Tomorrow's Treasure

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “Tell me if I am out of line, Miss Varley, but witnessing that startling scene in the Rookswood library has troubled me on more than one occasion recently. May I ask what Rogan Chantry may have told you about the theft of Sir Julien’s prized diamond?”

  “Only what I just mentioned, that Sir Julien no longer believes it was his stepbrother Henry who arranged the theft, but my mother.”

  He was thoughtful again. “Do you mind telling me what was in the letter that made you want to throw it into the fireplace?”

  She wondered how much to tell him, and yet why should she not trust him? He believed her mother innocent, when Rogan did not.

  “Then Rogan did not explain?” She was opting for time to think.

  “Rogan Chantry is a most secretive young man.”

  “It was an old letter from Lady Brewster apologizing to Henry Chantry for accusing him of stealing the diamond. She blamed my mother.”

  “Then … Rogan believes your mother was a missionary.”

  She blinked. What an odd thing to say. “Yes, of course he does.”

  In the thoughtful silence that followed, Evy came suddenly alert. Arcilla…

  She turned from the showcase and glanced about the chamber, her heart plummeting. Arcilla was nowhere to be seen. Evy wasn’t even sure which direction she had gone to meet Charles Bancroft.

  Several couples entered the chamber, talking and laughing quietly. Evy’s gaze rested on them, and suddenly she found herself confronting Rogan and Miss Patricia Bancroft.

  Rogan was obviously surprised to see Evy—and when his fervent dark gaze found Heyden, Evy was sure he was displeased.

  She assumed those with him were several of his university friends, along with the typically pretty aristocratic young ladies who would be dining with them after the diamond show. Why didn’t Arcilla mention that Rogan would be here this afternoon with Patricia?

  Evy hated to admit it, but Rogan and Miss Patricia made a handsome couple. Suddenly she felt herself a sparrow among peacocks—she hadn’t dressed formally at all. She turned away as though to look down at the blue diamond Heyden had been pointing out to her just moments before.

  Evy looked over to the clock. Arcilla said she would take less than thirty minutes. Her time was up. What on earth was delaying dear Arcilla? She endured a moment during which she wanted to turn and leave the museum at once and take a cab back to Parkridge Music School. She should have known better than to trust a Chantry! She has left me here to make excuses during her absence, but this time it won’t work.

  Heyden was watching her, and she tried to focus on what he was saying. “I understand you study piano at a notable music school. You must play quite well.”

  She managed a smile. “There are times when I wonder if I truly play at all. I shall have my concert solo in the first week of December. If I merit even a nod of approval from Madame Ardelle, I shall be delighted. It is very grueling.”

  “I can well imagine. I admire such determination. I have always wanted to play, but lacked the discipline to do it well. A public performance, is it? Then I should like very much to come and hear you.”

  Pleasure filled her at the thought. He was a most agreeable man. The concert, she told him, would be held on a Saturday evening near the end of the term before the school breaks for Christmas and New Year’s holidays.

  “I shall make a note of the date and be in attendance.”

  “Am I missing out on something? Sounds like a party?”

  Heyden turned to face Rogan. “Hello! Quite a display, is it not?”

  He inclined his head, but his gaze was on Evy, not Heyden. “Quite. Only the Black Diamond is missing. I see Sir Julien’s Blue is here. Stunning, isn’t it?”

  At the mention of the Black Diamond, Heyden fell silent. Evy tensed. Rogan must have known speaking of it would make the moment uncomfortable.

  Rogan gave Evy a tenuous smile. “What a pleasant surprise. Where is Arcilla?” He glanced about.

  “Arcilla?” Evy gripped her hands together. “She could, in fact, be anywhere by now.”

  Rogan was regarding her carefully. She could tell he suspected she was hiding something. Oh, a plague on Arcilla for putting her in such an awkward position!

