Tomorrow's Treasure (53 page)

It was only two days before Christmas, but Evy could not bring herself to ask the sexton, Hiram Croft, to come and kill the white Christmas goose already delivered from Rookswood.

“You've a tender heart, that's what,” Mrs. Croft said.

“She is so white-breasted, so sleek of neck,” Evy said. “It seems a pity to destroy her—especially when neither Aunt Grace nor I have caught the festive mood for a big Christmas feast.”

“She is right.”

They turned to find Aunt Grace joining them to look over the wire fence at the goose walking under the willow tree.

Mrs. Croft rubbed her chin. “I saw a hen already prepared at Tom's butcher shop.”

Evy looked at her aunt, who smiled. “Very well. A hen it is. We ought to have a small celebration at least, in honor of the Savior's birth.”

Evy agreed, though she could find little to be joyful about this year. She had not yet mentioned the news about Derwent and Alice to her aunt. It was true that she was not in love with Derwent; but she was fond of him … had been connected to him since childhood.

“You best get indoors where it's warm, Miss Grace; this be bad weather for chest colds.”

When Aunt Grace went to take her afternoon nap, Evy was alone with Mrs. Croft in the kitchen, and the silence between them lengthened. Mrs. Croft was helping Evy bake the week's bread supply, a task she had done on her own when Evy was in London.

“I do not know what Aunt Grace and I would do without you, Mrs. Croft. You and Mr. Croft, both. He chopped wood for us on Saturday. And you've been such a help and consolation to us.”

Mrs. Croft smiled, and pleasure shone in her eyes. “You're both as much family to me as my own kin, Miss Evy.”

At Mrs. Croft's subtle glance, Evy wondered if she knew about the upcoming marriage. There was little she did not know of the goings-on in the village. How could anything of this magnitude escape her?

“You are very glum,” Mrs. Croft acknowledged. “Ever since you went to that ball up at the big house. Did it not go well for you, child? You looked so pretty that night. I'd have thought you would be asked to waltz most of them dances.”

“Oh, it was a lovely ball. That's not what is troubling me.”

“That Master Rogan again, I suppose.” Her lips were pinched. “A sly one, he. Has his eye on you plenty, I'm thinking, and with no good purpose in mind. He can do little else 'cept marry that Miss Patricia even if he wanted someone else.”

Evy realized with a sinking heart that if she did not explain soon, Rogan would be blamed for trifling with her. Well, no time like the present. “I think you already know about Derwent and Alice Tisdale, Mrs. Croft.”

Mrs. Croft frowned. “Aye, I do. The story's been buzzing about since you went off to school in London. It's why Mrs. Tisdale kept Alice home, I'm thinking. To make their sneaky plan for catching poor Derwent. I'll tell you something else too. Miss Grace knows all about it.”

“I thought she might.”

“She was hoping—probably still is—that Derwent would come to his senses. He'd never be allowed to get by with this foolishness if Vicar Brown was alive. You were away at school when Mrs. Tisdale came to see your aunt. She came all huffy like. Insisted Derwent had fallen in love with Alice and was reluctant to break the news to you. In love, my
foot
.” She sniffed her disapproval and held up her floured hands. “It's the job working for the diamond family that Derwent wants. I say the
Tisdales helped arrange it with the squire, knowing it would lure Derwent away from his schoolin' and marriage to you. Squire gave Derwent the job offer because Lady Elosia agreed he ought to marry Alice. Promised him shares in a mine. And that offer went hand in hand with marrying Alice. Well, it figures, I daresay. Derwent never was much bent on following the vicar's footsteps.”

She slapped and kneaded the lump of bread dough with robust force. “Miss Grace went on hoping and praying Derwent would see the light. But the glitter of gold and diamonds has him packing his bag. That's what Mrs. Tisdale is excited about too.”

“About the diamond mines?”

