Yesterday's Promise (40 page)

“Good grief, girl! You be out of your mind?”

Evy smiled crookedly. She leaned back and held up the letter from the Hooper twins. “Maybe. But listen to this.”

She read the twins' little letter, and Mrs. Croft fidgeted uneasily as she listened.

“What do you think Wally could've found?”

“I've no clue at all. But I'm going to find out soon.”

“If you think you're going back—”

“I've got to, to learn what really happened. Take courage, Mrs. Croft. Was there
anything
unusual about Wally when he returned to the supper at the parish hall? Did he have anything in hand, or say anything to you that you might have ignored at the time, thinking it didn't matter?”

Mrs. Croft sat scowling to herself. “No, nary a thing that I can recall now. Wally was out of breath and upset terrible like. By the time I got up the road to the cottage and into the pantry, Dr. Tisdale was there and so was the squire. They was already moving you to your room. I don't recall a thing more.” Her suspicious scowl only deepened the lines in her face. “So I wonder what he and the twins have in their minds?”

Evy tucked the letter away into her skirt pocket, reached for her crutches, and stood from the chair. She squared her shoulders beneath her neat white blouse with high, lacy collar and bodice.

“I don't know. But I'm sure it has to do with what happened that night. And I need to know why they wrote me this letter.”

“Evy, don't you go meddling in anything that could kindle more risk for you. There's such a thing as walking too close to the fire.”

Evy drew her mouth into a tight smile. She was determined now, perhaps more than at any time since her fall.

“I need to go to Grimston Way, regardless. There're the trunks from Uncle Edmund and Aunt Grace, and his parson's desk. I won't part with those. I'll need to have them moved to storage, or even here to London. Lord Brewster told me the owners of the cottage have decided not to let it out to strangers again—meaning me. So everything I still have there must be moved.”

Mrs. Croft stood, looking unhappy but also determined.

“Well, if that's the way of it, then I'm going with you. I'm not letting you out of my sight for a second. I've as good of an excuse as any. Lizzie's been after me for weeks now to come see her and the family. And I'll get some of the family boys to move those things from the attic.”

“I think Vicar Osgood will be kind enough to let me store them at the rectory. There was always plenty of room there. That will give me a good reason to be at Grimston Way without arousing undue curiosity. A little meeting with the twins and Wally should be easy to arrange.”

“I just hope this isn't one of their foolhardy whims, child. They've all three got themselves as big an imagination as Miss Armitage, with the strings of garlic she hangs out to keep vampires away.”

Somehow Evy believed there would be more to her meeting with the youngsters than superstitious games. She would find out soon enough. First thing in the morning, she was going to make arrangements for a train ride to Grimston Way.

A sudden summer storm drenched the dark London streets. Gas lamps swayed in the rain-laden wind, casting their flickering glow precariously over the walkways. At Chantry Townhouse the wind tugged at flowering vines and small trees, threatening to uproot them.

Evy was in the parlor reading when, during a lull in the storm, she heard the front gate swing open and shut. She put her book on the table beside her chair and glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel…a little before nine o'clock. The sure but hurried tread of footsteps sounded upon the walk and up the porch to the front door. She held her breath. A moment later someone grasped the solid brass knocker and rapped several times.

Who would come calling at this hour, and in such inclement weather? She rose with the aid of her crutches and moved to the hallway that led to the front of the house.

Simms the butler was already in the entrance, sliding back the heavy bolt on the front door.

A gust of wind invaded the hallway, stirring the yellow summer skirt around Evy's ankles, filling the hall with a muggy dampness and the smell of rain.

A man in a heavy black coat with a hat pulled low over his brow stood on the threshold. He carried no umbrella, alerting Evy that he was not English. He removed his dripping slicker and left it on the porch. He shook out his hat, handing it over to Simms.

Evy broke into a smile when she recognized the unexpected caller.

“Heyden van Buren.”

His South African tan had turned his fair hair into a halo, and his light blue eyes stared at her, transfixed. His gaze dropped reluctantly to her crutches. The line around his mouth tightened. He came toward her with both hands extended almost in apology. His manner caused her to stiffen, and heat rose in her cheeks.

“Cousin Evy
van Buren
, my dear. How are you?”

Evy forced herself not to flush upon hearing her mother's name spoken to her for the first time, though she had thought it a hundred times since learning the truth.

He took her hands into his and squeezed them reassuringly, looking down at her gravely. “I came as soon as I learned what happened to you.”

“Do come into the parlor, Heyden. What a surprise. A pleasant one, I should say.”

“I'm happy you think so.”

“Simms? If Trudy is still up,” she said of his niece, “would you ask her to bring tea for Mr. van Buren?”

“Yes, at once, Miss.”

“I wondered if I would ever see you again,” Evy told Heyden while feeling his stricken gaze. She held her head and shoulders straight as she labored on her crutches into the parlor with what dignity she could muster.

He followed as Evy went to the chair by the window and sat down, casually leaning her crutches within reach.

Heyden stood in the middle of the parlor. “I was wondering myself. It's been over two years, hasn't it?”

She sat looking at him in the brighter light from the lamps. He was as she remembered, of medium height, in his early thirties, and he appeared somewhat more muscular than she recalled.

“What have you been doing with yourself these years?”

“Oh, one thing and another. Do you mind?” He had taken out a silver
cigarette case, and it glinted in the light from the lamplights on the wall. She shook her head, and he struck a match. “I visited a cousin of ours in the Zambezi region of South Africa for a few months last year.”

