Evy did not tell Mrs. Croft that she already knew what was happening in Arcilla’s life. Sir Lyle must have decided that his daughter would indeed marry Peter. Evidently Mr. Bartley’s pending political position in South Africa was deemed more important than any danger of war upon Sir Lyle’s only daughter.
Evy shook her head at the idea of spoiled, flighty Arcilla in South Africa! How would she ever endure?
On a crisp, sunny morning near Christmas, Evy walked the trail up to the hillock, where she could enjoy the wide, sweeping view of Rookswood and the surrounding estate grounds. She’d come here nearly every day since her return … though she finally admitted it wasn’t for the view.
Sadly, Rogan did not once ride up to the hill as he had that day in what now seemed the distant past. It was foolish to expect him to come, of course, with Patricia staying in the great house.
Evy pressed her lips together. How had she ever permitted her emotions to get out of hand? It was unwise to wish to see him again, to walk here thinking he might show up, but neither could she stay away.
It was his presence in London at the concert that made her think so unwisely about him, and his playing the violin. She had mistaken his interest in her plans for an interest in her. Foolish, foolish girl, she chastised herself. That will never be. It was clear that when Patricia Bancroft occupied his time, Evy Varley did not enter the picture. She was, and always had been, little more than Arcilla’s childhood companion—the rectory girl.
Clearly attending her concert and inviting her to the Chantry Townhouse for supper had been suggested as much for Arcilla’s sake as for Rogan’s.
Nevertheless she remained on the hill, determined to enjoy the view, looking toward Rookswood. She drank in the sight of the sun shining on its windows, fondly recalling events, then turned away and walked back down the trail.
She came to the bottom of the hill. Before she turned on the path leading toward the cottage, she heard male voices and the clop of horses’ hooves. Reluctant to meet anyone with her emotions still so raw, she stepped aside where trees grew close together. A few moments later she was surprised to see Rogan and Derwent riding by, side by side.
They rode past her, going away from the cottage, and Derwent was laughing.
Evy waited until they rounded the fork in the road and then resumed her walk home.
The rooks gabbled in the tops of the trees, and a chill wind blew against her. Strange that Derwent had not been by the cottage to see her since he had returned from London yesterday … Or was it? Perhaps stranger still, that he was to be found in Rogan’s, company.
What, if anything, did it mean? The happy ring of his laughter had conveyed a carefree message she believed was clear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Christmas tea took place as it always had at the vicarage, with one distinct difference. Derwent did not attend.
“Derwent is working today,” Vicar Osgood told Evy when she inquired.
“Working?” Evy was unable to conceal her surprise.
“For Rogan Chantry. He’s been spending quite a lot of time at Rookswood with the Chantry horses. We are hoping the position of curate opens soon … I’m certain it will.”
His sympathetic look told Evy he understood that marriage could only take place once Derwent received the position. Evy’s annoyance with Derwent was growing. How much had he told the new vicar?
It appears as though he is doing a good deal of explaining about his situation to everyone except me.
So Derwent was working at Rookswood estate for Rogan! Then that explained why she saw them riding together yesterday.
Derwent was not the only absentee. Lady Elosia, who made it a point to maintain her influence in the village, did not attend either. Someone mentioned she was “a bit under the weather.” In fact, none of the Chantrys were present, nor were the Tisdales. Evy’s girlhood friends Meg and Emily, now married, were there. Meg had married Emily’s brother, Tom; Emily was married to Meg’s brother, Milt. Both women were expecting babies. They were quick to embrace Evy and welcome her home, smiling and congratulating her on success at music school. Evy had always liked the two. They were plain, humble, and genuine. But even they watched her as though they were on the verge of asking her a question about some matter that troubled them. An exchange of glances between the two appeared to discourage either one from doing so.
