Tomorrow's Treasure (17 page)

“Do not carry on so, Mrs. Croft. Do I look upset? It is nothing.”

Evy looked at Rogan, surprised at how weary he sounded.

Mrs. Croft beamed at him. “So generous of you, Master Rogan. Don't you want to thank the squire's son, Evy?”

Evy did
not
want to thank the squire's son. She felt her face turning red. Just then Buster barked loudly and rolled over. Rogan picked up a stone and tossed it. “Go get it, Buster.” He unleashed him, and the dog raced to retrieve the stone.

Evy stared at the boy in front of her. How convenient Buster's fetching trick was, coming as it did just in time to save her from embarrassment. Could Rogan actually have tried to help her out of an awkward moment?

Mrs. Croft was smiling at Rogan. “Would you like a cake?” She opened the basket and lowered it between him and Evy. Rogan inclined his head slightly, took the cake, then without another glance Evy's way, he walked off in the direction of the cemetery from whence he had first emerged so unexpectedly.

Evy felt a pang of regret as he left. Perhaps she should have been nicer to him. After all, he had recently lost his mother. He had not behaved sadly though, not like Arcilla, who had been confined to bed over the loss.

Mrs. Croft carried on about Mr. Croft eating his lunch. There was cheese and bread, she told him, and a jar of tea. He climbed up out of the trench and sat on a stump to eat, and Mrs. Croft steered Evy away toward the rectory. “You mustn't keep the vicar and his wife waiting for their lunch. Oh! Your skirt has grass stains, and your hands are smudged. Now Missus Grace will surely be upset. Run and decent yourself, Evy, while I get back to ladle the soup.”

When Evy was seated at the polished round dining table, Uncle Edmund gave thanks for the food. Aunt Grace passed the bread plate while Mrs. Croft brought in the soup. Evy guessed from his contented face that Uncle Edmund was in a mellow mood, and even Aunt Grace seemed less worried than she had when Lady Camilla had first come calling. It seemed a safe time to ask questions.

“Where is Kimberly, Uncle Edmund? Isn't that where diamonds were first found in South Africa? It was not on the map I saw in your study.”

“You and your curiosity, my girl. Yes, Kimberly is in South Africa, but that map is a very old one. It was not called Kimberly back then. The first diamond was not found there until 1867. At that time it was called the diamond diggings at Colesberg Kopje. It was renamed Kimberly after the colonial secretary who accepted the area into Her Majesty's dominions. After the big diamond was found on the river's bank, Kimberly grew by leaps and bounds. Miners came from all over the world to search for diamonds.”

“Did my parents ever visit Kimberly?”

She noticed that her aunt watched her carefully. Did her continued interest disturb Aunt Grace … and if so, why?

“Junia never mentioned going there. Why do you ask, Evy?”

She laughed. “Would it not be a wonder if they had found a diamond of their own? I would be their heir, and we would never need to worry about paying bills again.”

Aunt Grace spilled water from the glass she held, and Uncle Edmund reached quickly with his napkin and blotted his wife's sleeve.

“Oh dear,” Aunt Grace breathed.

“No harm done, my dear,” came Uncle Edmunds soothing tone.

Evy pressed on. “The squire's son isn't so interested in diamonds. He hopes to look for gold in South Africa when he grows up.”

Uncle Edmund raised his brows. “You have been talking with Master Rogan, have you?”

“Only a little. It was quite by accident. He came to the cemetery with his dog and overheard Mr. Croft telling me about Master Henry Chantry. Mr. Croft thinks he may have been murdered.”

Aunt Grace stiffened, a look of consternation on her face. Evy's uncle was more calm. His tufted white brows shot even higher. “Does he, now! And I suppose he told you Master Henry was murdered for diamonds?”

“He was not certain, just thought he was probably murdered. He did not say why, or who may have done it.”

“Well,
that's
a blessing,” he said wryly, exchanging looks with Grace. “There is absolutely no proof Henry was murdered.”