“Another cousin?” she asked, interested.

“Yes. Jakob van Buren. I shall tell you about him later. When I left Jakob, I made my way back to the Boer Republic. I'm here on political business for our President Kruger. I only just arrived on Monday.”

As a Boer, Heyden firmly opposed British expansion in South Africa and their policies with the African tribes.

“The British government simply refuses to understand that the two Boer Republics will not surrender our sovereign rights to their queen.”

She was not surprised by his dislike of the queen's government. She remembered how coldly Heyden was received by the Chantry family on his first visit to Rookswood Estate, especially by Rogan.

But there were other reasons the family disliked Heyden, personal reasons that reached out to affect Evy. She recalled that Rogan had actually paid Heyden to leave England and stay far away from her. Yet here he was, just a few years later, as bold in behavior as though he belonged to the Chantry family.

Evy could hardly contain her curiosity as their conversation paused upon Trudy's entrance with a tray of tea.

He glanced at Trudy, then sat down in the chair opposite Evy. “I was at the Parliament building this afternoon, and lo and behold, I was surprised to run into Lord Brewster. He told me about your unfortunate accident, and it became even more important that I come straightaway to see you. You're the other reason I've come to England, Cousin.”

She concealed her surprise.

A little while later, they enjoyed tea as rain lashed the windowpane. Evy restrained herself from asking the barrage of questions that burst upon her mind while Heyden explained the reason for his visit.

“I'd not have called you a van Buren if there'd been any chance you still didn't know that you're Katie's daughter. When I found out you knew the truth about your mother, I had to come and see you again.”

“You knew Katie van Buren was my real mother even when we spoke years ago.” She kept any accusation from her voice.

He was unsmiling now, and his wintry gaze bore a sadness. “Yes, dear, I did. When we met at the museum at the diamond showing, I realized you mistakenly believed Dr. and Mrs. Junia Varley were your parents. I couldn't burden you with such a formidable pronouncement then and there. It would've been rude. I thought I would explain what I knew when we were to meet at Regent's Park, but—” He set his empty cup down. His mouth formed a hard line. “Rogan Chantry threatened me. He had his own reasons for wanting to keep you in the dark about your mother's identity. At the time I just didn't know what his plans were, or I would have never permitted him to use me the way he did.”

His words were confusing, raising unwelcome doubts. “What do you mean, he had his own reasons? That he used you?”

“For wealth—money,” he stated. “I'm sorry to be blunt, but it's time the truth came out, Evy.”

Evy felt the muscles in her jaw tighten. “Yes, he paid you several hundred pounds to keep silent and go back to the Cape.”

He pushed back his chair and stood looking down at her, his wintry eyes like marble. “Are you mad, Cousin? Is that what he told you?” His anger was followed by a glimmer of obvious disdain. “And you believed him?”

She disliked the way he had managed to put her on the defensive. “I hardly knew you, Heyden. I still don't know you well. But I have known Rogan from the time we were in school.”

He blinked and slowly sat down again. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Rogan told me he gave you money before he left two years ago.”

The subject appeared to put Heyden under strain.

“If that's what he told you, he lied to you. I left of my own accord to voyage back to the Cape with the Kruger delegation. Why he'd say such a demeaning thing is unclear to me, but I'll find out when I return.”

“Heyden—”

He would not be restrained and stood, ramming his hands into his pockets, displaying his fury. Her smoldering doubts about Rogan were more easily fanned into flames of late, since he had failed to write her as he had promised.
Why would Rogan have misled me?
she thought as more doubts assailed her.

She decided that whatever the reason, it hardly mattered now. Rogan apparently had no further interest in her except for getting back the money he had loaned her to start her music school. Satisfaction washed over her. At least now, as an heiress, she could pay him back promptly and relieve herself of the debt and sense of obligation she carried. She promised herself she would do just that and ask Mr. Harris, the Chantry family lawyer, to reimburse Rogan at once.

“The reason he'd say that no longer matters to me,” she told Heyden. “I shall never see Rogan Chantry again. Nor do I wish to.”

His eyes flickered with interest at her comment, but he didn't ask why. “Allow me to disagree, Cousin Evy, about the reason no longer mattering. It does to me. And it will to you once you know what's been going on in Capetown these last few years.”

What could be going on?
she wondered.

“The reason for his blatant dishonesty is clear to me now.” Heyden stood glaring into the flames at the hearth, then he looked at her sharply. “He hoped you wouldn't try to contact me in South Africa, and I wasn't wise enough to see it. I would have contacted you if I had known Grace Havering had recently told you who your mother was. I only found out from Sir Julien Bley just before I sailed from Capetown.”

“You'd better explain,” she said, folding her hands in her lap.

He faced her, looking stern.

“That's why I've come. It's important you understand the dislike Rogan and Sir Julien Bley have for me. They're both cut from the same piece of cloth, though neither trusts the other. They are, however, both loyal to the British throne. They're doing everything in their power to cooperate with Cecil Rhodes and his ‘gold and diamond bugs' to provoke our president of the Boer Republics to war. They want the Transvaal so
the English can control the wealth on The Rand. Since Rogan knows I'm loyal to our president, Paul Kruger, ruining my honor is in keeping with his self-seeking ambitions.”

“All I want is the truth about Katie—and the Kimberly Black Diamond. I even wrote Sir Julien Bley a year ago—before my accident—but he didn't answer. I wrote Lady Camilla as well. She'd shown some rather strange interest in me when she came to stay at Rookswood years ago, but neither did she answer my inquiries.”