Tomorrow's Treasure

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “I told you. I do not scream.”

  “You were brave,” he admitted, unsmiling.

  His words did more to lighten her mood than anything else.

  “Come along, hurry. I’ll need to lock it again. And whatever you do, don’t tell Sir Julien you were in here with me.”

  “I won’t. But he took your maps.”

  “I didn’t want those anyway.” He smiled. “I kept them in the ottoman for just such an emergency. I’m more clever than anyone thinks.”

  She was not surprised. “You don’t suspect Sir Julien?” she whispered as they went quietly down the corridor to the steps.

  “Of what, murdering Henry?”

  Evy clamped her fingers over her mouth. Even to say those dread words sent a shudder through her spine.

  “No, Sir Julien doesn’t need the Black Diamond, although he wanted it badly. He has diamond mines in Kimberly. He’s richer than the Chantrys. He’s as hard as a diamond, but some say he has a tender streak too. You would hardly know it by looking at him. Not that I completely trust him. He is greedy.”

  They came down the steps and across the hall to the schoolroom. He opened the door and looked inside. Arcilla jumped up from the window seat and looked at them, questioning.

  “It is all right,” Rogan said. “I’ve got to go back to the stables. Mr. Kline is waiting for me. I told him I had to do something important. Good-bye,” he told Evy, smiling, amused again. “I will leave for London early. You have lived up to your boast.” He ran down the hall and disappeared around the corner. She heard his footsteps clattering down the main stairway toward the front door.

  At least he had admitted she was brave.

  When she was alone that night in her bed, remembering, she felt uncertain, even fearful. There was something dark about those rooms … about the maps, the diamonds, and what she’d heard about Master Henry.

  But none of it seemed quite so menacing as Sir Julien Bley.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The days seemed to rush by because so much was new and exciting. Then, one quiet Tuesday afternoon, Lizzie appeared in the corridor outside the schoolroom, waving wild hands to catch Evy’s attention.

  Evy glanced at her aunt, who was busy with Arcilla on a history lesson. She stepped from the room into the corridor and pulled the door almost closed.

  “What is it, Lizzie?”

  She’d never seen Mrs. Croft’s niece quite so excited. “Lady Camilla is sending for you. She wants you to take tea with her in the parlor.” Her bright eyes searched Evy’s face as though she might find the meaning of this unexpected invitation written there.

  Evy couldn’t blame her. She was surprised as well. “Are you certain?”

  “Sure of it. Something is up, Miss. Lady Camilla’s been behaving strange these days. I seen her watching you, nervouslike. She wrote a letter too—to Australia, no less. Then she says to me, funnylike, ‘But he ain’t there yet.’ Only she didn’t say ain’t.”

  Evy glanced at the schoolroom door. Did Aunt Grace know about this invitation to tea? If she did, she had not told Evy earlier. She smoothed her cotton dress and looked down at her shoes. Maybe she should change into her new frock, the one she wore on their arrival to Rookswood.

  It was quite a compliment to be invited to tea. Evy recalled the way Lady Camilla had looked at her when they first met at the rectory before Uncle Edmund’s death. “Are you certain you’re not making a mistake? Maybe Lady Camilla meant both my aunt and me.”

  “No, she said it to Mrs. Wetherly. I heard ’em talking. ‘Bring her now,’ her ladyship says. A bit unusual, don’t you think, Miss?”

  Quite unusual indeed. Lizzie’s eyes fairly snapped with curiosity. “And just you alone to tea, without Mrs. Havering nor Miss Arcilla. I said to myself, now what’s this all about? Lady Camilla has herself something on her mind; wonder what it could be?”

  Evy couldn’t imagine, unless … Perhaps Lady Camilla Brewster had some interest in her parents? They were martyrs, after all. They had lived in South Africa. It was probably nothing more mysterious than that. Lady Camilla might even have met them at one time and could share some interesting experience.

  “And that letter to Australia, I tried seeing who it was addressed to.”

  Evy tried to conjure up an expression of disapproval. “It isn’t wise to be snooping, Lizzie. Whoever Lady Camilla writes to is none of our affair.”

  The stair creaked. Evy jumped and turned to find Mrs. Wetherly, the housekeeper, stopped on the stairway, brows arched and lips pursed when she saw Lizzie.

