“Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all,” Evy whispered in her aunt’s ear, quoting from the last chapter of Proverbs. Although Aunt Grace was too ill to answer, Evy sensed that she had heard.
The next days were some of Evy’s unhappiest. To see Aunt Grace lying there, propped up with pillows, her skin hot and dry, her eyes glazed … It was almost more than Evy could bear. It came to her then … the sad truth that her aunt’s chances of recovery were as feeble as her body. Evy prayed, as did all their friends in the rectory. Mrs. Croft stayed with her, helping to care for her aunt’s needs and lending loving strength to Evy as well, making sure she had her soup and enough rest.
“It was bound to come to it, child,” she said more than once. “Miss Grace’s been on borrowed time from the Lord some years now. She knew it too, but she tried to keep joyful for your sake. If it weren’t now that the Lord was going to bring her home, it would be next winter, or the winter after that. She’s been sick like this before, but never this bad.”
Aunt Grace’s eyes opened. “Is … that you, Evy?”
She came quickly to the side of the bed. “Yes, Aunt, I’m here.”
Mrs. Croft murmured she would put tea on and left them alone, closing the door behind her.
“Evy, I am going home to be with our heavenly Father … and dear Edmund …”
Sorrow choked Evy’s throat. “Oh, Aunt, try to get well. You must! What will I do without you? I have no one else … no one.” Tears trickled down her face as she clutched Aunt Grace’s hand. She suddenly felt alone, abandoned, an orphan once more. She was losing everything she cared about. First her Uncle Edmund, then loyal Derwent, and even Arcilla was gone … silly, spoiled Arcilla, yet her dearest friend. And now Aunt Grace. What would she do alone?
“You must be strong …” Her aunt’s voice was firm for all that it was weak and thready. “God is a very present help in trouble. You can trust Him to provide, dearest … His plans are well laid … all for your good.”
“Don’t talk, Aunt, you must save your breath and rest. You’ll get better. This will pass.”
She shook her head, and Evy could see what the action cost her. “Not this time … I know. There is something I must tell you … about your mother.”
Evy stiffened and met her aunt’s fevered gaze. Aunt Grace reached a hand toward her as if to touch the side of her face. “Rogan came to me … months ago … He asked, and I told him the truth. I could do naught else. I sinned in not telling you, but I did not want you unhappy … You were so proud to be the daughter of missionaries—martyrs—that I kept it from you …”
Evy swallowed, her throat suddenly dry and raw. She leaned closer, catching every syllable. “What … truth?”
“Clyde and Junia … They were going to adopt you …”
Evy clutched her aunt’s hand. “Adopt?”
“Your mother was a van Buren … Katie … Sir Julien’s ward …”
Evy felt unable to catch a breath. Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to absorb those words. Her mother … not the wonderful missionary she’d always believed? But a van Buren? How could this be?
“My mother is … Katie van Buren?” Saying it out loud didn’t help. She couldn’t believe it.
But Aunt Grace’s weak nod told her it was so. “She ran away. From Sir Julien … because he took you from her. She tried to find you … to get you back. But she was killed. At the mission station. With Junia.”
Evy swallowed again as understanding began to dawn. “Then it was Katie—my mother who took the prized Black Diamond? When she ran away?”
Aunt Grace closed her eyes, as though the effort to speak had drained all her energy. She moistened her cracked feverish lips. “That, I do not know … only that Katie was your mother … I know not who your father was.”
Evy laid the side of her face against her aunt’s hand and let the sobs come. “It matters not,” she said over and over again. “You are my mother, dear heart. The only mother I’ve ever known. Do not fret.”
Aunt Grace looked at her with pleading eyes and managed another weak smile. “You mean that?”
Evy buried her face against her aunt’s thin chest. “Oh yes! I love you, Mum.”
Aunt Grace smiled and reached a trembling hand to Evy’s tumbling hair. She caressed it gently, and Evy recognized the action for what it was. A farewell.
Aunt Grace died in the night during the prayer vigil led in her room by Vicar Osgood. Prayers and scriptures were read, while candles flickered and cast trembling shadows on the cream walls beside the bed. Evy was silent, remembering all that they had been through together, well aware that she now trudged the futures path alone.
Grace Havering was buried in the churchyard at the rectory on a summer day in late June, next to the grave site of Vicar Edmund Havering. No gray day, this. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the birds sang merrily.
Only Evy’s heart still felt the grief of winter. What would she do now? This was why she had gone to music school, of course … to work as a music teacher and support herself through the years. Her aunt had sacrificed financially to make sure of her education. But would she be able to finish her final year?
To represent Rookswood, and in fond memory of Vicar Edmund’s wife, Lady Elosia came to the funeral. To Evy’s surprise, Rogan stood with her in solemn black. Mrs. Croft and the sexton were there too, and Meg and Emily and their families. Even Dr. and Mrs. Tisdale came.
But Evy was aware of little else except her sense of sadness tempered by the Christian hope of being united once more with loved ones who had gone before. The words of Christ echoed in her mind, bringing consolation: “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”
Mrs. Croft returned with Evy to the cottage to spend the night. “You ought not to be alone,” she said.