“I daresay. After all, her Alice will be married to Derwent when Rogan Chantry strikes gold—if he can make good on his Uncle Henry's map. That's how they're thinking, anyway. Her and the good doctor both. And Alice thinks Derwent could end up with a great reward from Rogan if he shares the burden of the work.”

Evy could see the way Alice was thinking, that Derwent might even end up partners with a Chantry. That would never happen, of course. Neither Rogan nor the family, including Sir Julien Bley, would allow anyone to become a partner.

“Diamonds, and now gold.” Mrs. Croft said it as if discussing measles and the plague. “That's what's been rattling 'round in Derwent's head. Believes all of Master Rogan's talk. There isn't anything he wouldn't do for Rogan Chantry.”

As Evy had known since childhood. Just as she'd always known she saw Derwent more as a brother than a beau. It had just seemed the easiest path to agree to what everyone expected: that they would one day marry. She'd spent so many years walking that path without ever really wanting to do so. Not to say that her pride was not stung by his turning her down for Alice and employment with Rogan at Kimberly. Without the prospect of marriage to Derwent, her future was decidedly unsettled. But perhaps it had always been so.

“Maybe you ought to be counting your blessings. You found out early enough what Derwent was like,” Mrs. Croft said.

“What do you mean, what he is like? It's true I have always known about Derwent's dreams of going to South Africa.”

“Well, that's so, it's plain as the nose on your face if you ask me. But what I mean is, he could be bought, couldn't he? And he was quick to betray you to get what he wanted.”

At this echo of Rogan's words at the ball, Evy frowned. “I do not know if I see it as betrayal.”

“What else? Nice young man, indeed! He's not strong enough for you, that's what I say. And you're worth two of Alice.”

Evy smiled. “You are loyal to me, that's all. Alice is all right.”

“I don't understand you, Miss Evy. I'd be hopping mad if she stole my beau from beneath my nose like that.”

“Maybe I'm not really in love with Derwent, Mrs. Croft.”

She looked at Evy, brows raised. “You was planning to marry him for years.”

Evy had no response for that. But she knew, deep inside, that while she'd been planning it, she hadn't been looking forward to it.

Aunt Grace said very little about Derwent after Evy told her she knew of his decision. “You'll graduate from Parkridge next year,” she assured her. “You will be able to get a decent position teaching music.”

Evy understood, and even agreed. If there was no one else to marry, she would at least be able to support herself doing something she loved.

Christmas dawned damp and foggy. Evy dressed in a frilled white blouse and ankle-length skirt of blue, then brought the present she would give Aunt Grace from its hiding place in the cupboard by the window. It was a cluster of red, blue, and green glass hummingbirds formed into a wind chime. Aunt Grace loved wind chimes, and Evy had found this one in a shop in London. It had taken most of her meager savings, which she had earned while sometimes helping out in the kitchen at school, but every
coin she had spent would be worth the sparkle in her aunts eyes when she hung it from the window and the first spring breeze sent it tinkling.

Aunt Grace must have heard her getting dressed, for when Evy came into the kitchen she was waiting. Evy took a deep breath of the aroma of fresh-brewed tea. Aunt Grace was sitting at the table with her worn Bible open.

“Merry Christmas,” Evy called with deliberate cheerfulness. She bent and kissed her aunt's cheek.

“Merry Christmas, dear. Shall we have breakfast first, or open our presents?”

“Oh, you should not have troubled yourself,” Evy said, but was pleased to see the scrambled eggs and ham slices on cornbread staying warm on the back of the stove. Aunt Grace must be feeling stronger.

“Believe me, it's like old times,” Aunt Grace said. “I enjoyed being able to cook for a change. Mrs. Croft has already been here—look.”

Evy followed her smiling gaze to the decorated pine bush, where two small packages sat next to their own presents. Evy saw that her present to the Crofts, along with Aunt Grace's for them, was gone. She hoped Mrs. Croft liked the new shawl she had bought for her. She knew Aunt Grace had made Mrs. Croft a new woolen nightgown and cap.