  If Heyden had not been there, Evy would have mentioned Arcilla’s desire to see Charles. But family matters between brother and sister over a future marriage should be kept in a tight circle. Her inability to explain to Rogan left her no choice but to give an illusive answer. “She was right here with us when we came in.” Evy cast what she hoped was a casual glance about the chamber. She saw Patricia talking with the friends they had arrived with earlier. She avoided Rogan’s gaze and was relieved when Heyden, who saw nothing unusual about Arcilla’s behavior, or perhaps did not care, went back to discussing diamonds.

  “Sir Julien’s Blue is attracting attention from the world markets,” he told Rogan, “including the Vatican, but there’s doubt Sir Julien will sell. Some suggest he’s growing sentimental.”

  “About the Blue?” Rogan’s smile was almost derisive. “It is not sentimentality that holds back the sale, but what Julien considers weak bidding. If the offer were high enough, he would sell in an instant. No, there is no sentiment lurking in my uncle’s cool mind, unless it’s over the loss of the Kimberly Black.”

  Evy frowned. Was Rogan baiting Heyden? She wanted to tell him that Heyden did not believe her mother was guilty, but decided against it. Besides, Rogan had not been looking at her when he mentioned the Black, but at Heyden.

  Heyden turned a smile Evy’s way and reached out to take her hand. “Miss Evy was telling me of her piano concert to be held in December.”

  Rogan lifted one rakish, dark brow. “How interesting. You invited Heyden to your performance?”

  Oh, this was insufferable! “Well, yes … anyone is welcome. It is to be near the end of the term.”

  “But a solo concert nevertheless.” He smiled. “I am sure I will find it of interest as well.”

  Heyden was looking across the chamber. “I see an old friend from the Angola diamond mines. He called and told me he’d be here. I worked for him some years ago. That was when I foolishly thought Angola diamonds were superior in color and clarity to South African.” With that, Heyden walked across the museum chamber past several intimidating looking guards.

  A man had entered the chamber and now stood by the door. Evy saw that he was very heavy, and in his fifties with a smallish, egg-shaped head. His warm-weather white Panama suit and wide-brimmed hat were most inappropriate for the setting.

  Rogan, too, regarded him with mild interest. As the man and Heyden walked to one of the glassed-in security tables to look at the glittering array of stones, Rogan turned toward Evy.

  “Who is he?” she asked. “The heavy man in the Panama suit?”

  “One of the Boer officials from the Transvaal Republic. One of Paul Kruger’s right-hand men. They came to see Her Majesty’s Prime Minister to avert war. And now—where is that foolish sister of mine?” His gaze locked with hers. “With Charles?”

  He knew. “You are wrong if you think I came here to help arrange her rendezvous.”

  “Then it is Charles?”

  “Yes. I knew nothing of the museum showing until I was already in the cab with her. She asked that I meet her at Regents Park, and once I was in the cab she pleaded for me to come with her. She was upset over the family decision to have her marry Peter Bartley.”

  “Then she told you? I thought she might. Where does Heyden come into this?”

  Evy cocked her head. “Why should you think he does?”

  “Because he wanted to see you, and I warned him to stay away. He used Arcilla to bring you here so he could talk to you. What did he tell you?”

  Her brows lifted. “He happens to believe my mother is innocent. He found out Master Henry betrayed my mother that night and ran off with the Black Diamond. Jendaya, the Zulu woman, told him so. He thinks Lady Brewster was quite wrong to have absolved Ma
ster Henry of guilt in the matter, all of which is very reassuring concerning my parents. Why then should I not want to talk with him?”

  “Because he is more trouble than you are ready to handle.” Rogan’s gaze was as hard as his tone. “I’m asking you to stay away from him, Evy. At least until I have more time to look into the matters he’s told me about.”

  “Then … he did tell you my mother was innocent?”

  A look she had never seen before crossed his face. “Let us simply say he told me about your mother. The information he wishes to drop at your feet is not what you are expecting.” Was he worried? He certainly sounded so. “I don’t think you are ready to hear it yet. Stay away from him. The van Burens hate my family for a number of reasons I cannot get into now. Heyden will do anything to ruin us. He cannot be trusted.”

