas, and I won’t cavort around in Boer leather with a pistol slung over my hip.”

  Darinda dropped her hand from Arcilla’s arm, and her face grew serious. “You may wish you had when you come face to face with a spitting cobra.”

  She turned and walked away, and Arcilla hesitated, then followed her toward the wagons.

  Peter looked on helplessly.

  Rogan stood watching the three of them, hands on hips.

  When the women had disappeared into one of the wagons, Peter turned and met Rogan’s gaze. After a moment they both smiled.

  They shook hands, exchanging greetings, but Rogan could see by Peter’s expression that he was uneasy over more than his wife. Rogan guessed that his brother-in-law might wonder how matters had gone with Sir Julien over his private expedition. Peter seemed to put off the issue for as long as possible.

  “I told Julien that Arcilla should remain at one of the British outposts until after my meeting at Bulawayo. Darinda would be wiser to join her there too.”

  “Julien isn’t going to agree with that. He’s permitted his granddaughter to join us. At least they’ll be company for each other.”

  Peter frowned. “I wish the two women could make friends. It doesn’t help with Darinda goading her about her sensitivities to the elements and insects.”

  “If all we’ll need to worry about is insects, we’ll have smooth traveling. What is this I hear about Lobengula’s impis urging him to attack the white devils?”

  “I’m afraid what you’ve heard is true. Our spies report much restlessness among the warriors.

  Rhodes had pulled out before dawn, and Rogan wondered about Julien’s plans. “Is Julien going to Bulawayo?”

  “No. He’ll remain here at camp until he learns how the meeting at Bulawayo turns out. Then he’ll report to Rhodes when he returns to Kimberly.”

  Peter frowned, but it wasn’t clear to Rogan if the cause was Julien’s presence or something else.

  “Let’s go for a stroll, Rogan. We need to talk.”

  After obtaining sidearms, they walked from the camp toward the blue Limpopo River. The distant hills that braced the base camp wore a misty veil this morning. The far-off land of the Zambezi continued to pull him, beckoning. Who knew what awaited? Diamonds, gold, emeralds, danger, perhaps even death?

  “Obviously, there won’t be a town north of the river until we build it,” Rogan said. “You’re quite sure, Peter, this is what you want to do with your life—and marriage? It’s going to be rough. You don’t need me to tell you that. You know this land and people better than I. You could still tell Julien you’ve changed your mind and return to London. My father would welcome you both back with open arms. You’ve been to Rookswood. You’ve seen how it is. It offers a good life, a comfortable one, and there’s no financial lack.”

  Peter rubbed his aristocratic chin, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. “A pleasant reverie, but one has his duty, as you well know. I cannot turn back now.”

  He stood, hands behind him, looking grim. It was a familiar trait of his, an almost pious, sacrificial loyalty to the BSA.

  Rogan thought he could have boxed his ears, but he kept back the wry curl of his lip.

  “I am worried about Arcilla, though,” Peter admitted.

  From the look in his eyes, Rogan could see he was sincere.

  “I tried several times to enlighten Julien on the dangers, and he wouldn’t see it.” Peter straightened his shoulders and gazed off toward the river.

  Rogan didn’t explain the reason for Julien’s failure to be enlightened.

  “It will be a year before it proves safe enough for any women to join us at the colony,” Rogan suggested again, still hoping Peter would reconsider and return to London.

  Peter shook his head. “Even then, it’s
going to be difficult. I’m surprised she came, considering how difficult it is on her.” Peter’s voice took on a strained edge. “She’d much rather stay at the Cape. The social life and all, you understand.” Peter shot him a glance, then looked away again. He drew his shoulders back and stared toward the hills.

  Rogan recognized Peter’s grim determination. Could he know about his wife’s indiscretion in the garden?

  Peter snatched his pipe from his jacket and clamped it between his teeth, arms behind his back.

  “Arcilla would just as soon voyage back to England, but I refuse to give her an excuse. I’d have thought she would be proud of my dedication to England, but she takes her patriotism quite shabbily, I’m afraid.”

  Rogan looked at him, surprised by the sudden frustration in his voice.

  Rogan arched a brow. “Oh, come. She’s very young, Peter.”

  “So is Darinda, but she is a fervent supporter of the push northward.”

  Rogan’s first instinct was to draw sword in defense of his sister and make a comment about Darinda, but he refrained. It was more important to let Peter know he could confide in him.

  Rogan held no flowery illusions about Arcilla. He knew that she was self-centered in some ways and much too vain over her appearance. But she had sacrificed her heart’s choice of Charles Bancroft to accept the family’s wish for her to marry Peter. He had already mentioned this to her in Capetown. He had his own struggles with bucking the will of the family. What he did know was that Arcilla had relented with dignity and grace in marrying Peter. She’d also been reluctantly willing to go on the planned trek to the new colony before she married Peter, so there was no making excuses for her now that the time had come. She must grow up. In fact, they all had some growing to do.

  He wished Peter had taken a stand against Julien when he insisted Arcilla join the trek.

  Of course, Peter wouldn’t know that Julien had meant to use Arcilla to force a decision from Rogan.

  “So, the marriage is going badly, is it? Ruddy luck, but you’re more mature than she is and ought to know how to work matters out.”