Tomorrow's Treasure (18 page)

Evy felt the room start to spin, and the last thing she heard was Mrs. Croft's alarmed cry as she plunged into darkness.

The rains continued on and off, and the perpetual dampness penetrated the old stone rectory. How strange that Lady Honoria would die in October and Uncle Edmund would die just a few weeks later.

Evy stared out the window at the rain. Maybe there really was some
sort of curse connected with Master Henry and Rookswood. She could almost believe it if she did not know for sure that Christ was in control of life and death.

The names of the rectors for the past century were inscribed on a tarnished bronze plaque on the stone wall in the front hall, and now Uncle Edmund's name was to be there as well, freshly inscribed by the village engraver.

The Saturday appointment that Evy was to have had with Arcilla at Rookswood was postponed until after Christmas. Evy was confined to the rectory in the traditional state of mourning alongside Aunt Grace.

Though the kindly parishioners rallied to their needs and took turns bringing food, it was evident that in due time Aunt Grace would need to seek employment for the many years that loomed ahead. After all, she was still a relatively young woman.

“Times are changing, Evy,” Aunt Grace told her two weeks later. “It's highly probable that you, too, will grow up with the need to seek employment. If that happens you will be aided by a good education. Even if you marry Derwent Brown, life is uncertain. We can depend upon the Lord to care for us, though He surely expects us to use our talents wisely. Consider how He gave the ant the instinct to prepare for winter. If we do nothing, and merely say we are depending upon our heavenly Father to provide, we are close to presumption.”

Evy could see how grave and serious her aunt had become, and this affected her as well. After tasting pain and loss, Evy had made a terrible discovery: Life was dangerous.

The parishioners were helping with the many duties that were temporarily in the hands of the curate. No one had much doubt Mr. Brown would become the new vicar of St. Graves. He was well thought of by both the villagers and the bishop, and he was making quiet plans to move into the rectory house with Derwent, doing his best to do so without offense to the vicar's sorrowing widow.

Evy had no idea how this delicate situation would be worked out. It was obvious that once a new vicar was appointed, she and Aunt Grace would have to leave the rectory and find another place to live. The
uncertainty was taking its toll on Aunt Grace, coming so soon after Uncle Edmund's death, and Evy felt great sympathy and concern. Life had suddenly become more difficult. The hard places had not been filed smooth. Tears were a portion of her cup. She wished she were older so that she could help bring in financial support. There was also some talk that Dr. Tisdale might arrange for Aunt Grace to live in a cottage on his farm for a monthly pittance, but Evy hoped that would not happen. Alice Tisdale was patronizing enough. She was going about whispering to the other girls that her father would be taking on the care of the vicar's widow and niece, even going so far as to imply that they would be receiving charity. Alice had sounded positively smug when she revealed she might need to go through her frocks to donate garments to Evy so she could continue to attend school. “Perfectly good frocks, too—ones that I want to keep. But Mum says I must be charitable to the poor and deprived.”

It took all of Evy's control to not walk up and confront Alice with her silly lies. It wasn't so dreadful for her to say these things to Meg and Emily because they knew what poverty was and they knew better. But Alice was also spreading the tale among the boys. It was horribly embarrassing! Evy shuddered to think just how condescending Alice's manner would become if she and Aunt Grace did end up living in the old cottage on the Tisdale farm.
Oh, spare me! I will wear a potato sack before I ever wear a discarded frock from Alice Tisdale!

Despite all this, as the days inched by, Evy was able to continue her piano lessons twice a week under Mrs. Tisdale, who had studied music when she was young, and whose contribution to the community was noted by the villagers.

“I'm in complete agreement with Mrs. Tisdale. Music is nourishing to the spirit,” Aunt Grace said. “I see no reason why your uncle's death should deprive you of your piano lessons. Especially when you enjoy them so much.”

There were four students: Evy, Meg, Emily, and of course, Alice. Although the other students paid, Evy was now allowed to attend at no charge since she had been the niece of the dear departed vicar.

Evy knew that Alice did not particularly like her. Alice blamed Evy for losing the chance to go up to Rookswood several afternoons each week to be companion to Arcilla. After all, Alice never ceased to remind Evy,
she
was the doctor's daughter. Though Evy thought her pallid and sullen, she considered herself quite pretty. Besides which, it was no secret that Alice dared to imagine herself romantically involved with Rogan Chantry. Emily and Meg would giggle about the girls vanity.

“As if he'd ever look at her. He'll have someone special, like Lady Bancroft's daughter, Patricia. Have you seen Miss Patricia?” Meg asked Evy in a whisper.

Evy admitted she had not, nor did she wish to see another pretty girl romping about in fancy clothes and carrying on something awful in front of Rogan.

“She's very rich. She would be, of course; her parents are of the nobility, living in London. They even met Her Majesty at court. Patricia is thirteen now and wears gowns made in Paris. Her hair is auburn and she has what Tom calls forget-me-not blue eyes.”

“Rogan is only a boy.” Evy gave a sniff. “He is too young to marry.”

“They make plans early for marriage among the nobility.” Meg nodded, eyes wide and sober. “They even have someone chosen for Arcilla already.”

“Oh, do not say so,” Evy groaned.

“Indeed, so. Patricia's brother, Charles Bancroft.”

“Pity the young man,” Emily said.

“How do you know all this? About the Bancroft children I mean?” Evy had heard nothing of the sort from Mrs. Croft.

Meg shrugged. “Because Mum now works in the kitchen at Rookswood.”

That appeared to explain everything from Meg's viewpoint.

Emily sighed. “If only I knew I was going to get a handsome husband, I'd be happy.”

