Today's Embrace (51 page)

Rogan mounted and was going to ride over to Retford. He passed Parnell on his way and leaned from the saddle.

“What are your plans, Parnell?”

He looked grumpy. “I'm trying to talk sense into Darinda. I want her to come back to Bulawayo with me. Is that woman wild or not? She insists on going to hunt for Lobengula's cave.” He shook his head, his chestnut hair ruffling in the breeze. “Why can't she be content like Alice and raise children, sew, and things like that?”

Rogan smirked. “You know what I think about it, Parnell. You should forget her. Can't you see she's fallen for Retford?”

Parnell looked over at her and the captain. They were riding side by side. “She might have other reasons for playing her hand for Retford.”

Rogan wondered what he meant, but whatever it was, it sounded like something he didn't like. Retford was a gentleman. If Darinda was with him for some ulterior motive, Rogan had a notion to derail her.

“What do you know, Parnell?” he asked evenly.

Parnell met his gaze thoughtfully. For a moment Rogan didn't think he would answer. Then he surprised him.

“Julien thinks Retford is a Boer spy,” Parnell said quietly. “He's had Darinda trying to find out who it is in the Company that has contact with Kruger.”

So Julien had talked her into another messy arrangement. “What's she getting out of it?”

“What do you think? Anthony's vacant position.”

Rogan was angry.

“Don't tell her I told you,” Parnell said.

“What are you going to do now?” Rogan asked.

“I wouldn't set foot in those cursed Matopos for all the diamonds sprinkled over Lobengula's bones.”

Rogan smiled. “Good. Go to the mission station and stay out of trouble, will you? And do me a favor?”

Parnell looked surprised that he would ask him for something. He looked almost eager to please him.

“Watch over Evy while I'm away,” Rogan said roughly. “And, should anything go wrong and Heyden happen to be waiting with a bullet around some rock, see that she and my child are taken care of. I'd like her to return to Rookswood, or at least to Capetown.”

Parnell scowled. “What ruddy thing is this? Of course nothing is going to happen to you. Be careful,” he said. “And watch Julien. He's a serpent, that one.”

“That's two warnings I've heard about the serpent Julien Bley.”

“Then I'll add something else.” Parnell's hazel eyes were wary. “Julien killed Anthony. I'm almost sure of it.”

They looked at each other soberly, then without another word, Parnell walked to get his horse.

Rogan sat there a moment, digesting his brother's shocking words. Then he rode and caught up with Captain Retford and Darinda.

“Did you find Henry's gold deposit?” she asked almost carelessly.

“Yes. Do you mind if I talk alone with the captain?”

She raised her dark brows, and glancing toward Retford, she flipped the reins and rode ahead.

Rogan fell in beside Retford. “Slow down a minute, will you? We need to talk.”

Retford smiled, but there was a tension and a wariness in his eyes. What would Retford think about Julien being Anthony's murderer? Rogan intended to find out.

Rogan settled his hat and looked directly at Captain Retford. “What are your conclusions about Anthony's death? Was he killed by one of us, or an irate African tribesman?”

Captain Retford appeared taken off guard by the blunt approach, but he recovered.

“You want it straight? All right. Sir Julien Bley.”

Rogan looked at him intensely. “Any evidence, or is this a guess because you don't like him?”

“I don't care much for him, you're right. I wouldn't trust him in a tight spot. Nor do I approve of the way he's raised his granddaughter. He's taught Miss Bley to scratch her way to the top. Get what you want in any way you can. But she is learning, I think. Learning it doesn't always work. And when it does, it doesn't bring satisfaction.”

“Is that why you told Darinda to keep quiet about meeting Anthony on the path that afternoon?”

Retford's head turned sharply. His blue eyes searched Rogan's face.

“Darinda had a rough disagreement with Anthony about her place in the diamond business, didn't she?” Rogan continued mildly.

Retford showed no unease. “I did advise her to keep silent. I don't trust Harry Whipple. He's no policeman. He's a thug.”

Rogan agreed. “Why not Harry, then? On orders from Sir Julien?”

“Is that what you think?”

Rogan was silent a moment. “Maybe. Why not Darinda? She's got
nerves like an impi, is strong enough, the least likely to be suspected, and has the most to gain.”

Captain Retford appeared to remain calm. He rubbed his chin. “First, I don't think she could do it. And secondly, if she had, she would never have wanted to tell me that she'd argued with Anthony just before he was killed.”

Rogan gave a half smile. Retford had looked at the situation honestly.

“I checked Lord Brewster's injury carefully. The women, I think, are out of the game. His body was also dragged to the tree. He was too heavy for her to do that.”

“A man would have carried him to the tree.”

“You would. I would. We're strong enough,” Retford said. “But there are men among us who wouldn't have had the strength to carry him. Lord Brewster was a large man. Whipple, for instance. He couldn't have carried him.”

“So Whipple might have done it, then, and dragged the body to the tree. But why drag the body to the tree? Why not leave it where it was? I've been thinking about that tree,” Rogan said thoughtfully. “Darinda's idea about the wait-a-bit—”

“So she told you?” Retford looked curious.