  “You are supposed to be helping Beatrice in the kitchen, Lizzie.”

  “Aye, Mrs. Wetherly, I was just going there.” The maid cast Evy a secretive glance and rushed down the stairs toward the kitchen.

  Mrs. Wetherly sighed. “That girl is a trial to my patience. If it were not for my friendship with Mrs. Croft, I’d have sought permission from Sir Lyle to be rid of her long before now.”

  “Lizzie’s curious about things.” Evy did her best to give the woman a patient smile. “She’s harmless, though.”

  “I certainly hope so. She talks so much about everything.” Mrs. Wetherly studied Evy for a moment. “I expect Lizzie has already brought you Lady Camilla’s request?”

  “To have tea in the parlor, yes. Is it—Is it proper?”

  “When Lady Brewster requests something, it is proper even if out of the ordinary. You come along with me. You look perfectly acceptable and quite pretty.”

  “I had better tell my aunt first.”

  “I will come back and explain.”

  Evy followed Mrs. Wetherly down the wide staircase into the great hall and then toward another intricately engraved door. She knocked quietly, then opened it.

  “Miss Evy is here, Lady Camilla.”

  “Show her in please, Mrs. Wetherly.”

  Evy smoothed her hair into place and entered the parlor, taking in the heavy dark wood furnishings done in burgundy and gold. Lady Camilla stood before an upholstered velvet wing-backed chair; she looked utterly elegant and rather royal. Her long, flowing dress of wispy green material flattered her pale skin and golden hair, but seemed more appropriate for relaxing in the privacy of her room than for tea. Evy had heard Lady Camilla was still “rather ill” and wondered if her having asked Evy to tea might have surprised the household.

  Oh, to be so lovely …

  Lady Camilla smiled wanly. “Come in, Evy. Do sit down.”

  She moved across the thick carpet and took the chair across from Lady Camilla. A low rosewood tea table was set between them. Mrs. Wetherly brought in the silver tea service and went out, closing the heavy door behind her. Evy smiled to herself. So much for Lizzie coming with some vain excuse to loiter about the door. No one could hear through that heavy wood. It looked to be fourteenth century, when it would have protected a Chantry baron who might fear an ax attack from a warring knight!

  “Why don’t you pour for us, dear?”

  Evy did so, suddenly grateful Aunt Grace had taught her the manners and style of fashion: Always remember to lift the little finger. Point up and not down. Never grip the handle as if it were a weapon.

  Lady Camilla Brewster watched her, and Evy had the impression the woman was pleased. Evy handed her the tea plate, breathing in the sweet fragrance of the delicately arranged sweet jam cakes. Camilla chose the only one without gooey filling. Evy supposed that said something about her. Evy chose a raspberry, and then wondered how she would eat it without getting any on her chin, which would never do.

  Camilla studied her, seeming to take in every aspect of Evy’s features. Why had she asked her here? Evy offered a tentative smile.

  “I am pleased you are not shy, Evy. Being raised in the vicarage as you were might have turned you into what we call a shrinking violet. Yet you seem confident and interested in adventure.”

  “Yes, I guess I am, Lady Brewster.”

  “Why don’t you go ahead and enjoy that jam cake and not
worry about the raspberry filling?” she said with a sudden smile. “If it splashes, we will keep it our little secret.”

  Evy laughed. “You knew just what I was worried about.” She liked Lady Camilla after all. “I am pleased you would ask me to have tea.”

  “I have been wanting to speak with you for some time. Just the two of us, ever since I arrived at Rookswood from Capetown. The death of your uncle, the vicar, delayed matters. His death was unfortunate for you, wasn’t it? I noticed at the vicarage that you appeared to love him a great deal, and your aunt, too.”

  An odd observation. Was it not normal to love the only family one had?

  “They raised me. I consider them my parents.”

  “Yes. Assuredly. You would be so inclined. Yet they were not your parents by blood.”

  Now why was she saying this? “Aunt Grace is my blood aunt. She was the older sister of my mother, Junia Varley”

  “Was she?”

  Evy looked up from her tea. There was something a little strange in the way she said those words.

