Page 62 of The Vanished

“Perhaps. But there is still such a thing as propriety. A woman must not go chasing modern ideals, for they will inevitably lead her to ruin. Honor, duty, family—those are the things that matter. But I suppose if you marry that American, you will no longer trouble yourself with such considerations. He will corrupt you with his uncivilized ways.”

“Jesse has lovely manners,” Geneva protested, but Aunt Clarissa shook her head, as if such a thing simply weren’t possible. He was American, after all, one step up from a barbarian with matted hair and rotted teeth, dressed in nothing but animal skins.

“I do hope he doesn’t decide to indulge Honor’s whims. She must attend a finishing school if she has any hope of finding a suitable husband.”

“Father offered to send Honor to a finishing school in Switzerland, but she refused to go.”

“Of course she did, which is why Douglas should never have offered her the choice. Rose will be off to Geneva in the summer. She would have started school this year, but with her father passing there was the period of mourning to observe.”

“Lengthy mourning periods are positively Victorian,” Geneva said. “And Rose is a young girl. She needs to spend time with people her own age.”

“One must show proper respect. And there’s no greater sorrow than the loss of a parent.” Her aunt shot her a sly look. “Which is why you must marry while you can.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You don’t have much time, Geneva. Once your father passes, you will have to wait a year, and who knows what that upstart will think up during that time. He could marry some cheap tease, and then where will you and Honor be? You must ensure that the title and the estate remain in the family.”

“Aunt, even if Jesse and I were to announce our engagement tonight, we would not be able to marry for a month, since the banns would need to be read.”

“These things can be expedited,” Aunt Clarissa said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Many a marriage has been rushed due to a time constraint. And your father can always ask for special dispensation. Under the circumstances, the bishopric would happily agree.”

“We’re not under a time constraint,” Geneva protested. “And I will not be rushed.”

“We’ll see,” Clarissa said under her breath. “I mean to have a word with Douglas as soon as he’s awake.”

“Please excuse me,” Geneva said when she heard Honor and Rose in the foyer, and opened the door. Their excited voices and happy giggles carried through to the drawing room.

The two girls were smiling, but Rose wilted like her namesake in hot sun as soon as her mother’s disapproving scowl settled on her.

“We’re just going for a walk,” Rose said.

Clarissa nodded. “You’ll never hear me disparage fresh air and exercise, Rose. But do maintain decorum. You are, after all, still in mourning. And your uncle is gravely ill.”

Honor looked at Geneva, and her gaze seemed to say, Well, this is going to be a jolly Christmas.

“I will see you all at dinner,” Geneva said and practically sprinted from the room. She’d been chastised enough for one afternoon.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Geneva decided she could use a walk herself but made certain to head in a different direction than Honor and Rose. The girls hadn’t seen each other since last November, and she wanted to give them an opportunity to talk and share their troubles without judgment or constraint. She was halfway to the estate manager’s office when she encountered Rory. He wore his heavy overcoat and a trilby, and a scowl worthy of Aunt Clarissa. His expression was replaced by one of surprise, then cautious optimism when he spotted Geneva on the path.

“I was just coming to see you. Can we speak privately?” he asked.

“Of course. Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said, but it was obvious that something was on his mind. “Let’s go for a walk.”

They walked away from the house and towards the old well. No one knew exactly how old it was or when it had last been in use, but the water was brackish and smelled of rotting vegetation. Some said it went back to Roman times and had once supplied fresh water to the villa that had occupied the spot where Bellamy Hall now stood. Douglas thought the well dated to the Carvetii tribe that had inhabited that part of Cumbria before the Roman occupation and had served a coastal settlement that had become extinct. Or maybe it hadn’t been a well at all, but some sort of storage space or underground shelter that had filled with water over time and trapped falling leaves and careless animals until the contents turned into a smelly, peaty sludge.

Douglas had ordered a snug-fitting wooden cover for the opening after Geneva’s puppy had fallen in and nearly drowned. Buckey had been rescued but had never gone near the well again, and the children had been forbidden to play nearby. The birch saplings that had taken root near the well were now fully grown trees, and the stone stump was green with moss and barely distinguishable from the bracken and fallen leaves that blanketed the ground.

Geneva leaned against a tree, and Rory stood with one foot on the ledge of the well. With the two of them silent, the sounds of the wind and sea and the cawing of birds filled the air. It would have been peaceful if not for the sinister hush that always seemed to hang over the well, as if ancient spirits hovered nearby, silent but listening.

“Ye must be glad to see yer aunt and cousin,” Rory said at last.

“I’m happy to see Rose, but Aunt Clarissa is already trying to take charge.”

“Charge of what?”