Tomorrow's Treasure (43 page)

The weeks went by slowly because Evy was concerned about her aunt. Also, she could not quite stop thinking about Rogan—and the memory of that moment in his arms would return at some of the most inconvenient times, such as during practice, when her fingers would miss a key and she would instantly glance up to see Madame Ardelle's sharp black eyes.

In the second year there was a good deal more freedom for the students. Sometimes in the afternoons and often on Saturdays the students would hire carriages and go to Regents Park, or take boat rides on the Thames and afterward have tea in Piccadilly. Evy enjoyed choosing a bakery treat and taking it out to one of the sidewalk tables, joined by her two roommates, Frances and Victoria.

Life was molded around a pleasant routine. Besides her music, there were language classes, dancing, and twice-a-week classes on deportment and conversation. Evy took them all, as though she knew her days for such opportunities were short. But piano was a grueling five hours a day, overseen by the watchful madame. Sundays, of course, were worship days. A good many of the students did not attend, but Evy would find her way to St. Paul's each Sunday morning where she hung on words the minister gave from the pulpit of the great cathedral.

When Frances told her about Grand Tabernacle, she began attending and was awed and inspired by the preaching of the great Reverend Charles Spurgeon. After hearing him she began taking a greater interest in the Scriptures. Evy had been raised to believe in Jesus and His redemptive work, but through Spurgeon's eloquent exposition, Christ became more precious and personal to Evy's heart. She read the Bible before bedtime now, whereas before it was mostly a book for Sunday at the rectory. Her prayer life also became less dependent on the
Book of
Common Prayer
, and hymns took on new meaning. She read about Wesley, Isaac Watts, and Newton, and gained a new appreciation for Bach and Handel as she recognized that their inspiration came from their Christian faith.

The month of November rolled around, and letters arrived from Aunt Grace explaining that Alice would not be returning to music school.

She may take her final two years in France, with this year as a sabbatical. She has been such a help at the rectory, taking over many of the duties you performed so well. I must say I'm surprised. Alice never appeared committed to the Lord until this year. Derwent is depending on her help a little too much, I fear. At any rate, we are all so grateful Alice can help since neither I nor Mrs. Tisdale is quite able to do all that we once enjoyed.

Derwent and Alice?

Derwent also wrote telling Evy of his father's regression and of how difficult things were for him.
I do my best, but I have always said that I am not as gifted as my father. Miss Alice thinks I should speak of my concerns to Sir Lyle and Lady Elosia.

Evy looked up from the letter. What was Alice doing advising Derwent like this? He seemed quite satisfied to allow it. What was going on back in Grimston Way?

She read on …

We all know what a great influence Sir Lyle and Lady Elosia have over the rectory and what goes on here. Did I write you about the good man and his wife who may take my father's place as vicar when the hour comes? I daresay, everyone likes him. He was here for a week last month to meet the villagers. The bishop is likely to appoint him. He and his wife will be coming in the spring, around Easter, to hold services and get to know the parishioners better. There is some assurance that I may become the new curate
…

Evy heard from Arcilla now and then. Her Montague finishing school was nearby, so she sent Evy secret messages through one of the staff girls so they could meet at Regents Park. A message came on Friday afternoon, delivered by one of the maids who worked at the prestigious school:
Meet me at Regents Park at noon on Saturday. There is news to tell you.

More than likely there was also someone Arcilla wished to meet.
Despite curtailed freedoms, the young woman had managed to rendezvous with several men from the university, all while claiming that her heart belonged steadfastly to Charles Bancroft.

Evy went to the park and waited for Arcilla by the fountain. It was a sunny Saturday, and a good many Londoners were enjoying the day in spite of the chilly November weather. The lawn was well kept and filled with a scattering of colorful autumn leaves. An array of birds and pigeons were about the square and near the fountain. Evy wondered what kind of news Arcilla wished to tell her. Perhaps it was merely about her holiday plans. Arcilla usually anticipated gala affairs months in advance so she could have her father arrange for additions to her wardrobe. She told Evy that she did not wish to go home to Rookswood this year for Christmas, but preferred Heathfriar.