  She watched him, troubled, uncertain … yet unable to promise what he wished of her.

  “Do you know why he is here in London?”

  She looked to where Heyden stood talking with the heavyset man. “No, though he said wanted to talk with me.”

  “That’s not all of it. As a Boer, he despises the British. He actually wants war. We consider him a serious troublemaker, trying to urge Paul Kruger to throw down an ultimatum to the British Government to get out of the Transvaal.”

  “I know little about the conflict,” she admitted. Her interest in Heyden van Buren had to do with her parents, and Rogan knew it.

  “This is the first time you’ve talked with him?”

  “Yes. I have not seen him before except in the—” She caught herself before mentioning that debacle in the library, but it was too late.

  He smiled, his eyes scanning her face briefly. “Ah yes … the library.” The words came out in a deep, caressing rumble. “A fond memory indeed.”

  “I really must be going now.” She turned to survey the room. “There is nothing I can do about finding Arcilla. I’m sorry it turned out this way. Sorrier still that she drew me here to enable her to escape more easily.”

  “Please accept my apology for her. We both know Arcilla well enough to understand her. But as long as she is with Charles, I won’t worry unduly. I merely wish she had used her head and refrained while Bartley is visiting. He expected to meet her here tonight, and from the hound dog look on his face, his pride has been injured.”

  Evy could not help but smile.

  “There is no telling when she will return,” Rogan said. “I suppose she’s gone off in Charles’s carriage. Well then, you will need a ride back to Parkridge. I’ll call you a cab.”

  “There is no need. I can arrange it myself, thank you.”

  His smile was broad. “I would not think of allowing you to go off alone. If I concern myself with Arcilla, I also feel some obligation toward you. After all,” he said silkily, “you would not have gotten into this if it hadn’t been for her conniving. I’ll get you a cab.”

  “I am not helpless, Rogan. I have done my own arranging many times. I shall be quite safe.”

  He ignored her completely, falling into step with her as she headed for the door. The man was inexorable, and she could only wonder why. Unless … She restrained a small smile. Perhaps his insistence had something to do with a vague notion that Heyden might feel obligated to bring her back to Parkridge.

  True to his word, Rogan hailed a cab, rather imperiously, she thought, and handed her into the seat. “I shall let you know about Arcilla.” He lifted her hand to his lips, and the contact sent shivers running through her. “Au revoir.”

  She sank back against the seat cushion, grateful to be free from the many layers of tension she’d just encountered. As she ran through the conversations in her mind, she felt her resolve grow.

  She would talk with Heyden again and hear what he had to say. No matter what Rogan Chantry thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Evy had trouble concentrating in class the next morning, so deep was her concern about Arcilla. What if she had actually convinced Charles to run off to France and get married?

  After classes, Madame Ardelle entered the dormitory room that Evy shared with Frances and Victoria. Her round, olive-toned face was animated, and her brown eyes turned to Evy, who sat curled in chair with her music history book in hand.

  “You have a caller, Miss Evy.” The woman always used the formal Miss before the names of her students, even after three or four years under her tutorship. “Rogan Chantry waits for you with a coach. He is asking permission to escort you out to dinner, but I told him that was highly irregular for a Thursday night. I hope I have not disappointed you too severely. You may speak with him in the parlor if you like, but you must insist he leave for his university by eight o’clock.”

  Frances and Victoria slipped over to the window and peered down into the carriage yard.

  “Oooh … look at that divine coach.”

  “Never mind the coach. Look at him!”

  “Miss Frances, Miss Victoria?” Madame Ardelle looked at them, brows raised, then turned again toward Evy. “It is not befitting to keep a young man of such good breeding waiting.”

  What Madame Ardelle meant, of course, was that the Chantry name was associated with South African diamonds.

  Evy hurried to freshen up and run a brush through her hair while Frances and Victoria gave her advice on what would make her look her prettiest. She calmly changed into a pretty dress and added the saucy hat Rogan had bought her, setting it carefully on her thick, tawny hair. Again she noted how the ribbons and color emphasized the jade flecks in her eyes. Would he notice?

