“What do you mean, what he is like? It’s true I have always known about Derwent’s dreams of going to South Africa.”
“Well, that’s so, it’s plain as the nose on your face if you ask me. But what I mean is, he could be bought, couldn’t he? And he was quick to betray you to get what he wanted.”
At this echo of Rogan’s words at the ball, Evy frowned. “I do not know if I see it as betrayal.”
“What else? Nice young man, indeed! He’s not strong enough for you, that’s what I say. And you’re worth two of Alice.”
Evy smiled. “You are loyal to me, that’s all. Alice is all right.”
“I don’t understand you, Miss Evy. I’d be hopping mad if she stole my beau from beneath my nose like that.”
“Maybe I’m not really in love with Derwent, Mrs. Croft.”
She looked at Evy, brows raised. “You was planning to marry him for years.”
Evy had no response for that. But she knew, deep inside, that while she’d been planning it, she hadn’t been looking forward to it.
Aunt Grace said very little about Derwent after Evy told her she knew of his decision. “You’ll graduate from Parkridge next year,” she assured her. “You will be able to get a decent position teaching music.”
Evy understood, and even agreed. If there was no one else to marry, she would at least be able to support herself doing something she loved.
Christmas dawned damp and foggy. Evy dressed in a frilled white blouse and ankle-length skirt of blue, then brought the present she would give Aunt Grace from its hiding place in the cupboard by the window. It was a cluster of red, blue, and green glass hummingbirds formed into a wind chime. Aunt Grace loved wind chimes, and Evy had found this one in a shop in London. It had taken most of her meager savings, which she had earned while sometimes helping out in the kitchen at school, but every coin she had spent would be worth the sparkle in her aunts eyes when she hung it from the window and the first spring breeze sent it tinkling.
Aunt Grace must have heard her getting dressed, for when Evy came into the kitchen she was waiting. Evy took a deep breath of the aroma of fresh-brewed tea. Aunt Grace was sitting at the table with her worn Bible open.
“Merry Christmas,” Evy called with deliberate cheerfulness. She bent and kissed her aunt’s cheek.
“Merry Christmas, dear. Shall we have breakfast first, or open our presents?”
“Oh, you should not have troubled yourself,” Evy said, but was pleased to see the scrambled eggs and ham slices on cornbread staying warm on the back of the stove. Aunt Grace must be feeling stronger.
“Believe me, it’s like old times,” Aunt Grace said. “I enjoyed being able to cook for a change. Mrs. Croft has already been here—look.”
Evy followed her smiling gaze to the decorated pine bush, where two small packages sat next to their own presents. Evy saw that her present to the Crofts, along with Aunt Grace’s for them, was gone. She hoped Mrs. Croft liked the new shawl she had bought for her. She knew Aunt Grace had made Mrs. Croft a new woolen nightgown and cap.
“Since breakfast is staying warm, let’s be like children and open our gifts first!”
Aunt Grace laughed. They handed each other a gift, then tore them open with exclamations of joy. Aunt Grace had bought her a new blue-gray hooded woolen cloak, and Evy was delighted. She realized what it must have cost and how little money they had between them, yet somehow, strangely enough, Aunt Grace always seemed to have whatever money was needed—both for schooling and for school clothes. Whenever she asked about it Aunt Grace would always say cheerfully, “Oh I have my little secrets, dear.”
“Aunt Grace, you shouldn’t have—”
“You’ll need it. You still have a year and half of schooling, do not forget. The other was getting frayed.”
“It is the perfect color. I adore it, thank you.”
Aunt Grace made much of the glass birds, and Evy could see by her happy expression that she truly liked the gift. “Ah, a sweet sign of spring and better days ahead,” Aunt Grace predicted.
They made the most of their Christmas and then prepared their dinner, ready to receive several village friends who were coming to offer well wishes. Emily came by with her husband, Milt, followed an hour later by Meg and Tom. Once again Mr. Bixby showed up from Rookswood with several gaily beribboned gifts. Arcilla had sent Evy new gloves and a small beaded handbag. A second gift was wrapped in shiny red paper with a golden ribbon. Evy stared, speechless, when she removed a pair of golden earrings with emeralds. They could not be real … could they?