When the first group left early to take their children home, Evy used their departure as an opportunity to get away. She left Aunt Grace chatting with the new vicar’s wife and wandered out the rectory gate, onto the road. It was odd how everyone watched her. Could her worst fears be true? Could gossip have escaped Pandora’s box somehow about her mother stealing the Kimberly Diamond? No, that could not have happened. Not many knew about it, not even Lizzie or Mrs. Croft. Rogan, while a scamp in some ways, would not embarrass or hurt her reputation in the village.
But might Heyden have been here asking questions?
Evy walked along the road toward Rookswood. Aunt Grace would come home in the jingle, so there was no need to worry about her. Evy wanted to be alone.
Though it was far from an unpleasant day, she could think of little to cheer her mood. The holiday festivities no longer seemed as bright as when she had arrived three days ago. The excitement of returning to Grimston Way had fizzled. Except for seeing Aunt Grace, little remained of the old life she remembered when Uncle Edmund was the beloved vicar. Even Derwent and her village friends had changed. It was as though she were no longer one of them. Even Aunt Grace seemed different … a little sad, perhaps? Or perturbed? Yes, that was it. Perturbed. It must be on account of her poor health. Undoubtedly she misses her life as it was in the rectory, too. What else could it be except disappointment with Derwent?
Evy thought of the Kimberly Diamond again. So far, she had avoided upsetting Aunt Grace by discussing it with her. But if Heyden had been asking around the village and word had gotten back to her aunt as well, perhaps it was time to speak to her about it.
Rogan believed her aunt knew something, though even he had not forced the issue with her. He would graduate soon and be off to South Africa, so surely he would want to learn everything he could before leaving Grimston Way.
Evy cast a glance at the sky now turning as dark as her mood. Yes, perhaps it was time.
The next day, however, Aunt Grace took to bed with a mild fever.
“You must not worry so, Evy. I overdid it a little at the tea, is all. A rest in bed today and I shall be feeling much better tomorrow. But perhaps you should go ahead with our plans to deliver presents today. That is if you do not mind going without me?”
“No, I wouldn’t think of your going. The weather has taken a turn for the worse. It looks like a foggy evening.”
“Then do not be late. Mrs. Croft is coming over to make us a good chicken soup.”
Evy’s mood was far from festive as she loaded the basket with the cakes and candies they had made on her arrival and carried it to the jingle.
She rode into the village alone, forcing a cheery spirit and trying to leave a blessing in the homes where she called. She delivered the preserves and cakes to Old Lady Armitage, who was still spry and alert in her advanced years. The old woman came out her door to the wicket gate and up to the side of the jingle. The wind blew her thin white hair, and she drew her fringed shawl around her bony shoulders. A gleam flickered in the still-shrewd eyes.
“So it’s you, is it, Miss Evy? I daresay you’ve changed a bit since tripping off to London to play that piano. You look a mite too pretty for the young scoundrels of Grimston Way.” She studied Evy up and down. “Unless it’s that chief scoundrel, Rogan Chantry, you’ve an eye on.”
“Merry Christmas, Miss Armitage.” Evy forced a smile and ignored her comments. “Aunt wanted me to bring you some of her summer preserves.”
“Bless her soul. True blue, she is. Always was. Can’t say the same for the rest of ’em … And now Vicar Brown is gone to his reward too. The n
ew vicar laughs too much. I don’t care for it. That silly boy of Vicar Brown’s hasn’t half the wit of his father, either. Derwent lets himself be pushed around like a wet mop. You’d think he’d stand up on his hind feet and demand to chart his own life, wouldn’t you? But oh no, not him. Knuckles under to Lady Elosia like a puppy grabbed by the scruff of its neck. A shame, really … Ah, thank you, dearie.” She took the box of preserves and cakes. Evy had put extra inside, along with a new shawl and bonnet she had bought for the woman in the village.
“You’re not missing much when it comes to Derwent Brown.” Miss Armitage gave a sage nod of her head and a wink. “Let him have that silly Alice if that’s the way of it. Well, Merry Christmas, Miss Evy. You keep playing your piano.”
It was a few moments before Evy could reply, but she finally gathered her scattered wits. “Yes, Merry Christmas, Miss Armitage.”