Evy was grateful for her company. The cottage was empty and too quiet. She went to her bed and tried to rest, for she was exhausted. At last she slept and awoke to drink the strange tasting tea that Mrs. Croft gave her.
“A sedative from Dr. Tisdale,” she explained.
Evy did not awaken until midmorning the next day. The song of birds filled the room with hope. Life went on. Summer went on. Her heavenly Father was sovereign and reigning on His throne, her future in His hand.
The future, however, did not share its secrets with her. It only stared at her blankly. I am the daughter of Katie van Buren. The thought rattled around in her mind until it was joined by another. Then … I must be related in some way to Heyden van Buren! She shook her head. And my father? Will I ever know who he is?
Then, as though stepping from the mist of her memory, she saw again the stranger in Grimston Woods … remembered the look of sadness in his eyes as he had scrutinized her. What had he seen that made him so sad? Could he actually have been some distant cousin of Lady Camilla’s, as Evy had been told? John … that was his name, wasn’t it? Had he really gone to Australia?
And on the heels of that thought came another. Lady Camilla had been sure that her husband, Anthony Brewster, had fathered a child in secret. Evy’s heart pounded at the question that nagged at her: Was it possible there was truth to this, after all … and that Evy was that child?
Her blood thundered in her ears. She sat up in bed and stared at the fluttering curtain. She pressed her trembling hand against her forehead, and her eyes closed as she tried to make sense of all the ideas tumbling about in her mind. Of course it could be true! Anything could be true now that she knew her mother was Katie van Buren, Sir Julien’s ward. Sir Julien Bley! No wonder he had searched her face the way he did that day in the tearoom with Lady Camilla. Was it he, then, who had covered all this up? And Heyden van Buren—he had wanted to tell her something about her mother, but had suddenly vanished from her life. Why? Sir Julien again?
Evy tried to quiet her emotions. She must be calm and not jump to conclusions, though the truth appeared to be staring h
er in the face. She must give her heart time to adjust.
She forced her thoughts away from her parents. It was still too new and painful to ponder for long. The truth would be there tomorrow. There was time to let things settle, to let the shock ease a bit. Instead, she looked to the future. She supposed she would return to school in September, but that would depend on finances. She had known little about them; Aunt Grace had managed the purse strings. Evy knew she would have to look into what she had to depend on. Her aunt always kept their money in a small metal box hidden away in a trunk that held her and Uncle Edmunds mementos. Evy slipped from bed, dressed, and went to find the trunk. She removed the metal box and opened it to count the contents.
There was ten pounds in it. She was shocked. She would have expected at least a hundred. And making matters worse, now that Aunt Grace was gone, her retirement wage for faithful service to the vicarage would not continue. Even the cottage had been theirs to use only because Lady Elosia had awarded it to Aunt Grace because of Uncle Edmund. Evy had benefited, but now that would all change. She did not think those at Rookswood would immediately ask her to go, but she would need to leave sometime, and probably soon.
Ten pounds. Evy sat down hard on the ottoman. How had her aunt possibly believed she could attend her final year at Parkridge if that was all she had?
I will not be able to go back. That’s clear. I must make careful use of this money. It will be some time before I can make any on my own.
Yes, she would need to find work by September, either here in Grimston Way or in London. This revelation coming on top of her sorrow made the burden far heavier to bear. For a moment she was tempted to give way to self-pitying tears. No. She clamped her jaw. There was no other recourse than to find work. She would be unwise to spend what she had knowing there would be no more until she earned it.
Still, she consoled herself, she had nearly three years of training, enough to possibly get a position as music teacher—if not at a prestigious girls school, then certainly she could find young private students in London.
Evy took her Bible and found solace in reading the Psalms and Isaiah. She prayed for guidance and strength, to be wise and trusting. Over and over, verses that told her to fear not seemed to jump out at her. “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God.… Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name.”
Later that afternoon Mrs. Croft came to Evy, clearly reluctant to impart her message. Lips pinched, she finally said, “Master Rogan wants to see you. Shall I tell him you aren’t up to seeing visitors just now?”
Evy’s heart skipped a beat. Did she dare see Rogan now, with her emotions in such a riot? But she could not bear to have him come and be turned away.
“No, I want to see him. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Mrs. Croft looked none too pleased. Evy knew she blamed Rogan for taking Derwent away from her, but at least the woman didn’t say anything. She just nodded and left the room.
Evy brushed out her hair and smoothed the skirts of her black taffeta funeral dress. She glanced at herself in the mirror, frowning at the wan and distressed image that met her. She pinched her cheeks, trying to bring some color into them, and smoothed her thick, unruly hair. She scowled at her image. She looked young and frightened.
Determined not to appear so to Rogan, she bound her long hair up into a semblance of dignified order and, drawing a deep breath, went out to meet her caller.
Rogan paced about the small room and turned when he heard her enter. He came toward her, took a careful look, and a frown formed. He took both her hands into his and looked into her eyes. “No need to tell you how sorry I am at your loss.”
She knew she should withdraw her hands, but she did not. “Thank you. I saw you and Lady Elosia at the funeral. Thank you for coming.”