“Since breakfast is staying warm, let's be like children and open our gifts first!”

Aunt Grace laughed. They handed each other a gift, then tore them open with exclamations of joy. Aunt Grace had bought her a new blue-gray hooded woolen cloak, and Evy was delighted. She realized what it must have cost and how little money they had between them, yet somehow, strangely enough, Aunt Grace always seemed to have whatever money was needed—both for schooling and for school clothes. Whenever she asked about it Aunt Grace would always say cheerfully, “Oh I have my little secrets, dear.”

“Aunt Grace, you shouldn't have—”

“You'll need it. You still have a year and half of schooling, do not forget. The other was getting frayed.”

“It is the perfect color. I adore it, thank you.”

Aunt Grace made much of the glass birds, and Evy could see by her happy expression that she truly liked the gift. “Ah, a sweet sign of spring and better days ahead,” Aunt Grace predicted.

They made the most of their Christmas and then prepared their dinner, ready to receive several village friends who were coming to offer well wishes. Emily came by with her husband, Milt, followed an hour later by Meg and Tom. Once again Mr. Bixby showed up from Rookswood with several gaily beribboned gifts. Arcilla had sent Evy new gloves and a small beaded handbag. A second gift was wrapped in shiny red paper with a golden ribbon. Evy stared, speechless, when she removed a pair of golden earrings with emeralds. They could not be real … could they?

But they were. The gift card was signed simply:
Merry Christmas, Rogan
.

She gazed at the gift, knowing she could not possibly keep them, yet also knowing she would never be able to afford anything like them on her own. She took them out and ran to the small mirror by the hat tree and tried them on, pushing her tawny hair aside and turning her head in both directions so the flash of gold and green would dazzle her.

“Oh … they're stunning.” She sighed.

Aunt Grace watched her, a slight frown on her brow. “From Master Rogan?”

“Yes.”

“I thought they might be.”

She did not say why she had thought so, and Evy avoided her gaze in the mirror. She waited, expecting her aunt to tell her she could not keep them, but Aunt Grace was silent and went to the stove to bring their breakfast to the table.

“They are expensive and beautiful.”

Evy studied them again in the mirror. “Yes, I cannot think why he would give me such a gift.”

Aunt Grace looked over at her. “Perhaps he is trying to cheer you after the disappointment with Derwent.”

Evy looked at her reflection. The emeralds brought out the flecks of green in her amber eyes. “I hardly think so, Aunt. When he told me about the upcoming marriage, he seemed rather glib about it, as though he liked the idea of Derwent going to South Africa.”

“That is what I mean.”

Evy turned and looked at her aunt. “I beg your pardon?”

“It has not escaped me that Master Rogan has noticed you on more than one occasion. I've known from way back, even when I was governess at Rookswood, that he always took a special interest in you.”

“Oh, I hardly think so—”

“Yes, he has. No use denying it, dear. Mrs. Croft has noticed it too. The question is, what does he have in mind?”

Evy flushed and reached up to pull off the earrings. “Nothing. He has nothing in mind. He will marry Miss Bancroft and go away to Capetown.”

“Naturally the squire and Lady Elosia expect him to do so. You saw what they expected of Arcilla. I suspect she will be married off to Mr. Bartley very soon now. The family has their expectations and they will not be easily thwarted. Especially Rogan's uncle, Sir Julien Bley.”

Evy placed the earrings back into the small red velvet box and closed the lid. “Yes, I know. If you are trying to warn me not to fall for Rogan Chantry, you need not worry. I am well aware of his reputation … and that no Chantry will ever marry beneath his social level.”

“I do not worry, dear. I know you have twice as much sense as the silly young ladies who make fools of themselves chasing after him. You have too much dignity for that. I suspect that is one of the things about you that captures his attention so.”

“Why have you not told me to send the earrings back?”