But they were. The gift card was signed simply: Merry Christmas, Rogan.
She gazed at the gift, knowing she could not possibly keep them, yet also knowing she would never be able to afford anything like them on her own. She took them out and ran to the small mirror by the hat tree and tried them on, pushing her tawny hair aside and turning her head in both directions so the flash of gold and green would dazzle her.
“Oh … they’re stunning.” She sighed.
Aunt Grace watched her, a slight frown on her brow. “From Master Rogan?”
“Yes.”
“I thought they might be.”
She did not say why she had thought so, and Evy avoided her gaze in the mirror. She waited, expecting her aunt to tell her she could not keep them, but Aunt Grace was silent and went to the stove to bring their breakfast to the table.
“They are expensive and beautiful.”
Evy studied them again in the mirror. “Yes, I cannot think why he would give me such a gift.”
Aunt Grace looked over at her. “Perhaps he is trying to cheer you after the disappointment with Derwent.”
Evy looked at her reflection. The emeralds brought out the flecks of green in her amber eyes. “I hardly think so, Aunt. When he told me about the upcoming marriage, he seemed rather glib about it, as though he liked the idea of Derwent going to South Africa.”
“That is what I mean.”
Evy turned and looked at her aunt. “I beg your pardon?”
“It has not escaped me that Master Rogan has noticed you on more than one occasion. I’ve known from way back, even when I was governess at Rookswood, that he always took a special interest in you.”
“Oh, I hardly think so—”
“Yes, he has. No use denying it, dear. Mrs. Croft has noticed it too. The question is, what does he have in mind?”
Evy flushed and reached up to pull off the earrings. “Nothing. He has nothing in mind. He will marry Miss Bancroft and go away to Capetown.”
“Naturally the squire and Lady Elosia expect him to do so. You saw what they expected of Arcilla. I suspect she will be married off to Mr. Bartley very soon now. The family has their expectations and they will not be easily thwarted. Especially Rogan’s uncle, Sir Julien Bley.”
Evy placed the earrings back into the small red velvet box and closed the lid. “Yes, I know. If you are trying to warn me not to fall for Rogan Chantry, you need not worry. I am well aware of his reputation … and that no Chantry will ever marry beneath his social level.”
“I do not worry, dear. I know you have twice as much sense as the silly young ladies who make fools of themselves chasing after him. You have too much dignity for that. I suspect that is one of the things about you that captures his attention so.”
“Why have you not told me to send the earrings back?”
“Because you do not need me to lecture you. You will do what is best.”
“Suppose I wish to keep them?”
Aunt Grace poured tea. “Then you will do so. You are nearly grown up now.”
“They are worth a lot of money. If worse came to worst I could sell them. A little nest egg, so to speak.”
“Yes.” She looked up from the teacups. “Do you want honey in your tea?”
She trusts my judgment. Evy smiled, knowing she would not disappoint her aunt. She would make the appropriate decision.
But oh! How she wanted to keep the earrings!
With the New Year upon them, it was soon time to return to London. A day before Evy was to board the train she received a letter from Derwent. Mrs. Croft delivered it.
“Aye, Derwent is knowing what I think of him,” Mrs. Croft said shortly. “I told him before he left Grimston Way.”
Evy took the envelope and held it for a moment. Then she looked at Mrs. Croft. “You must not be too hard on him, Mrs. Croft. I told you, I’m not in love with Derwent. I suspect he did not want to hurt me and couldn’t endure a face-to-face meeting. Down deep in his heart he probably believes he did betray me. His father, too, and Aunt Grace. Expectations were so high it never gave either of us much choice. I’ll need to let him know I hold nothing against him. I only wish Alice and him well. Has he left the village?”
“He has, indeed. Squire sent him off to do some work in London at the family company there. Seems Master Rogan will be giving him some training now that Rogan’s graduated from that university. In about a year’s time they’ll both be going to the Cape … after Alice ups and marries him, that is.”