So that was it! Derwent and Alice! My suspicions were right.
Evy drove on, and by the time the jingle was empty, she was in a better mood. In fact, she almost overflowed with relief! She did not love Derwent the way a girl should love a man. She’d known it for some time but never really admitted it, mostly because Aunt Grace had always expected the union. I was told from a child I should marry Derwent.
The relief she felt over admitting this, combined with giving and sharing Christian love with others, cheered her heart and utterly lifted her burden. She was humming “silent night, holy night” when she left the village proper and was on the road back to Rookswood estate. She had not gone far when she met Arcilla riding one of the mellow mares from the Chantry stables. She called to Evy and waved for her to pull over. She came riding up, her cheeks tinted pink with cold and her blue eyes bright. The wind tossed her hair beneath the pert riding hat.
“Hello and cheers! I’ve been looking for you, Evy. Your aunt said you had come into the village.”
“What brings you out riding alone?”
“I’m a big girl now,” Arcilla jested.
“Yes, but surely any mission important enough to get you on horseback must be worth some kind of escort,” Evy said with a laugh.
Arcilla played with her whip. “Exceedingly important, if you want to know.”
“A dinner ball?”
Arcilla stared at her, clearly amazed. “How did you know?”
Evy laughed. “I know you. When is this one?”
“Tonight. And you must be there.”
“Me, tonight? Oh come, Arcilla, you are teasing.”
“No, indeed. There is an emergency, and I need you.”
“Well, it is so grand to be wanted, even if only when an emergency demands it.”
“Oh, you know what I really mean.”
“Yes.”
Arcilla laughed. “Now don’t be so moldy. You need some fun as well, so let us conclude we are helping each other. Do say you’ll come. Aunt Elosia approves of you, and so does my father. They wouldn’t have had your aunt as my governess years ago if they hadn’t.”
Evy toyed with the reins. Would Rogan be there? Of course … Patricia Bancroft would no doubt be at his side.
“Aunt Grace is not well and needs me to be home tonight.”
“I already spoke to her. She tells me she will have the company of Mrs. Croft. A party will do you good, she says. So there! No more excuses.”
Arcilla was never one to mince words when it came to protecting someone else’s pride or feelings, and she did not do so now. “It’s Rogan’s friend, Abbot. He’s here at Rookswood. I had planned for Cicely to be Abbot’s partner tonight, but she became ill this morning. And you have the perfect gown to wear, too. The one you wore to your concert in London. It looked very pretty on you, I must say.”
Evy knew Arcilla would give her no peace if she did not capitulate. “Very well, I will come.”
“I knew I could depend on you.” Arcilla’s smile beamed on Evy. “I will send Bixby to bring you up to the house around seven.”
It was raining when Bixby helped her into the coach and closed the door.
Evy arrived at the front carriageway, and the footman came to open the door. He carried an umbrella for Evy and escorted her up to the open doorway of Rookswood.
The glittering chandeliers, the decorations of pine and berries, red and gold ribbon, all glowed with festive color. Lilting voices reached her ears, and she realized they came from the expanded ballroom off to her left. Evy held her breath as she waited near the wide double doorway that led into the aristocratic foxes’ lair.
Arcilla saw her first and rushed toward her, bringing a handsome young man in evening dress with her.
“This is Abbot Miles. Abbot, my very best friend, Evy Varley.”
He bowed over her hand and smiled. “Fortune has smiled upon me.”
He took her arm, and they stopped at the doorway of the ballroom as their names were announced to the small group, all of whom had turned in their direction. Then Lady Elosia came toward them, a smile on her face, her elegant hand outstretched, the gems glittering on her fingers and wrist.
“Ah, dear Evy, how charming of you to come. And how positively enchanting you have become.”
“Thank you indeed, Lady Elosia.”
“Come, let me introduce you to the others.”
