"Ah,"Tom says, unwrapping a long woolen scarf. "Perfect. Thank you, Grandmama."
"I am glad you like it. Gemma, why don't you open yours?" I get to work on the box from Grandmama. Perhaps it is a beautiful pair of gloves or a bracelet. Inside are matching handkerchiefs embroidered with my initials. They're quite lovely. "Thank you," I say.
"Practical gifts are always the best, I find," Grandmama remarks with a sniff.
The unwrapping of gifts is over within minutes. Besides the handkerchiefs, I receive a hand mirror and a tin of chocolates from Grandmama, and from Tom, a jolly red nutcracker, who amuses me. I've given a shawl to Grandmama, and to Tom, a skull to keep in his office someday.
"I shall call him Yorick,"Tom says, delighted. And I'm glad that I've made him happy. Father's gifts sit under the tree, unopened.
"Thomas," Grandmama says. "Perhaps you should go to his club and ask for him. Make some discreet inquiries."
"But I'm to go to the Athenaeum tonight as a guest of Simon Middleton, 'Tom protests.
"Father is missing," I say.
"He's not missing. I am certain that he will be home at any moment, probably laden with gifts he's traveled to get on a whim somewhere. Do you remember the time he arrived on Christmas morning like Saint Nicholas himself, riding an elephant?"
"Yes," I say, smiling at the memory. He'd brought me my first sari, and Tom and I had coconut milk, lapping it from bowls as if we were tigers.
"He'll be home. Mark my words. Doesn't he always turn up?"
"You're right, of course," I say, because I want desperately to believe him.
The house falls into hushed tones of gasping fires and steady clocks, the lamps shushed to glowing murmurs of their former brightness. As it's after eleven o'clock, the servants have retired to their rooms. Grandmama is snuggled into her bed, and she thinks I am tucked safely in as well. But I can't sleep. Not with Father gone. I want him to come home, with or without an elephant. So I sit in the parlor, waiting. Kartik slips into the room, still dressed in his coat and boots. He is out of breath.
"Kartik! Where have you been? What is it?"
"Is your brother at home?" He's very agitated.
"No. He's gone out. Why do you ask?"
"It's imperative that I speak with your brother."
I rise to my full height."I've told you, he is not at home. You may tell me."
He takes a poker and stabs at the brittle logs. They flare to life. He says nothing, and I am left to imagine the worst.
"Oh, no. Is it Father? Do you know where he is?" Kartik nods."Where?"