Evy opened the envelope.
“Well, you’ve guessed how it is. He writes ’cause he can’t look himself in the mirror. He don’t have the courage to look you eye to eye either and admit he betrayed you,” Mrs. Croft stated.
Evy shook her head. “I do not think he betrayed me, Mrs. Croft. This may sound strange, but Derwent and I never talked of marriage outright, or even said we loved each other.”
“Well, it were certainly planned by the good vicar your Uncle Edmund before he were killed the way he was that stormy night. I daresay he would be upset with Derwent for turning his back on you and running away to the diamond mines. Adventure, that’s what he wants, and that silly little Alice. Mark my words, she’ll regret it once she gets over to that land of savage Hottentots. An’ I’ll wager Derwent will want to kick himself once he’s been married to her a time. He’ll be thinking back to the vicarage and the old ways and what he gave up for big dreams.” She gave a sharp, quick nod. “He’ll be regretting his quick decisions, all right. I’ve been around too long not to know that’s how life goes. You reap what you sow, that’s how it is …”
Evy was barely listening. She read to herself as she sat on the kitchen stool.
I have Squire to thank for this grand opportunity. We talked at some length in the library at Rookswood. It is no secret to you how I have wanted to go to the Cape to make my life and fortune. I never was cut from the cleric’s cloth the way my good father was, or your Uncle Edmund. When my father was so ill and I filled in for him behind the pulpit, even writing most of his sermons, it gave me the opportunity to learn that I was not called to the vicarage, and do not at this time have a strong desire to return to divinity school. You are such a fine, upstanding girl that I guessed long ago I was never good enough for you, Miss Evy. Even Lady Elosia said you would never be pleased with me because I was not like your uncle. Alice thought so, too. Lady Elosia thought marrying Alice and beginning a different life in the Cape would be the wisest thing I could do for you, and for me …
I hope you will forgive me if I led you to believe falsely of my intentions toward you. It was always more what your aunt and uncle, and my father, wanted than what either of us wanted. I love you as a sister and think highly of you and always will.
As ever, faithfully your friend,
Derwent T. Brown
Evy blinked back tears. She folded the letter and replaced it inside its envelope.
“That rascally scoundrel, Derwent!” Mrs. Croft scowled, evidently taking Evy’s tears to mean heartbreak.
“My tears are for fond childhood memories, Mrs. Croft, not over losing Derwent. You see, he is right,” she said firmly. “And I think we all did him an injustice in not listening to him these years. He was not called to be a vicar. I’m seeing now that his gifts and abilities lie elsewhere than behind a pulpit.”
“Humph. I’m not convinced any.” She shook a finger. “Bad company corrupts good behavior, is what I say. It’s that Master Rogan who planted all those restless seeds in Derwent’s mind from the times they was boys.”
Lady Elosia said you would never be pleased with me because I was not like your uncle … Marrying Alice and beginning a different life in the Cape would be the wisest thing I could do for you, and for me …
Evy stared at the letter. Strange … about Lady Elosia.
The January morning was cold and frosty as Evy boarded the train for London. The evening before, when Evy questioned whether or not they could afford her return to music school, Aunt Grace assured her all was well.
“We will manage the expenses somehow. It’s even more important now that you continue your music studies.”
Once back at Parkridge, school life and her love of music overshadowed past disappointments. She wrote a brief letter to Derwent in care of the Chantry Diamond Company assuring him that his decision to marry Alice Tisdale and go to South Africa in no way caused her either unhappiness or disappointment toward him. She wished him and Alice much joy and prayed God’s blessings on their union. She also wrote Rogan:
Dear Rogan,
I thank you for the exquisite pair of earrings, but I cannot accept a gift so expensive. It would not be suitable. They are now safely stored at the cottage with my aunt, Mrs. Havering. If you would have Arcilla stop by and claim them, or do so yourself on one of your visits home (perhaps for Arcilla’s wedding?), I would be appreciative.