  “Aunt Grace and my mother? Oh yes, they were sisters by blood.”

  The corners of Lady Camilla’s mouth pinched together, making her look older than her actual years. She could not be over thirty-five, perhaps even younger.

  “I wanted to talk to you before Sir Julien returns from London.”

  Evy watched her, speechless, trying to gain her footing. So that was why she had not seen Sir Julien at Rookswood for the last few days since Rogan left for school in London. Not that she knew much of what was happening in the house. She was mostly confined to the third floor and to their suite of rooms, though she could use the backstairs to go outdoors from the servants’ entrance.

  “Lady Camilla, I don’t mean to be impolite, but why would you have a particular interest in talking to me?”

  Camilla’s eyes deepened to a violet hue. She leaned forward, her delicate hands clasping together so tightly that the fine hands turned white.

  “You really do not suspect, do you?”

  Evy tipped her head at the woman’s amazed tone. Suspect what?

  “They really have managed to keep everything from you. I should have known. When Sir Julien makes up his mind about something, there are few inside the family who would dare oppose him.”

  The energy with which she spoke appeared to have drained her emotionally, for she leaned back again, or rather slumped. Her heart-shaped face was drawn and weary. “Then, for your sake, my dear, I shall be … delicate about this.”

  Evy’s fingers were trembling now, and her cup rattled on the gold-rimmed saucer. “What do you mean, Lady Brewster? Did you know my parents?”

  “Oh yes indeed—I knew them. I knew your father very well. Or perhaps I should say, I thought I knew him. As for your mother, I saw her several times. You look very much like her—very little like your father. You have her traits, too, her confidence, her spirit—”

  Suddenly Camilla went rigid against the back of the chair, and her face drained of whatever color it had possessed. Her action so startled Evy that she too froze. A door clicked shut, and Evy spun to find Sir Julien Bley standing beside the door to a room she had not noticed.

  Evy’s fingers tightened on the cup. He appeared just as forbidding as he had in Henry Chantry’s rooms. This time he looked angry and intimidating. Perhaps the black patch that covered his eye gave him such a sinister air. But as he stared coldly from that one pale eye at Lady Camilla, Evy decided that the dangerous air was more than mere impression. It was quite certainly reality when his will was thwarted.

  And though Evy could not understand why, it was clear that Camilla Brewster was doing just that.

  “Sir Julien.” Lady Camilla’s breathy, thin tone set Evy’s nerves even more on edge. Was the woman afraid of Sir Julien? Lady Camilla leaned forward in the wide chair, both hands clutching the armrests tightly. “I thought—”

  “I know what you thought, Camilla. I have not yet left for London, as you can see. However, I have decided to take you with me when I do. You can wait in the hotel while I have my meeting with the colonial office. You will be going back to Cape House on a ship departing on Thursday. With Anthony ill and anxiously awaiting your cherished presence, I fear we cannot disappoint him.”

  Camilla dampened her lips and looked ill.

  Evy’s heart was pounding so hard that she couldn’t breathe. The moment was horrid. She wanted to run out of the room, but her need to understand outweighed her fear.

  She set her teacup on the table and stood to her feet, her knees shaking. Sir Julien’s good eye swerved and pinned her to the spot.

  “So you are Evy.”

  She tilted her chin and met his hard gaze. There is no cause to be so afraid. Why should I be? “That is my name, sir. I was just having tea with Lady Brewster.”

  His mouth quirked. “So I notice.”

  “She was about to tell me what she knew about my parents in South Africa.”

  Any faint amusement vanished. “I assure you, my ailing daughter-in-law can tell you nothing about Dr. and Mrs. Varley. Nothing that in the least will help you get on with your growing up. However, your Aunt Grace tells me you wish to attend music school in London when you are older.”

  “Yes, With all my heart.” Now why was he asking her this? It seemed rather odd.

  “You think you are good with music, do you?”

  “Yes!”

  The quirk showed again. “You have spunk anyway.”

  “But Parkridge Music Academy is out of the question since my uncle died.”

  Sir Julien did not respond. Evy shifted under that intense gaze and stole a glance at Lady Camilla. She was still slumped in the chair, defeat on her delicate features. Evy’s heart went out to her in sympathy. Sir Julien could be a bully if people let him.

