Chapter 19
NINETEEN
On the morning of December the tenth, Geneva rose early.
She ate a light breakfast of toast and tea, and then, as she did every morning, went to check on her father.
His care had largely fallen to his valet, Dennison, who had been with Douglas for nearly four years, and was as loyal a man as any employer could hope for.
Tom Dennison had survived the war but had been discharged shortly before the armistice due to severe shell shock.
In the months that had followed, he’d suffered nightmares, bouts of melancholy, and sudden aggression, and found it nearly impossible to adjust to civilian life or secure steady work.
Mrs. Dennison had sought the advice of their doctor, who’d recommended a stay at a psychiatric facility.
There, Tom had endured solitary confinement, ice baths, and electric shock therapy.
By the time he was released, he had been meek as a lamb—but his wife had given up on him and taken up with another man, who had moved into their home.
With nowhere else to go, Tom had returned to his mother, the Bellamys’ cook.
Douglas, whose valet had been preparing to retire, had taken pity on the young man and arranged for him to be trained up.
Dennison rarely spoke and had yet to form friendships among the staff, but he was devoted to Douglas and tended him with the gentleness of a loving mother nursing her child.
He was also noticeably fond of Geneva, who always took the time to speak to him and refused to treat him with contempt, unlike several members of staff, who thought him a queer fish and had branded him a coward.
When Geneva looked in, Douglas was asleep.
He was reclining on so many pillows that he was nearly sitting upright, yet even with his head elevated his breathing remained labored.
His skin had taken on a waxy cast in recent days, and the room smelled of illness and pungent medicines.
Dennison, who had been dozing in a chair by the bed, woke with a start and sprang to his feet.
He stood there awkwardly, as if expecting Geneva to reprimand him.
“How is he?” Geneva whispered, mindful of waking her father.
“He had a peaceful night,” Dennison replied.
Dr. Miller had shown him how to administer morphine, which Douglas flat-out refused during the day but sometimes asked for at bedtime so he could rest.
“Did he take morphine last night?” Geneva asked.
Dennison nodded. “He was in a lot of pain.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of him.”
The valet’s cheeks turned pink with the praise. “It’s my privilege, my lady.”
“I can sit with him for a while. Go have your breakfast.”
The man looked conflicted. He’d barely left her father’s side the past few weeks, and slept in Douglas’s dressing room so he could keep an eye on Douglas through the open door.
“Go on, Tom,” Geneva said softly. “You can’t look after him if you don’t look after yourself.”
‘What about you, my lady?”
“I’ve already eaten. Please, go.”
Dennison smiled gratefully. “I won’t be long.”
“Take as long as you need, and if you’d like to have a kip this afternoon, come and get me. I will be happy to sit with Father. You need your rest too,” she said and laid her hand on Dennison’s arm. He stiffened and backed away, clearly scandalized.
“I’m sorry,” Geneva muttered, embarrassed. She had never touched him before and knew she had thoughtlessly crossed a line.
“Quite all right, my lady. And thank you, my lady,” he muttered as he hurried out the door.
Geneva took the chair he had vacated and exhaled deeply.
Whether it was the stress of the current situation or the close air in the room, she suddenly felt a headache coming on, building behind her eyes, and radiating into her temples.
Quietly, so as not to wake her father, she slid open the drawer of his bedside table.
Douglas had suffered with migraines since he’d returned from the front, and Dr. Miller had prescribed ergotamine, which had become available quite recently and was considerably more effective than aspirin.
Geneva thought she might take half a pill to stave off her own migraine.
She was surprised to find that the drawer was full of vials.
She thought her father took the morphine when he needed it, but this looked like he was suffering through the pain rather than opting for relief.
Perhaps Douglas felt more in control when he refused the pain medication, or maybe he was saving it for a different reason, one she didn’t care to think about.
Geneva couldn’t find the ergotamine, so she helped herself to two aspirins and dry-swallowed them.
She started when her father laid a hand on her wrist. His skin was cool and dry, the weight of his hand insubstantial.
“You needn’t worry,” he said softly.
“What do you intend to do with all that morphine?”
“What are your plans for the day?” he asked, deftly avoiding the question.
“I don’t know.”
“Perhaps you could do me a favor.”
“Anything,” Geneva said, glad to be able to help.
“I’d like to give Tom Dennison a gift. Something besides the usual Boxing Day bonus. He’s been so kind to me.”
“Of course. What a good idea. What will you give him?”
“He treasured his father’s watch, but he smashed it during one of his more violent episodes at the psychiatric hospital. He took it to Mr. Hale, but it wasn’t fixable. I would like to give Tom a nice watch, as a parting gift.”
“Oh, Father,” Geneva said miserably.
Douglas patted her wrist. “I rang Mr. Hale and asked him to recommend a good watch. He did, and offered to order it for me. It was delivered to the shop yesterday. Can you collect it? I will give it to Tom on Christmas Day.”
“Of course,” Geneva said. “I’d be happy to.”
“Then you’d best get going,” Douglas said. “I don’t want Honor to know.”
“Why not?”
“That girl is incapable of keeping a secret, and I don’t want anyone to feel slighted.”
“I understand. Dennison will be back shortly. I sent him downstairs to have his breakfast.”
“I’m not a child. I can be left alone, you know,” Douglas said with a slight smile.
“Are you in any pain?” Geneva asked, needing to be certain he would be all right.
“I’m perfectly fine. In fact, I think I will come downstairs for breakfast. I fancy a fry-up, and I would rather not eat it in bed, like an invalid.”
“What a fine idea,” Geneva said. Perhaps her father’s renewed appetite was a sign of improvement.
“Go on,” Douglas prompted, so she kissed him on the forehead and left the room.