Tomorrow's Treasure

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Doing her best to ignore her intruder, Evy came to the bottom of her trunk, to a few games and some books that she loved to read. Arcilla looked at them and wrinkled her nose. “How can you waste time reading?”

  “Its not a waste of time. Books teach and broaden your understanding of the world and other people. This one is Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice; it teaches so much about the life of the upper class and their snobbery.”

  “It looks thick and full of words.”

  Evy laughed. “It is.”

  “You should come to my room. I have so many things to occupy my time, and so many dresses that Aunt Camilla orders Mrs. Wetherly to give my old ones away to the poor each Christmas.”

  “Then you have lots of reasons to thank God.”

  Arcilla sighed, and her smile turned sour. “That’s just what Rogan said you would be like.”

  So Rogan had told Arcilla about her? How … interesting. “What did he say?”

  Arcilla shrugged and wrapped a curl around her finger. “Oh, that you were disapproving and bossy. Always looking down your religious nose at everyone else.”

  Evy stared, surprised that he would have said such a thing. What shocked her even more was how the words stung. Had he actually put it that way? “I do not think I am any of those things.”

  “Rogan’s right. He is always right. I am disappointed you came.” She leaned back against the pillows. “I hoped you might be fun. Flirt with the boys and things like that. We might have fun together if you were different. But you are boring. An old stick-in-the-mud. But maybe not as trying as Alice Tisdale. That old stuffy sock! She actually thinks she will end up marrying Rogan, imagine!” She giggled. “He cannot bear the sight of her. Says she practically throws herself at him.”

  “He seems to have little good to say about anyone except himself.”

  “Well, he did not have anything good to say about you or that foolish boy, Derwent Brown.”

  “Perhaps your brother has nothing good to say because he feels guilty for locking the vicar’s son in the crypt.”

  Arcilla shrugged, smoothing her puffed sleeves. “If he got himself locked in, it was his own fault. I hear Derwent is quite gullible.”

  “It was not his fault. He was deliberately locked in.”

  “Rogan is always right.”

  “No, he is not.”

  “He is! I am going to tell my aunt what you said about Rogan.” She climbed from the bed and marched from the room.

  So much for not making trouble. Heavy of heart and spirit, Evy finished her unpacking.

  The incident did not die there. Evy mentioned the unhappy encounter to Aunt Grace, who in turn spoke of it to Lady Camilla. Soon afterward Arcilla was called downstairs to the library to meet with her aunt, who apparently told her that she did not have rights to the three rooms belonging to the new governess and her niece, and that Arcilla must not forget her upbringing. She must knock before entering, and preferably she was not to go there at all without being invited. There was no reason that Arcilla should feel upset, since she had access by right to the entire mansion belonging to the family.

  Evy saw Arcilla again around four o’clock, when Aunt Grace called her into the schoolroom to inform her when classes would begin. “Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”

  Aunt Grace went to get her teaching desk ready, and Arcilla said to Evy in a low voice, “You can have those old rooms. What do I care? The whole mansion still belongs to me.”

  “No, it does not.”

  “It does!”

  “It belongs to your father. Your brothers will inherit before you do. I have heard that Rogan will most likely inherit Rookswood.”

  “Master Rogan to you.”

  “No doubt you will be married off to someone and sent far away.”

  Arcilla glared. “I will not go to that horrid South Africa. I shall stay in England and marry Charles.”

  Evy had no idea who Charles was, but she almost felt sorry for Arcilla. The idea that she might be sent to the Cape had brought her genuine consternation.

  “Africa is a boring place full of naked savages,” Arcilla said. “Rogan showed me pictures of them. They have nothing on but a loincloth and run around with spears.”

  “I am sure you will marry whoever your rather decides is appropriate.”

  “Evy.”

  She jumped at Aunt Grace’s stern voice.

  “We will not discuss personal matters concerning Miss Arcilla and her father.”

  “Yes, Aunt.”

  Arcilla shot her a look of triumph.

  Later, Aunt Grace went out of her way to warn her against contesting Arcilla. “You must not expect Miss Arcilla or her brothers, when they are home, to treat you as your village friends do in the rectory. I am employed by their father, Sir Lyle. We must not forget we are considered help.”