  Evy smiled and left the room. Once away from the girls, she admitted to herself that she was not as indifferent toward her dashing caller as she pretended. She sped to the stairway and looked down into the quiet front hall. She hoped Madame Ardelle had not loitered, and she sighed when the woman was not in sight. Evy came down the stairs, looking toward the door that led into the parlor. It was ajar, and she knew Rogan had entered and was waiting.

  She hoped the news on Arcilla would be good. Interesting … that Rogan had wanted to go to dinner.

  She entered the parlor, where the gloomy late November weather was chased away by a glowing log burning in the grate. The large parlor was furnished in Madame Ardelle’s old-world taste. Heavy wine-colored draperies, Louis XIV furniture, and a matching wine and cream Persian carpet. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows the bare branches of trees were starkly fingered against a pale five o’clock sky. She paused, lifting a hand to touch her smooth hair.

  At the same moment, Rogan left the bookcase and came toward her, scanning her with obvious pleasure. He took in the hat. “Very charming. A perfect match of green.” His genteel manner was in contrast with the lively gleam in his eyes. He took her hand, that enigmatic smile dancing across his features.

  “How good of you to see me on a Thursday evening, Miss Varley. Madame has made it clear you need your sleep, and I am not to keep you up past eight.”

  From his exaggerated gravity, it was clear he was amused by Madame’s strict code of rules for her music students. Yet his actions were smoothly calculated to represent the pinnacle of gentlemanly grace’s.

  “Our first class starts at half past five,” she said with a rueful smile. “So, unlike spoiled fourth-year university students, we must adhere to a strict discipline.”

  He smiled. “So you still believe I am spoiled and arrogant. I’ll have you know I am agonizing over final exams for graduation and going without sleep.”

  “Should I believe you? I wonder … You look well rested and alert.”

  “I cannot help what your stimulating presence does to me.”

  She laughed. He really was a rogue—and far too appealing when he was like this. She breezed past him toward the window, sitting primly on the cushioned window seat, her folded hands on her lap.

  He watched her with a ghost of a smile, and she had the sense that he was still trying to understand her. She hid a smile of her own. Good. Let him wonder. He was
altogether too accomplished in understanding young women as it was.

  “I told you I’d come to let you know about Arcilla.”

  She inclined her head. “Thank you. I’ve been concerned for her. However, you could have sent a message and saved yourself a trip from the university.”

  “Would you have preferred that?”

  She lowered her gaze, affecting a demure posture. “I was thinking of your busy schedule.”

  “I’m rarely too busy to see someone whose company I find so … intriguing. I was hoping you would come to dinner with me. I’d forgotten you were held under lock and key by the stalwart madame.”

  “I did not receive an invitation to attend dinner with you.”

  “Ah. A word to the wise, eh? I am expected to arrange things well in advance. You do not like surprises, then.”

  Did that displease him? She could well imagine that Patricia Bancroft rearranged her schedule to be with him whenever he wished.

  “I assure you it is Madame who is inflexible.” She quickly changed the subject. “I take it then that Arcilla is back at Montague, safe and sound?”

  His wry smile was nonetheless indulgent. Clearly he cared about his sister. “Yes, alas, the emergency is over—for the present. My sister, as you know, is not above creating new storms to bring a bit of unwanted excitement into everyone’s lives. Thanks to Charles, everything worked out reasonably well. He is from the old school of thought and prefers the status quo. Meaning he is not interested in galloping off to Paris in the dead of night to marry secretly. He knew what was expected of him and carried it through to the proper end. Instead of fleeing with her like two escaped lovebirds to France, he kept a stiff upper lip and brought her back to the school.”

  Charles Bancroft most likely had experience in avoiding awkward social positions, and Evy was fairly certain he must know Peter Bartley had arrived. Had Arcilla put up an emotional fuss and begged her beloved to flee with her to Paris? Poor Charles! The temptation to surrender to her pleadings must have been difficult to resist.

  Rogan walked up to the window seat and looked down at her.