“No. Peter mentioned it. She brought it up to him. I think she could be right. The tree is symbolic. Add that to the spellcasting rot done in Julien's office the same night, and you come up with a man who either believes in African symbols and spellcasting or wanted to make it look like that. No one else even considered the symbol of the tree. So that wasn't much of a message to most of us. But it must have been to whoever did it.”

Captain Retford looked at him intently. Again he rubbed his chin. Rogan waited for his insight. Retford knew a good deal about tribal customs and superstitions.

“That makes more sense than anything I'd thought of so far … Then it just may be that it was neither Sir Julien nor Harry Whipple. That complicates things, Rogan. Don't you think so?”

“No. There's one man who hates Julien enough to try to terrorize him with the notion a nganga put a curse on him, who knows this land and the Ndebele customs well enough to try to blame it on an irate impi or induna, and that's Heyden van Buren.”

“But no one's seen Heyden. I talked to Dr. Jakob first thing after Lord Brewster's death. He hasn't seen him either.”

“Derwent saw him,” Rogan said coldly, thinking about the rifle shots.

“Those rifle shots you mentioned today?”

“And Derwent says someone was with him. Someone who looked like Heyden. Although Derwent didn't say so, I think he meant the second man looked Dutch. Have you seen Detlev around?”

“Detlev?” Retford looked shocked. “Detlev wouldn't—”

“Sure of that? He's a Boer. What do you know about his loyalties to the Company at Bulawayo? For that matter, to England?”

Retford frowned. “I don't, actually. None of us do. He was a farmer, he and his wife Marjit, but they walked away from it. Your sister, Mrs. Bartley, and Peter hired her to help out. Detlev became an aide.” He frowned again. “He's back at Bulawayo now.”

“Maybe he's there. We've no way of knowing.”

“You could be right about Detlev. Though he appears to be a nice chap, I've noticed he's made comments about the Transvaal once or twice that put Kruger in the right. I let it go. A slip of the tongue, I thought. After all, he's bound to have strong feelings about his ancestry. The man is of Boer descent.”

“He could be working with Heyden.”

Retford nodded slowly. “The more I think this over, the more concerned I'm becoming. It could very well be Heyden and Detlev.”

“Either of them could have killed Anthony for the same reason Julien is suspected.”

“The letter from Capetown?”

“The letter. It incriminated Julien and Doc Jameson for planning a Johannesburg foray to support the Uitlanders' uprising against Kruger. Heyden, too, wanted that letter.”

Retford scowled doubtfully.

“Think about it,” Rogan pursued. “If Heyden had the letter, he could threaten to go with it to newspapers in London. Pacifism runs deep in London these days. The British people don't see a need for involvement in Africa. They won't want to send sons and husbands off to war to fight the Boers. We think colonization of Africa is important for the British Empire, but ask the English shopkeeper, the flower girl on the corner, or the fisherman what he thinks. They don't want war with the Transvaal. Heyden could've stopped Jameson from going through with his plans if he'd been able to get that letter from Anthony.”

“Yes … you're quite right, Chantry. I didn't see it that way before, but it could be, except for one thing.” He looked at Rogan. “Sir Julien had the letter in his possession. He was burning it when Mrs. Bartley entered his office.”

“That,” Rogan admitted, “sends my little scenario into a spin. How did he get it from Heyden or from Detlev?”

Retford shook his head. They lapsed into thoughtful silence. Then Rogan sighed. He might as well get it over with.

“There's something I need to warn you about, but you're not going to appreciate it.”

“I'm listening.”

“You said Harry Whipple can be bought. Julien has gone through life buying people. He's using his granddaughter now. She's spying for him. She's trying to find out if you're a Boer spy, and who it is in the Company you're working for.”

“I'm aware. Peter told me. He also said I could trust you, though I already knew that. I'm no spy, Chantry. I'm a soldier, nothing more. Sir Julien has it wrong. How he came to single me out is a mystery. There's nothing in my record that suggests I've ever worked as a spy.”

“Maybe Detlev is our Boer spy.”

“Possible. It would fit.”

And it would fit Rogan's belief that he and Heyden were working hand in hand.

A few days later Rogan's and Julien's small expedition was camped below the southern end of the Matopos Hills when the sun broke through the dawn, turning the rock into a dusky pink glow.

“If I was superstitious, I'd say the Matopos look menacing,” Harry Whipple commented over his tin mug of morning coffee.

He looked grumpy and tense, Rogan thought. He had seen him with Julien last night, when they'd walked away from the camp and stood talking. Julien's voice had risen in anger. Rogan had tried to catch what was being said, but Julien had then walked away from Harry in an angry mood.

“Does Julien have any idea where Lobengula's buried?” Rogan inquired. “We could spend months searching if he hasn't a clue.”

Derwent, who was cooking their breakfast of mealies over the campfire, added, “Must be more caves than anyone's ever counted up there.”

Harry Whipple grinned. “You don't need to worry. Julien has his collection of secrets. He'll surprise us all this morning.” He gulped his coffee and looked around the bush country, then toward the Matopos.

Rogan always suspected that Julien knew more about that burial cave than he'd explained.

What did Harry have on his mind as he looked toward the foothills that way?

Darinda had come up so silently no one noticed her until her voice startled them. “Grandfather does
not
know where the burial cave is located, but he knows someone who will show him. That's where he went”—she gestured to the lower rocks and boulders—“to bring the guide.”