  “If you will excuse me … My English class is about to commence.” Evy turned to Lady Camilla, who was gazing at Julien. “Lady Brewster, thank you for the tea. Perhaps we can resume our conversation later—”

  “I am certain Lady Brewster will be much too occupied packing her trunk for the voyage.”

  Evy inclined her head to Sir Julien. What could she say? What dare she say to such an authoritative man? She turned away and moved toward the door, but he came up, surprising her.

  “One moment.”

  She looked at him, her hand hovering over the doorknob. He was unsmiling, yet Evy thought his rugged, dark features had softened ever so slightly. He reached out and cupped her chin, and she didn’t let herself flinch as he lifted her face toward the light coming in from the window. His sharp eye examined her features, and there was no apology in his gaze or in the firm grip of his lean hand. He looked at her eyes, her hair, the line of her jaw and her throat.

  Evy could not move.

  After a moment his hand fell away and she heard a slight sigh escape his lips. “Yes.”

  There was nothing in that simple word or his weary tone that she could understand. Evy stepped back. How could he humiliate her this way, studying her like some colt being considered for purchase? And how could he be so mean to Lady Camilla?

  “Why did you do that, sir? What did you expect to see?”

  “What did I expect to see?”

  The sound of rushing footsteps echoed in the outer hall, and the door opened. Aunt Grace stood there, out of breath. Seeing Sir Julien, she stopped abruptly. They looked at one another in silence, then Aunt Grace looked over at Lady Camilla. Finally her gaze shifted to Evy.

  “You should not have left the schoolroom without permission.”

  “It is my fault.” Evy turned with a start to look at Lady Camilla. Her voice was soft and childlike. “I wanted her to have tea with me.”

  “You need concern yourself no further, Mrs. Havering,” Sir Julien asserted. “Lady Brewster and I are leaving for London as soon as she is packed. We will be on our way home to Capetown.”

  Aunt Grace had regained her studious composure. She nodded and looked a
t Evy. “Miss Arcilla is waiting for you in the schoolroom.”

  Evy’s hands were clenched at her sides. “But—”

  “Evy?”

  She knew that quiet, determined tone well. There was no use in arguing. “Yes, Aunt.” She glanced toward Lady Camilla. For a moment Evy thought she saw an apology in the woman’s eyes before she looked away.

  “Good-bye, Lady Brewster.” Evy turned and saw Sir Julien’s heedful gaze. She walked past her aunt into the great hall. She had started for the stairway when she noticed Lizzie dusting a spotless polished table. Mrs. Wetherly was nowhere in sight. Evy ignored Lizzie and rushed up the stairs to the third floor schoolroom.

  Arcilla, waiting at the window, rushed at her as she entered. She must have wondered at Aunt Grace’s hasty departure from the classroom. She looked as curious as Lizzie had.

  “What happened? When Mrs. Wetherly told your aunt you were having tea with Camilla, she dropped everything and rushed downstairs as though the house were on fire. What did Camilla tell you?”

  “Sir Julien arrived and interrupted everything. Why is Lady Camilla so afraid of him?”

  “Isn’t everyone?” She shuddered. “And that eye patch is hideous! And the way he stares at you with that one pale eye—it makes me feel like a butterfly pinned to the wall.”

  “But why is Lady Camilla so intimidated? She is married to his nephew, the man he adopted as a son. I would think they should all get along quite well.”

  “You heard Rogan before he left for London. Uncle Julien manages the entire family dynasty. Almost like a king with his realm of subjects. Never mind him … What did Camilla want with you? And why was your aunt so upset that you were alone with her?”

  That was exactly what Evy wanted to know, but to share her bewilderment with Arcilla now would likely add fire to the matter. No, she must talk to Aunt Grace alone first.

  When Aunt Grace came into the schoolroom and went around to her desk, Evy nearly went limp with relief. Arcilla watched Evy’s aunt closely as well, and Evy was sure the girl was stymied when Aunt Grace sat down with a calm repose in her hard-backed chair. She lifted the spectacles from the silver chain that hung about her neck and placed them on the bridge of her nose. And then, as though nothing unusual had occurred, she reopened her big textbook.