Page 65 of The Vanished

“Mr. Bellamy,” Rory ground out.

Geneva wondered just how much Jesse had heard and if he had interrupted them on purpose. He glanced about, and then his gaze fell on the well.

“What’s that?” He cocked his head to the side as he studied the ancient structure.

“It’s a well,” Rory replied curtly.

“Looks old.”

“It is. It’s been covered for the purposes of safety.”

“Did you need something, Jesse?” Geneva asked in an effort to dispel the tension.

The dislike between the two men was palpable, their animosity crackling like live electricity. Jesse looked from a stone-faced Rory to Geneva, who wanted nothing more than to break this deadlock and leave this place.

“I’m clearly interrupting,” Jesse said, but his gaze searched her face, his eyes asking if she was all right. “I’ll see you back at the house. Unless you were on your way back?”

Jesse was offering her a way to extricate herself, and she accepted his help, mostly because he had offered her a reprieve.

“Thank you. I’ll walk back with you. Good evening, Mr. Sullivan,” she said to Rory, who, after looking uncertain for a moment, tipped his trilby and stalked off into the trees.

“Are you all right?” Jesse asked.

Geneva nodded and turned up her face, eager to catch the last rays of the setting sun. The bare branches of the birch trees formed a stark latticework against the crimson sky, making her feel as if she were looking at the heavens through a barred window. It was a clear evening, the colors of the winter sunset breathtakingly dramatic, but, as Geneva accepted Jesse’s arm and they fell into step, she couldn’t quite shake the foreboding that settled on her shoulders like a heavy mantle.

THIRTY-NINE

Geneva and Jesse parted in the foyer. He went up to his room to have a bath before dinner, and she went in search of Honor. She found her sister and Rose in the library, sitting close to the fire and talking quietly, their heads close together.

“Jesse was looking for you,” Honor said when she noticed Geneva standing in the doorway. “Where were you?”

“By the old well.”

“What were you doing there?” Honor’s eyes glinted with suspicion.

“Taking a walk.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

Geneva suddenly recalled what Rory had said about her sister, and her stomach soured with resentment. Honor looked so sweet and innocent sitting there, hardly more than a child. But she had grown up, and Geneva hadn’t noticed. No one had. And now she was working for herself and trying to assure her own future, free of her sister’s shadow.

“Where’s Jesse now?” Rose asked.

“He thought he’d have a bath before dinner.”

Rose nodded. “He’s so handsome. Looks just like Rudolph Valentino, don’t you think? And such lovely manners. I thought all Americans were brutes.”

“Why would you think that?” Geneva asked irritably. She’d never realized what snobs everyone was until now.

Rose shrugged, and Geneva supposed she was simply repeating what her mother had said. She could be childish at times, and unlike Honor, who had grown into a beautiful young woman, Rose was rather plain and at times quite awkward. Aunt Clarissa had been dramatically beautiful at that age, but Rose had taken after her father. She had wide blue eyes, but her light brown hair was pin straight, and her nose and mouth were too wide to conform to modern standards of beauty. She was also a bit overweight, thick through both the shoulders and the waist, and had hands and feet that were unusually large. Geneva was certain Aunt Clarissa tormented her daily, but Rose was the sort of person who turned to food when she was angry or disappointed. And this past year, it must have been her only source of comfort.

“I hadn’t realized you two had met,” she said to her cousin.

“We ran into him earlier,” Rose replied but didn’t mention where. Geneva supposed they had met Jesse while out walking.

“Won’t you join us?” Honor asked. “It’s hours yet until dinner.”