“Handsome! I should be happy if I get a husband at all,” Meg said. “At least you're the blacksmith's daughter. Pa is a groom at the Rookswood stables.”

“You'll marry Tom, Emily's brother.” Evy patted her friend's hand.

“And you'll marry Derwent,” Meg told Evy. “You're lucky. He's so handsome.”

Evy's brows lifted. Derwent? Handsome?

Alice had finished her piano lesson and walked up. “You three are always whispering,” she said crossly. “It's quite rude you know.”

“So it is,” Evy agreed, and stood, shaking out her skirts. It was time to start back to the rectory.

“We were talking about the squire's son.” Meg's malicious tone made it clear she did not like Alice's superior ways of lecturing them. “Rogan's going to marry Miss Patricia Bancroft.
She's
rich and beautiful.”

Alice's lips tightened. “Gossip … probably only from the kitchen of Rookswood. He'll marry whom he wishes to marry. He's very independent.” She smoothed her strawberry blond hair with the palm of her hand. She looked at her fingernails with a secretive smile. “He talks to
me
all the time.”

“Ta,
ta
,” Meg said, mimicking her lofty voice.

Alice fixed Evy with a cool stare. “It is quite unkind of you to have taken my place as Miss Arcilla's best friend.”

“I have not been up to Rookswood yet. Really, Alice, you're being very unfair. Arcilla makes her own decisions as to whom she befriends. I had nothing at all to do with her choice.”

Alice shrugged. “The doctor's daughter and the vicar's niece could be on the same social stratum, I suppose. But—”

“Always putting on airs.” Emily shook her head. “You're really no better than the rest of us, Alice.”

“That's not what my mum tells me. But never mind, both of you. Because now that the vicar has—well, now that he's not here any longer, Mum says Lady Camilla will ask me to return because I play the piano so well.”

It was true that Alice was very good at the piano, and Evy longed to become as proficient. Alice was blessed to have Mrs. Tisdale for her mother, but Evy knew better about Alice being asked to return to Rookswood.

Emily looked at Evy and rolled her eyes, and Evy stifled a giggle. It vanished quickly enough, though, when Evy thought again about what she and Aunt Grace were to do.

Whatever was to be decided about the future, there was no question that they would need to find a new home soon.

Uncle Edmund had left Grace a small benefice, but Evy had learned die money would run out in the years ahead. The bishop in London had taken a sympathetic interest in their plight and written a letter to Grace, in which he told her that he would try to arrange something suitable for their sustenance. Grace wrote back that she preferred to find work in a household, perhaps in London.

Taking work in London loomed large in her aunt's thinking these days, when, on the wintry heels of change, the expected announcement arrived that the bishop had indeed awarded the St. Graves Parish to its curate, Mr. Brown. He had been faithful to Uncle Edmund, and, as Aunt Grace told her, it was fitting that he should become the new vicar.

“Your uncle would be pleased if he knew the position went to Mr. Brown. It will be good for Derwent, too, and ultimately for your future as well, Evy.”

Evy understood what she meant. She was to marry Derwent.

Mr. Brown immediately offered to let them continue to live at the rectory for as long as they wished, but both he and Grace recognized the arrangement would not be wise. Her aunt declined. As she told Evy, Mr. Brown had lost his wife many years ago, after Derwent's birth, and it did not bode well for a widowed woman to be living in the same house with a widower.

“Besides, if we are to make a match between you and Derwent, we cannot have the two of you growing up in such close confines. You would soon begin looking upon one another as brother and sister.”

Evy felt that way now. She had known Derwent all her life. The older she grew, the more difficult it became to imagine herself married to him. Her aunt assured her she would feel differently once she reached her teen years.

“Everything changes when you begin growing up. You will think Derwent handsome and wise.”

Evy studied the quiet boy when they gathered for Sunday services the next day and wondered if such a miracle could happen. He was far from handsome, not that his appearance was of primary concern. A heart for God could supplant a handsome body. She thought this because her uncle had told her so. Evy hoped she would be wise enough one day to know this for herself.

Unfortunately, Derwent was not especially bright either, and that worried Evy. Although he was the son of the curate and so was expected to be interested in matters pertaining to the parish church, Derwent took more interest in hunting possum and rabbits and dreamed about searching for diamonds and gold in South Africa. He was quite good-natured, rather gullible about most things, and continued to look on Rogan Chantry with hero worship even though Rogan was a bit younger than he.

Perhaps Derwent would change?

Evy counted the years until she would turn fourteen, clearly expecting that she would wake up on that morning and find herself a new person, and Derwent—the fairy tale prince.

“I shall be taking the train into London to look for work.”

Aunt Grace's words snatched Evy from her thoughts.

“Mrs. Croft has volunteered to look after you for the time I am away. I promise to return before Christmas.”

Evy pondered this. “What kind of work will you seek?”

“Well, I was a governess before I married Edmund, so I can fall back on that. The difficulty will be in finding a family willing to take us both. We will make this a matter of prayer, Evy.” Grace put her arms around her. “You are all I have left. It would not be good for either of us to be separated at this time.”

Evy agreed and choked back her tears. What if she needed to live in an orphanage for the next five years? She asked the question that was uppermost in her mind, the one that was usually glossed over with
indifference. “Aunt Grace, would not my father have had relatives? The Varleys, I mean? Someone we could turn to for help?”

Evy felt the familiar barrier slip between them. She guessed her aunt's response from the veiled look that came over her tired face.

“No, dear. I believe he had an older brother somewhere in the Cape, but we've never heard from him. He was quite a bit older than your father, so he may have departed this world by now. I believe he was a heavy drinker and a gambler.”