In the next few minutes Evy found herself murmuring all the right responses to all the right greetings from all the right holiday guests—mostly lords and ladies, of course—from London’s elite. She felt a little breathless when introduced to an earl and his countess. Then, of course, there was Peter Bartley, looking quite distinguished. Even Arcilla seemed more mature than when Evy had seen her that afternoon. She actually seemed to change in Peter’s company, to stand straighter and carry a more somber demeanor. Evy could not help note, however, that the girlish glow that had shone in her eyes when with Charles Bancroft had dulled to a look of resignation.
A stir passed through the gathering as everyone turned to look toward the doorway. The handsome younger son of the squire himself had arrived, Patricia Bancroft on his arm. Rogan’s dark gaze slipped over the faces of those present and then focused on Evy. He looked genuinely shocked for a moment before he recovered. His jaw hardened, and Evy frowned. He did not look pleased.
He did not know I would be here.
“Rogan Chantry and Miss Patricia Bancroft,” the male reader intoned, and the couple advanced into the ballroom, Patricia’s hand resting lightly on Rogan’s arm. They made the rounds of the guests, exchanging greetings, until they came to Abbot and Evy. Evy felt her heart skip a beat as her gaze met Rogan’s.
Yes, he was displeased. She could see an angry spark in the depths of his eyes, and it brought a heat to her cheeks.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had such a beautiful neighbor, Rogan?” Abbot grinned. “Or maybe I should say now I know why you didn’t tell us all these years.”
“Where is Cicely?” Patricia asked the question of Abbot, though her narrowed gaze was fixed on Evy.
“Ill, in her room.”
Patricia’s cool gaze slipped from Evy, and she looked at Rogan. “There is Peter … Come, Rogan, I think dinner will soon be served.”
Evy refused to be intimidated by the cool reception. Had she not told Arcilla it would be this way? But she had not expected Rogan to be in opposition to her presence. Was it because he was with Patricia? Rogan had not actually spoken to her yet and now walked Patricia away toward his sister and Peter Bartley.
They all made their way to the table, and Evy lifted her chin. She would not dart away like a timid mouse. She determined to enjoy the evening no matter how coolly Patricia treated her.
Never had Evy seen such elegance. It almost made her head spin with the wonder of it all. The long dining table was adorned with silver and crystal, all aglitter under the great chandelier. The dining hall must have witnessed many splendid occasions through its years, but never more so than tonight, she thought. Flowers had been brought in from Rookswood greenhouses and were in great ce
ramic pots on urns and side tables. Candlelight did wonders for the gowns and jewels that adorned the women, as well as the gentlemen adorned in dinner black with startling white frilled shirts. Evy sat toward the end of the long table to the left of Abbot, and though she was aware of the interested glances cast her way from the young men in attendance, she pretended not to notice.
If only she could also have ignored the fact that Rogan was fully attentive to Patricia.
The meal was sumptuous. Evy had never seen such food, including three kinds of roasted meat and a number of side dishes and breads. The conversation as well was stimulating. On her right was an older gentleman, a friend of Sir Lyle’s. Evy carried on a fascinating discussion with him through the meal about the prospects of war between England and the Boers of South Africa. He was in favor of ousting the “Boers under that uncivilized Paul Kruger” and planting the Union Jack squarely in the Transvaal, the area controlled by the Dutch.
After an assortment of English and French desserts, teas, and coffees, liquor was served in the next room. Evy declined and accepted lemon water with a sprig of mint.
Later in the evening the dancing began in the ballroom. Sir Lyle and Lady Elosia led the first waltz, followed by Rogan and Patricia, then Arcilla and Mr. Bartley. Afterward, Sir Lyle and Rogan performed their social duty by choosing other partners from among their guests.
Evy’s heart fluttered when Rogan stopped in front of her, bowed lightly, and escorted her onto the glossy floor. As she moved into the circle of Rogan’s arms, she could sense Patricia’s cool indignation. Sir Lyle chose Lady Elizabeth, and the four of them waltzed about the huge ballroom floor. Despite her pleasure at being chosen for such an honor, she couldn’t help a touch of nerves.
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