“But of course I would come. I would have called on you sooner, but I knew you needed time to be alone. Are you up to talking for a few minutes? I would not disturb you now, except I have little choice. My plans to leave for Capetown were already made before this happened, and my ship leaves next week.”
“Oh”—her dismay was swift and fierce—“then you are leaving so soon?”
His jaw tightened. “Yes, I must. Why not come to Rookswood to dinner? It will do you good to leave the cottage for awhile.”
“I couldn’t …”
He inclined his head. “I understand. Then we will talk here or go for a walk. It is a pleasant enough afternoon. You could use some fresh air, I think.”
He probably wanted to talk with her alone, without Mrs. Croft loitering in the kitchen with one ear peeled in their direction.
“I really do need to talk to you, Evy.”
Evy. The warm way he said her name sent her heart scurrying. She knew she should not … Walking unescorted with a man when one was single and alone in the world was more than enough cause for gossip.
But he was leaving next week. “All right, a walk. Excuse me a moment first. I want to get something from my room.”
“I’ll wait for you outside.”
Evy went to retrieve the earrings Rogan had given her for Christmas. He had never come to claim them. She slipped them inside her handbag, then took a black scarf that had belonged to Aunt Grace and put it around her hair.
Rogan waited near the gate, opening it for her as she joined him.
She allowed him to lead the way. He was right: Being outdoors, feeling the afternoon sun on her skin, breathing fresh air, and hearing birds and humming bees filled her heart like a refreshing breeze. All was not lost. Her wonderful heavenly Father still ruled.
They walked for a while in silence.
“That black scarf is rather disconcerting.”
Slowly, she removed it and let the breeze play in her hair. “It is not proper to go out so soon after a funeral without black.”
“The villagers all know you. There isn’t one of them in their right mind who would think ill of you if they saw you, which they will not. We are alone. As I already suggested, I would have waited to see you except there is so little time. I leave for London in the morning, and I do not know when I will be back to England. A year, maybe two.”
Evy remained silent, but her heart cried out against this news. Two years! He was leaving for two years. She would not have him … or Arcilla … or Derwent …
He turned toward the grassy area facing the pond. There were benches here, and the ducks, geese, and peacocks were enjoying the grass and the water. Evy sighed. “Aunt Grace told me about my mother before she died.”
His head turned sharply toward her. “Did she tell you I had spoken with her a few months ago?”
She nodded.
“What did she tell you about … your mother?”
“The truth. That her name was Katie van Buren, and she was your Uncle Julien’s ward. That Dr. Clyde and Junia Varley adopted me … or had planned to do so. And”—her throat constricted, but she forced the words out—“that Katie very likely stole the Black Diamond.”
She blinked away the tears that burned at her eyes. “Lady Brewster’s letter was accurate after all. But when she spoke of my mother, she meant Katie van Buren, whereas I was thinking of Junia Varley. That’s why her being a”—she could not say it, could not call her mother a thief—“made so little sense to me.”
Rogan was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. “I was under the impression Lady Brewster was speaking of Junia, as well.” He regarded her. “But there may be more to all this than what we now know, Evy. While I’m in Capetown I shall find out the entire story from Sir Julien.”
She turned to face him. He would do that … for her?
“I was not going to say anything yet. I still need to do some research.” His gaze grew warm, and she wondered whether it was sympathy that she saw there … or something more. “But you have had enough depressing news, and I’d like to leave you with something on a more hopeful note.” He took her elbow and walked her across the gr
ass toward the pond.
“There is something about this tale of your mother betraying my Uncle Henry that has troubled me since Grace told me who your real mother was. And that is the death of Henry.”
“Yes, Henry … What about his death?”
“Think, Evy. If neither Katie nor Henry had the diamond, then why would someone follow him here to England—someone who murdered him? It suggests to me that someone followed him here for another reason. The map, most likely I always thought that. And if he was murdered, that implies that he knew something that placed him in danger.”
She began to understand, and her heart quickened. “He may have found out who had the Black Diamond?”
“Quite possibly.”
“Perhaps the man who murdered him?”
His nod was quick. “Yes. Henry may have confronted whoever it was and threatened to unmask him.”
“But that would imply the person was living in Rookswood!”
“Not necessarily. Someone may have followed him to Rookswood. I think,” he said firmly, “that Heyden knows more than he is telling me.”
“I am quite likely a relative of his, you know.” Evy still could not believe that. “He had planned to meet me in London long ago and tell me more about my mother.”
“Yes, I know. He came to me and told me. I asked him not to say anything to you about Katie. I wanted more information first, and I did not want you hurt. I had no idea your aunt would confess before her death. But now that she has told you—yes, Heyden is your cousin. He has returned to South Africa—with a few thousand pounds in his bank account.”
“Oh, Rogan! You gave him money to go away?” She stared at him, not sure if she should be angry or pleased.
“It is over and done. What pleases me is that you are not too unhappy to know you are the daughter of Katie van Buren.”
She gazed out across the pond. “I don’t know how I feel about all this yet. I am still dazed. But Rogan, how would someone from Capetown get inside Rookswood to confront Master Henry without some of you remembering him?”
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