Page 16 of The Vanished

“No,” Geneva agreed, but she didn’t think there were too many happy families left, not anymore.

The war had robbed nearly every family of its husbands and sons, and those who had come back were never quite the same: their experiences at the front had left them forever altered. Geneva’s family had suffered its share of losses, having seen their number reduced by half over the past decade. How could one have a happy family when so much of that family was gone? Their mother and older brother had passed since the start of the war, as well as several footmen, grooms, the former estate manager, and tenants, who’d gone off to fight. The house that had been full of life and light was filled with the ghosts of those lost, their spirits lingering in the silent rooms and wandering the paths of the withered garden.

“What did you want to shop for?” Geneva asked once Sally had brought the tea and a plate of leftover marble cake. She didn’t want to talk about Rory anymore.

“Christmas presents,” Honor replied.

“Christmas is weeks away.”

“I know, but choosing the right gift makes me happy. And we have two more to shop for. Father said he will invite Aunt Clarissa and Rose. This will be their first Christmas without Uncle Gerald,” Honor said.

“They’re still in mourning.”

“It’ll be nearly a year by then, and there’s nothing wrong with spending the day with family. It’s too sad to be all alone at Christmas.”

“Yes, it is sad,” Geneva agreed, recalling the Christmas of 1917, when it had been just her and Honor, and what was left of the staff. The following Christmas hadn’t been much better, although their father had come back from the front by then, so it had been the three of them.

Geneva had just poured out the tea when their elderly butler stepped into the room. “Forgive the intrusion,” Peters said. “But his lordship has asked to see you, my lady. I think it’s quite urgent,” he added when Geneva didn’t immediately get up.

“I’ll save you a slice of cake,” Honor promised.

“Make sure that you do. Last time you ate every last piece.”

Honor grinned and reached for a slice of cake. “I was hungry.”

TEN

Douglas Bellamy was in the library, which had always been his favorite room. It was stuffed with old books, out-of-date magazines, and the week’s newspapers, and smelled of wood, leather, and pipe smoke. The green leather chairs were well worn and the carpet a bit faded, but Douglas refused to replace either and said the items were still quite serviceable, much like himself. He sat so close to the hearth, his feet had to be roasting, but he shivered when Geneva opened the door and let in the cool draft from the corridor.

“Are you all right, Father?” she asked as she approached. “Honor said you didn’t come down to luncheon.”

“Just a little tired. Mr. Lefferts went on and on.” He chuckled softly. “That man can talk. Can you hand me my pipe, dear?”

“Of course.”

The pipe and tin of tobacco were on the mantelpiece, but Douglas would have had to rise to reach them. Geneva filled the bowl with tobacco, handed the pipe to her father, then struck a match and held the flame to the bowl until fragrant smoke curled up from the smoldering leaf.

Her father had suffered from a persistent cough for several years, but he insisted it was nothing and tried to fend off the bouts by smoking his pipe. He claimed it soothed his lungs, which had been damaged by mustard gas during the war. Despite being the Earl of Gosforth, Douglas had spent his career in the military and had been posted to Belgium just before the Battle of Ypres. Geneva privately thought the notion of treating compromised lungs with smoke was utter rubbish and that he needed to see a doctor, but there was no arguing with him. Besides, aside from the cough, he had been remarkably well until the past few weeks, when he’d caught some nasty bug. His hair was still thick, though now more gray than brown, and his face remained surprisingly unlined for a man of forty-six. Douglas’s vision had deteriorated somewhat since returning from the front, and he now wore gold-rimmed reading specs, which, at present, reflected the leaping firelight and made it difficult to discern the expression in his dark eyes.

“Sit down, Genny,” he said. “I need to speak to you.”

“Why was Mr. Lefferts here?” Geneva asked as she settled across from him. “Was it about Mrs. Lowry’s pension?”

Their housekeeper had finally decided to retire but had promised to stay on for several more weeks after the new year to train her replacement, who would arrive on January the second.

“Yes, in part. But he and I had other matters to discuss.”

“Anything I need to worry about?” Geneva asked.

She had been teasing, but the look on her father’s face sent a chill down her spine. Whatever he wanted to discuss with her wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Genny, I’ve made a hash of things.”

“What on earth do you mean, Father? Are we in debt, is that what you want to speak to me about?” she asked, thinking that was probably what he was referring to. Their staff was greatly diminished, and her father hadn’t approved any significant new purchases since he’d come back from the front.

Douglas shook his head. “I should have got my affairs in order before I shipped out, but I couldn’t bring myself to think about my own mortality. And I had to believe Jack would come back,” he said, his voice cracking. “I had to trust your brother would get through it or I wouldn’t have been able to do my job.”

Geneva nodded but didn’t reply. Jack had been her older brother, her best friend, and her confidant. He’d been her world. And then he was gone, and all she had was a photograph of him in his uniform before he’d shipped out. His smile was so cocky, so self-assured. Jack had never doubted he would come back. None of them had. He had been too alive to die. But then so had every other young man who had lost his life fighting a senseless war.