“Then he killed himself?”

“Evy!” Aunt Grace's sharp tone startled her. “Spreading tales is an evil in which you must not indulge.”

“But I did not spread them, Aunt.”

“Listening can be just as bad. Words can hurt. Loose tongues can destroy people.”

“Yes, and I would never mention this to Meg, Emily, or Alice. They would tell their brothers and it would soon be all over the village.”

“I fear it already is.” Uncle Edmund sighed. “That tale about Master Henry has been loitering in Grimston Way for many years now. I'm afraid there is not much we can do about it. The Chantrys are deemed mysterious at times by people, and all sorts of tales can spring up about them and grow like weeds.”

“He said that Master Henry's ghost walks in the cemetery on Allhallows.”

“Very unwise of him. Nonsense.”

“That is what I told him, but then Rogan came along and said that his uncle wasn't even buried in the cemetery, so how could he haunt it? Then he told us his uncle Henry was buried in the family crypt at Rookswood.” She considered telling them how Rogan offered the challenge to bring her there to see the crypt, but held back. Aunt Grace especially would tell her she could not go, and then she could not prove Rogan wrong about squealing like Arcilla.

“Master Rogan said that Henry's ghost haunts the third floor of Rookswood.”

Grace tossed her napkin down on the table, frowning. “Edmund, you simply
must
do something about allowing this sort of chatter. It's unhealthy.”

He reached over and laid his hand over hers. “I might as well try and bottle the north wind as end loose talk in the village. Do not fret so,” came his soothing tone. “She will hear these tales regardless of our attempt to stop them.” He looked across the table at Evy. “I trust you will be wise enough to sort the wheat from the chaff when it comes to truth and foolish chatter.”

He trusted her, and Evy felt warm seep through her at the thought. But her aunt's reaction troubled her as much as her uncle's pleased her. Evy disliked worrying Aunt Grace. Lately, she fretted at the drop of a hat. What was worrying her so?

“I suppose you are right,” Aunt Grace said uneasily, “but …”

“Aunt, I did not believe what they said about ghosts. How could I? It is silly. I merely thought it was strange about Master Henry. Do you remember him, Uncle?”

“Not well. He spent a good portion of his time in Capetown, as I recall. As to whether he shot himself, I cannot say. There was much confusion at the time.” He glanced at Grace, as though to assure her all was well before he went on. “Henry had unwisely permitted himself to become entangled in some diamond scandal or other.”

Evy saw her aunts mouth tighten, and she hastened in another
direction. “Master Rogan insists that when he grows up he is going to find a gold mine.”

“He does, does he? Ambitious, like all the Chantrys.” Uncle Edmund smiled. He took out his vest watch and glanced at the time. “I will be calling on Withers today, my dear,” he said to Aunt Grace. “Would you care to come along?”

“I would, except the wind is so chilly. Looks like rain again too. I had better stay and work on Evy's dress. Saturday draws near, when she will visit Rookswood.”

He pushed his chair back and stood. Aunt Grace went for his hat and gloves.

Evy came up, placing her arms around her uncle's pudgy middle. “Is it wrong to be ambitious the way Master Rogan is?”

He looked down at her with the kindly smile she loved and patted her back. “Not unless you allow your ambition to rule your heart. God must always have all your heart.”

Evy wondered if Rogan would allow his ambition to rule him. “Is there lots of gold in South Africa?”

“I daresay there is a great deal. If you can find it.”

“I suppose if you
could
find it, you would be very rich.”

“Very rich indeed. And very prone toward trouble. Too much love for gold and diamonds usually brings out the worst in people. Some hoard diamonds and gold because it brings them power. Others put great trust in riches and never learn that possessions cannot give meaning to life. Only a relationship with Christ brings true security and satisfaction.”

“Like the rich fool.”

His smile deepened. “Like the rich fool, indeed. And we are wise to use Christ's parables to keep us from greed.”