  “I know that, but she is so proud.”

  “You must concentrate on your own manners and pride, dear. You are not responsible for Miss Arcilla’s behavior, but your own.”

  “Am I considered hired help, too?”

  Her aunt hesitated, and Evy detected a moment of silence that might have been construed as sadness. “No, not yet.”

  Not yet.

  “You are my niece. Nevertheless, you must be respectful to everyone at Rookswood and do as you are told.”

  The days passed, and Evy settled into her new routine, as did Arcilla. Arcilla’s manner had changed a little for the better. Much to Evy’s surprise, Aunt Grace said she had spoken to Rogan, who in turn had a talk with his sister.

  Evy did not see Rogan until the day before he left for school in London. It was during teatime when Lizzie brought up a tray for Arcilla. The girl asked Evy to stay and join her after Aunt Grace was called to visit Lady Camilla about Arcilla’s recreation in the afternoons.

  The tray was set nicely with jam tarts and milky tea. “You pour,” Arcilla told Evy.

  She did so, noticing the lovely chinaware cups with their delicate pink blossoms. “They come from far away in China”—Arcilla lifted a cup to her lips—“and do not take that blueberry tart; its my favorite.”

  “You are the hostess. You are supposed to allow your guest to choose first.”

  Arcilla laughed and took the blueberry. “You should know me better by now.” She bit into it and rolled her eyes. Evy couldn’t hold back a smile at the girl’s enjoyment of her prize.

  The door opened, and Rogan walked in. He leaned back against the door and watched them for a moment. For some reason Evy believed he was amused to see her here at Rookswood. She assumed it was because he was thinking of her as an employee, which in his way of seeing things would make him feel superior.

  “Oh, Rogan”—Arcilla’s lip drooped—“I am so sad you are leaving tomorrow. It will be so boring around here.”

  He walked up and lifted the plate of tarts, deciding which one he wanted. “You will have Miss Evy to keep you company.” He chose one, then sat down near the window seat, stretching his legs in front of him.

  “Evy is too religious to be fun.” Arcilla wrinkled her pert nose. “Now if it was only Patricia—”

  “If it was Patricia, you both would get into trouble and send poor Aunt to bed with a headache. You can learn from Miss Evy.”

  Arcilla laughed. Evy thought that if she had said that to Arcilla, the girl would have puffed up with offense.

  Evy ate her apple tart and sipped her sweet tea in silence, aware of Rogan’s presence, while Arcilla chatted constantly with her brother. He listened, making comments now and then, and all but ignored Evy. He was dressed in rich clothes as usual, with an almost bluish-white shirt that buttoned in the back according to the newest style. His ebony hair was wavy, and though Evy pretended to ignore him also, she was as stimulated by his personality as his sister was. His dark eyes glittered as though he held some secret.

  “What do you think of the old vicar’s niece living here at Rookswood?” Mischief peeked from Arcilla’s gaze a
s she glanced from Rogan to Evy. Evy remained silent, looking steadily at her own teacup.

  “You are the one who requested she come visit you in the afternoons,” Rogan told his sister. “What do you think of her?”

  Evy bit her lip. Was she but a commodity at scrutiny for the buyer?

  “I have not made up my mind, and now I have dear Evy every day in school,” Arcilla said with a mock sigh.

  “You wanted her to come, and you know it, so stop being silly.”

  Arcilla looked first at her brother and then at Evy. “I suppose having her for company is better than being alone until I’m sent to school in France.”

  “If you do not do your studies, no school will want you.” He looked at Evy. “I will wager Miss Evy knows her lessons every morning. She will soon show you up, Arcilla.”

  Arcilla flounced in her chair. “I’m sure I don’t care at all. I do not intend to do anything when I grow up except dance at balls and have fun in London.”

  “Sounds positively wasteful,” Rogan said.

  Arcilla laughed. “You danced with Patricia at Christmas.”

  “Because I had no choice.”

  “Parnell’s sweet on her too. You had better make Patricia happy, or Parnell will marry her instead. Then you will not get Heathfriar. You know you want Heathfriar very badly because of Lord William’s thoroughbreds.”