“Rookswood is too far,” she had said. “Guests must stay the weekend or at least the night, and this limits many from attending. It's Rogan who prefers Rookswood; he likes the country setting.”

“Well, with his dedication to riding, he would.”

She remembered Arcilla's mock horror. “Riding! The very thought spoils everything.”

Evy smiled at her extravagant friend. “You'd prefer dancing with a dozen attentive young men vying for your smile.”

Arcilla laughed, then sighed in mock ruefulness. “Ah, how well you know me, Evy.”

Evy was pulled from her musings by the sound of Arcilla's voice calling: “Evy, over here!”

She turned from the fountain and saw the parked carriage near the curbside. Arcilla was leaning out the cab window, beckoning her to come.

Now what?
Arcilla usually walked down from Montague. Evy hurried across the grass toward the cab.

“Quickly, inside!” Arcilla scooted over, and Evy climbed in, the cabby closing the door.

“The gem show,” Arcilla called to the cabby.

Evy looked at her as the carriage pulled away from the curb. “Gem show?”

“I'll explain in a few minutes. First, I've other news.”

Arcilla was a beautiful sight in her stylish frock, hat, and fur-collared coat. She appeared quite the sophisticated young woman on the doorstep of marriage. And yet there was an unusual tension in her voice, and she was absent the hand gestures that she normally used for emphasis. She learned early on that she looked charming with a hand going to her heart as she expressed her sincerity, or up to a stylish hat when flirting, or reaching forth in a gesture of pathos when she wanted one's help.

The fact that she'd abandoned her favorite mannerisms told Evy that she was genuinely upset.

“
Everything
has gone wrong!”

“Surely not everything.” Evy tried to smile at Arcilla's wail. “A few more months at Montague and you will graduate. That is something for you to be pleased about. No more schools, no more guardians—that should make you deliriously happy.”

“I am serious, Evy. I've heard distressing news from Rogan. He came over to the school last night to see me. We talked in the parlor.”

Evy's interest picked up.

“He showed me a letter he received from Parnell, who is in Capetown. Two pages, mind you. That should tell you how seriously Parnell takes his mission.”

Evy raised her brows. “What mission?”

Arcilla's large eyes shone with misery. “Sir Julien is going to convince my father that I should marry Peter Bartley! So dear traitorous brother Parnell wrote Rogan telling him all the reasons why he must convince me, and why I should go through with it! Parnell has met with Mr. Bartley. In fact, Rogan has warned me that the man is here in London. Rogan said he arrived from the Cape a week ago. I'm expected to be introduced to him before we leave London for Christmas holidays.”

Evy could see the worry in the other girl's eyes and dropped her teasing. “Parnell wants you to marry Peter Bartley? But why? I thought he and Rogan were both friends with Charles. They've certainly spent enough time together at Heathfriar these past few years.”

“Well, Rogan is Charles's friend. It is Sir Julien who wants my father to arrange marriage with Mr. Bartley. Parnell wrote Rogan explaining what was being planned.” Arcilla's mouth set in the stubborn line Evy knew all too well. “I won't do it, I tell you. I positively
don't
want to marry any man but Charles.”

Evy was not surprised by Arcilla's unhappy news. She remembered hearing Sir Lyle discussing Peter Bartley and how Julien believed Bartley was the right man for her. But what did shock her was the role her brothers were playing. Parnell had to know his sister would resist.

“Why would Parnell want you to marry Mr. Bartley?”

“Oh, you know Parnell. He is for anything Uncle Julien is touting.” She rested her chin in her hands, clearly despondent. “That's what he told Rogan in the letter too. It turns out that Mr. Bartley is related in some way to the Bleys, so I suppose he's in diamonds. Uncle Julien wrote Father that the marriage will bring a certain diamond mine under family control. So it is very important to him—and to the Chantrys. It is all quite involved, you see.”

Evy could not help but notice that this fact—that it was considered important to the family diamond interests—seemed to appeal to Arcilla's pride. Evy knew she had always adored being the center of anything important. Well, if such a thing could sway her, then did she really love Charles?