“I wonder if Master Henry was murdered for his diamonds and gold?”

“Evy!”

She turned to find Aunt Grace entering the room with Uncle
Edmund's hat and gloves. “You are becoming altogether too involved in this sort of chatter.”

Quick remorse swept her. She did not want to distress her aunt. “Yes, I am sorry.” With that, she hurried to gather the soup bowls into the kitchen.

When she entered the kitchen, she thought Mrs. Croft might have overheard, or rather had
listened
, for the woman stood by the door, her fingers clutching and unclutching her apron. Evy found her response curious. Why should Mrs. Croft be fidgety?

As Evy stacked the dishes, she began thinking of Saturday and her visit to Arcilla at Rookswood. Her excitement stirred to new life. She hoped it would be a clear and sunny afternoon. It would be such a shame to get her new dress rained on. Sure enough, before the dishes were even dried and put away, it begin to rain. Evy remembered the sexton and wondered if he had finished digging the trench before it became a slippery bed of mud. Mrs. Croft must have been worrying about her husband too, for she went to the window several times and scowled.

Thinking of a grave brought her mind right back to Master Henry. If he had not shot himself, then someone had to have murdered him. But why would anyone wish to murder Master Henry … if not for the Black Diamond?

The wind moaned throughout the rainy afternoon and evening. Though Aunt Grace had sent Evy up to her bedroom over two hours ago, she could not sleep, and so knelt to pray on the newly laundered rag rug beside her bed. She could hear her aunt downstairs in the rectory hall and knew how worried she was. When Uncle Edmund had not returned by supper time, Mrs. Croft told a few of the village men. They had ridden out toward Mr. Wither's farm to see if the vicar's jingle was caught in a bog. They had been gone longer than Aunt Grace thought necessary, and her concern had now turned to gravity.

Evy was still dressed, except for her stockinged feet. Her hands were cold, her stomach had butterflies, and her heart thumped with irregular little beats. She looked up from her prayer book toward the small window, shielded by eyelet curtains. The rain pelted against the leaded pane. A sweeping flash of lightning over Grimston Woods was followed by deep thunder.

“Like the death angel passing over Egypt,” she murmured. Above the needling rain, there followed the sound of thudding horse hoofs in the rectory yard below. The jingle and Uncle Edmund!

She scrambled to her feet and rushed to the window, pushing aside the curtain. Even on sunny days the leaded panes kept the rooms dim, and now, with the darkness and rain, it was nearly impossible to see anything. She wiped the moisture from the pane and tried to peer into the darkness below, but she could not see who was hurrying across the muddy yard toward the door. Even up here in her small room she heard
the loud rapping. Her heart sank like a stone. It could not be Uncle Edmund.

It was after eight o'clock, and Evy could not imagine a parishioner calling upon Aunt Grace now for any reason except unhappy news. With growing apprehension, Evy let the curtain fall into place and turned to look toward the open bedroom door.

She hurried into the narrow hall and leaned over the rail.

Aunt Grace stood below, Mrs. Croft beside her. Coming in through the front were the curate, Mr. Brown, and Derwent. Curate Brown had taken hold of Aunt Grace's shoulders, and his wet face was set with sadness. Evy saw Aunt Grace stiffen, then her head dropped and her body shook.

“Something has happened to Uncle?” Evy couldn't hold back the cry. She held tightly to the rail, and Derwent looked up at her. His wet face looked drawn and white, and his russet hair was plastered to his cheeks. He tugged at his father's arm and pointed toward Evy, and Mr. Brown looked up. The curate's expression confirmed her fears. He said something to Mrs. Croft, who left the others and moved up the stairs toward Evy.

Evy could not move. Her tearful eyes searched Mrs. Croft's pitying gaze.

“Oh, Evy, my poor lamb,” she said gently. “I'm afraid the good vicar has met with a terrible accident. It was the rain and wind, no less. His horse must have bolted from the lightning. Dear Vicar has been taken to heaven.”