Miss Evy Varley, Parkridge Music School, London
In the months that concluded Evy’s third year of studies, she did not hear back from Rogan, nor did she hear again from Derwent. As for Rogan, it was unclear when he would sail to the Cape. The last she had heard, he remained in London becoming familiar with the inner workings of the family company under the headship of Sir Julien.
Since Arcilla had already graduated from Montague, she remained at Rookswood, as did Peter Bartley. Aunt Grace wrote her that the engagement had been announced and that the marriage would take place in April. Within a week they would then sail for the Cape.
During this period Evy heard from Arcilla twice. She had sent a letter bemoaning the fact that she must go to South Africa, and deplored the notion that Peter might get a government post inland at the colony to be called Rhodesia.
I feel as though I am being sentenced to prison.
Evy felt compassion for her plight, but what was there to do? At least Peter Bartley had seemed a patient man who would deal kindly with Arcilla’s whims.
Another letter came at the end of March.
I am getting married at the rectory on the 15th. Everyone will gather at Rookswood afterward, including Rogan. He has finally accepted Peter as a future brother-in-law. They are getting on quite well now. I would invite you to the ceremony, but you would need to miss some of your exams, and that doesn’t seem wise considering you lost Derwent to Alice. You may need to work as a music teacher in the future, so you had better study hard.
That reminds me—Alice is such a copycat! A week after my marriage, she will marry Derwent in the rectory. Amusing, don’t you think?
We sail for Capetown immediately after our marriage, and Derwent and Alice will sail in May. I don’t know if I shall see you again before I sail to my doom … If not, I wish you well on your music and future teaching. I will write you from Capetown.
Arcilla
In April, Evy read of Arcilla’s marriage in the society page of the London paper. “Diamond Heiress Marries South African Government Official,” the caption read.
There was a stunning photograph of the wedding. Arcilla looked like a princess in white, and Peter Bartley was quite distinguished. But it was Rogan who stood out, and in the background stood Miss Patricia Bancroft as bridesmaid. She held the bride’s bouquet. Would she be next to marry?
Aunt Grace did not write about Derwent’s marriage, which followed a week later, but she mentioned that Arcilla and her husband had indeed set sail for the Cape, and that
Derwent and Alice, now Mrs. Brown, would sail on the first of May.
Evy turned her full attention to her graduation next year from Parkridge. She wondered and prayed about her own future, what she would do, and what God might have in store for her.
And yet, despite her best efforts, she could not shake the awareness that Rogan Chantry had not yet become engaged to Patricia Bancroft.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Near the end of the school year came the emergency that Evy had been expecting. The letter was from Vicar Osgood: Your beloved aunt is quite ill. Dr. Tisdale has concurred with me that it would be wise if you came home as soon as possible.
Evy wasted no time packing her portmanteau and boarding the train for Grimston Way. She had sent a wire to Dr. Tisdale asking that he inform Mrs. Croft of her arrival.
Mrs. Croft was waiting in the jingle when she arrived. She appeared haggard and discouraged.
“It’s that nasty business with the lungs, dearie. Doctor says she has pneumonia.”
Evy’s heart grew even heavier when she saw Aunt Grace, who was feverish and delirious.
“She has congestion and inflammation of the lungs.” Dr. Tisdale’s grave tone and countenance told Evy more than she wanted to know. “This is serious business, my dear. I would not have asked you to come home if it were just another of her colds.”
Evy nodded and knelt beside the bed, taking Aunt Grace’s hand in both her own. She searched her feverish face anxiously. “I’m here, Aunt Grace.”
Aunt Grace’s eyes fluttered open, and she tried to focus on Evy’s face. She managed a faint smile, to reassure her, Evy was certain, that she would be all right. How like her aunt. Unselfish to the end. A woman who had stood by her sister—and her sister’s child—through thick and thin. A woman who had wanted children of her own, had been denied them by God’s providence, and had opened her arms to embrace Evy as her very own. She had worked to help support Evy, had been a faithful vicar’s wife, had been stout-hearted to the end.
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