“Does Rogan agree that it is wise for you to marry Peter?”

“Rogan told me he favors Charles. They're such good friends. Of course, Patricia is Charles's sister, and that has something to do with it, I suppose, since Rogan will marry Patricia. He has not proposed to her yet, but the family expects him to, perhaps before he leaves for Capetown next year. Parnell is also being groomed to marry into Uncle Julien's family. Even though the girl—I forget her name—is too young now. She is fourteen, I think.”

She turned to Evy with wide, helpless eyes. “Oh, Evy, it is so dreadful. How lucky you are to be so inconsequential. No one wants to marry you—except Derwent.”

“Thank you, Arcilla.”

Arcilla batted at her arm. “Oh, you know what I mean. You are quite pretty, really. Except you are too prim. That frightens men away.”

It did not seem to frighten her scoundrel brother, Evy wanted to tell her. She wondered what Arcilla would say if she knew of the advances Rogan had been making toward her. But Evy preferred that no one else know about it.

“Rogan is not convinced about Mr. Bartley,” Arcilla was saying. “Parnell knows that Rogan favors Charles. That's why Parnell wrote him. You should see the letter. It was absurd. Rogan said it looked like a lawyer's treatise.”

“I do not see how you can thwart your family's purposes, Arcilla.”

“Not
everyone
in the family agrees, I tell you. Rogan is not convinced. He has yet to meet Mr. Bartley.”

“What did Rogan advise you to do? He would side with your family's wishes, would he not?” After all, there would be family wishes and plans for
his
marriage as well.

“He will meet with Mr. Bartley and make his own judgment, then speak with Father about it over Christmas holidays when we all return to Rookswood.”

“He would want a match that would be most sensible for you.”

“I suppose Parnell does too, but he seems greatly swayed by Sir Julien since he went to Capetown. Thank goodness for Aunt Elosia. At least she thinks a match with the Bancroft family would be favorable.”

“Then perhaps you have no cause to worry unduly.”

“I wish it were that simple. Mr. Bartley will also be coming to Rookswood to meet with my father during the holidays. Now I'll have to go home for the season instead of being with Charles at Heathfriar, as we planned. But I
won't
marry Mr. Bartley.”

Evy leaned back against the cushion. “You must not do anything rash.”

“You are the only true friend I have. You must help me. If you don't, I won't have anyone to turn to.”

“You have Rogan.”

“Yes, but he would not stand for my running off with Charles.”

Evy stiffened. Run off? Would Arcilla really do something so foolish? “I do not see what I can do to help you.” What would Charles do if Arcilla suggested running away and getting married? Such a thing would bring sure scandal, and Charles would lose the favor of his family. Evy could not see Charles Bancroft giving up his right to inherit Heathfriar.

“There is something you can do for me.” Arcilla was pleading now. “I'm to meet some friends at the museum at one o'clock for the diamond show. I want you to come with me.”

“Me? But why?”

Arcilla looked away, and little alarms began to sound in Evy's mind. What was the girl up to now?

“Oh, just because I feel so unsocial. I need you there for support.”

Evy laughed. “Since when do you need me to give you courage in a social gathering? Besides, I doubt my presence will be appreciated by your friends.”

“Well,
I
shall appreciate it. Oh, Evy, do not protest. It will all be rather boring, actually. Diamonds from all over the world … but one can't
wear
them, can one? All one can do is
look.
And the event is really a show honoring diamond cutters. I need your company.”

This was certainly not typical of Arcilla. Evy did not know what to think of her motive.

“Now, do not get that huffy look and say no before I explain. Because I need you to help me.”

“To do what?”

“I'm meeting someone—alone.” Arcilla waved off Evy's protest. “Oh, do not look at me that way. It is perfectly harmless.”

Evy was not convinced. “If your brother does not wish you to go off alone, do not expect me to shield your recklessness. I've no desire to come up against his displeasure.” Indeed, she'd faced enough of that in her race down the three flights of stairs at Rookswood.

“It is important, I tell you!” Arcilla's lip shot out in a pout. “Are you my friend or not?”