  Evy tried not to let her avid curiosity show. She turned to Arcilla, determined to change the subject. “Once lessons are done in the mornings, your afternoons are free, at least. I have things I must do for the rest of the day too.”

  “Like helping out at the rectory,” Rogan said with a smile. “I suppose you and Derwent have a good time together.”

  “Derwent.” Arcilla made a wearied face. “He is such an uninteresting boy.”

  “He is a fine boy.” Evy couldn’t quite keep the heat from her tone—or her cheeks. “He honors his father.”

  “Why should he not? His father is the vicar. He has no choice.” Arcilla yawned.

  “He has a free will, the same as you and the others.”

  “Always protecting little Derwent.” Rogan tossed the last bit of his tart into his mouth.

  “When she marries him, she will have to do the same,” Arcilla teased. “And all their children will have curly red hair and freckles and become vicars.”

  “At least Derwent reads the Bible.” Evy glared at Rogan.

  “There you have it!” He sat forward with a grin. “The vicar’s niece cannot wait to marry Derwent Brown.”

  “Oh, spare me,” Arcilla cried. “A fate worse than death, if you ask me.”

  “You need not worry.” Evy set her cup down. She stood with as much dignity as she could summon. “I must go now. I need to clean my room.”

  Arcilla giggled as though she had said the funniest thing in the world. “Oh, Evy, you are so perfectly the studious little girl from the rectory! ‘I need to clean my room.’ ” She laughed again.

  Rogan stood. “You cannot leave yet.”

  “My afternoons are my own.” Evy faced him.

  “Not for long. I heard Aunt Camilla is going to ask Mrs. Havering to let you take riding lessons with Arcilla in the afternoons.”

  Evy could not restrain her surprise. Was he just taunting her? She knew that Lady Camilla had mentioned riding lessons, but there had been no promise. The thought of learning to ride filled her with excitement. Rogan seemed to watch her reaction.

  “Oh, Evy, do sit down.” Arcilla waved hex hand at Evy’s chair. “We promise not to tease you anymore. Will you ride at Milton’s Academy, Rogan?”

  “Not as often as I would like. On weekends Parnell and I will be going to Heathfriar. I can ride there.”

  Arcilla turned to Evy. “Heathfriar is Patricia’s family estate. You will meet Patricia one day when she comes here to Rookswood. She will marry Rogan. I like Heathfriar better than Rookswood because its close to London. So many exciting things to do. You are so lucky, Rogan,” she sighed wistfully. “Patricia wrote that Lord William will let her attend the theater on her next birthday. I wish Father would let me attend the theater.”

  “Patricia is older than you. She’s my age.”

  He sounded so grown-up, Evy thought.

  “Will you be going to the theater with her and Charles?” Arcilla watched Rogan, eyes wide.

  Charles … He must be Patricia’s brother.

  Rogan shrugged and stood. “That is ages away.” He folded his arms and paced the room, looking very wise and handsome. He snapped his fingers. “I have an idea. I know what to do this afternoon. Hurry up with tea, Arcilla. Tomorrow I leave, and I promised Miss Evy I would show her old Henry’s ghost. You will come with her.” He looked down at Evy, that challenging smile tipping his lips again. “That is, if you have not changed your mind about being afraid. You are so much braver than Derwent, aren’t you?”

  Arcilla drew back. “No! I hate those rooms. It is damp in there. No one’s been there for years and years. It is dark inside too.”

  “We will light the lamps, naturally. Use your head, Arcilla. I have done it before when I was searching. Don’t be such a coward.”

  Evy frowned. When he was searching? Searching for what?

  Arcilla pouted. “Do you think we should?”

  But Rogan waved her hesitation aside. “Of course.” He looked at Evy. “You ran away from the crypt. You were shaking in your shoes that day.”

  Evy stiffened. “I was not. Nor am I afraid of the silly notion of ghosts. It’s just—well, I do not think Lady Camilla would approve of me exploring the mansion.”

  “Oh, that,” he said as though it were a minor annoyance. “Do not let that worry you. No matter what Arcilla says, Rookswood will be mine someday, not Parnell’s. I do as I wish around here. Everyone knows that. And it is now my wish to show you Henry’s ghost. That is, if you really are brave enough.”

  “I do not like Uncle Henry’s rooms.” Arcilla emphasized the repetition with a stamp of her tiny foot.

  Rogan barely looked at her. “We need to go there. We have a crime to solve.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “We solve his murder, of course,” Rogan told his sister impatiently.

  “Everyone says he killed himself over diamonds.”

  Arcilla’s whispered comment sparked Rogan’s interest. “Who said so?”

  “Father, for one.”

  “Did he?” He seemed thoughtful.

  “And Aunt Camilla for another.”

  Rogan grew pensive, as though Camilla’s notions interested him a great deal. Evy wondered why; was it because she had come from Sir Julien Bley’s estate in Capetown?

  “There is no ridding Grimston Way of the gossip about Uncle Henry,” Rogan stated. “Even old Hiram Croft thinks he was murdered.”

  “Then I do not want to go to his musty old rooms.”

  Rogan shook his head at his sister’s fear. “Here is what we will do. I am the detective, and you and Miss Evy are my helpers.”

  “I want to be the detective.”

  Evy cast a glance to the ceiling at Arcilla’s quick assertion.

  “I am the detective,” Rogan commanded. “I am older, therefore wiser.”

  That seemed to satisfy Arcilla, so he turned to Evy. He looked from her to Arcilla. “Are you afraid too?”

  Evy refused to be compared to Arcilla! She would show them both she was far braver than either of them. “Of course not.”

  Rogan grinned, casting a glance at his sister. “Are you as brave as the vicar’s niece?”

  That brought a frown to Arcilla’s face; she obviously did not want Evy to outshine her. She pouted for a moment, then she stood. “I will go if Evy does.”

  Rogan gave a quick nod. “Hurry. Bring a cape. I have only an hour before my riding lesson.”

  Evy wanted to refuse. Why on earth was she allowing him to manipulate her? And yet … she found herself growing more and more curious.

  She and Arcilla we
nt out the door and followed him down the corridor. It was anyone’s guess where he was bringing them! And what if they were caught? The mansion was huge and dark, and she hoped she did not end up losing her way. Aunt Grace would be disappointed and displeased if Evy ended up embarrassing her so soon after she had taken up her position as governess.

  Evy pushed these thoughts away as she followed behind Arcilla, who stayed close to Rogan. They came to a dim stairway at the back of the house. It was quiet here, as though it was not often used, even by the servants. At the top of the stairway a rope was drawn from the banister to the wall, closing off the rooms that were uppermost in the house. Rogan went up as though he had come this way often. Evy frowned. What was he searching for in his uncle’s suite of rooms?

  Her heart thumping, she climbed the stairs after him, one hand on the banister. She tried not to look at the carved gargoyles staring back at them, teeth bared. Arcilla paused, and grabbed Evy’s arm. For once, Evy didn’t mind the girl’s presence. They went up together.

  Rogan waited at the top landing. He wore a faint smile, and Evy had the clear impression he was trying not to laugh.

  “Come,” he said. “You both look as if you swallowed green frogs.”

  Green frogs, indeed!

  Evy stepped forward. She would show Rogan Chantry just how wrong he was.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Evy waited, her heart in her throat, as Rogan tried the knob to Master Henry’s room. When he found it locked, she was surprised at her own disappointment.

  If the door to Master Henry’s rooms was locked, they must turn back—

  But Rogan merely smiled at them and took a key from his pocket. He unlocked the door with a flair.

  The door creaked open, and he entered first. Evy was determined to be brave, but it wasn’t easy entering the dim room and feeling Arcilla’s fingers digging into her arm. For all Arcilla’s boasting and professed dislike, she was clearly grateful for Evy’s company.

  The silent house seemed to close in about Evy. As she entered the room it was as though an eerie coldness touched her. The warm schoolroom was now a whole world away. In a sudden panic, she froze in the middle of the stuffy room. Rogan closed the door and lit a candle. His brown eyes were bright as he held the candle and looked at them over the flickering flame.