Chapter 3 #2
Even with ordinary lamps and not the ruby lamps necessary while processing the photographs, the dark room was dim. But it was not so dim that Jonathan didn’t see the flush that painted Charlie’s face, or the curiosity that sparkled in his blue eyes as he glanced around.
“Prior to the invention and manufacture of dry plates,” Jonathan went on, more interested in watching Charlie’s interest blossom than in what he was saying, “wet plates had to be developed immediately or the images would overexpose and disappear. The collodion used to create images was nasty, flammable stuff. But dry plates are manufactured with gelatin and can be stored and kept for ages before use.”
He wasn’t certain whether Charlie heard anything he said, only that he was fascinated by the shelves with bottles of chemicals and stacks of albumen paper, the trays used for bathing the plates in chemicals and washing them, and the lines strung across the far end of the room for hanging freshly developed, wet photographs to dry.
The whisper of an idea hit Jonathan.
“If you’re that interested, you can assist me in developing your photographs after breakfast.
“Truly?”
Jonathan had become so accustomed to Charlie not speaking that the single word, gasped in the young man’s angelic voice, sent shivers down his spine.
“Of course,” he answered with a casual shrug that belied the way he truly felt. “It’s more convenient to have an assistant for these things at any rate.”
Charlie burst into a smile, which did more for Jonathan’s insides than the cheekiest winks of most impish street boys.
It was going to be difficult to let the lad go later.
He pushed that thought aside and stepped around Charlie, gesturing for him to accompany him upstairs.
“Bath and breakfast first, then we’ll discover what sort of magic we created last night,” he said as they headed up into the light.
Breakfast was an enjoyable affair. Jonathan gladly donated the first few pots of hot water to what most likely ended up being a lukewarm bath for Charlie. Charlie didn’t complain one bit, however, or seem to mind that the tub was only filled a few inches, hardly enough to make for a relaxing soak.
Jonathan washed in the old-fashioned way, with a sponge and a basin of warm water, and shaved quickly, only nicking his neck slightly, before dressing and heading back to the kitchen.
He checked in on Charlie in the bathroom on his way and found the lithe young man with his bubbly hands lifted to his face, breathing in the rose-scented soap.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Jonathan asked him with a teasing wink, then ducked out of the room and headed downstairs before Charlie could do more than jerk and splash in surprise.
As the bacon fried and the eggs cooked, Jonathan rummaged through the wardrobe of clothing he kept for his sessions.
He didn’t have as many matching pieces as he thought, which meant that when Charlie eventually wandered down, hugging his robe around himself and looking anxious, all Jonathan had to offer him was a thick shirt with Scandinavian embroidery around the collar and wide cuffs and a baggy pair of harem trousers.
“I never said it would be ordinary clothing, but it should be sufficient until we can launder your old things,” Jonathan said, taking two warm plates piled with eggs, thick rashers of bacon, mushrooms, and potatoes.
Charlie’s eyes went wide at the food, and he licked his lips as he stared at the plates. He didn’t make a move toward the table until Jonathan said, “Come, sit,” though.
It amused Jonathan to watch Charlie eating. The man was so clearly hungry, but he took up his cutlery with shaking hands and attempted to restrain himself, as if he were at supper with the Queen, instead of racing to get as much into his gullet as he could.
“I dare say you’ll be able to eat like a king for a month at least with the five shillings I’ll give you,” Jonathan said as he ate his own meal at a more leisurely pace.
Charlie’s shoulders dropped and he stared at his plate with a suddenly forlorn look.
“We’ve no need to worry about that just yet, though,” Jonathan said, feeling an unaccountable tightness in his chest. “I still have to show you how photographs are developed, after all.”
Charlie glanced up at Jonathan with an eager look, but with a touch of wariness.
“And if you’re very lucky, I might show you some of the more recent photographs I’ve taken that haven’t sold yet,” Jonathan went on. “I’m sure you’ll find those fascinating.”
He was tempting the young man. Shamelessly so. He wanted to see what Charlie would make of his work and whether he wanted to recreate anything he saw.
Which was madness, really. Jonathan never photographed the same lads twice. He brought them home, stripped them of their defenses, captured them at their most vulnerable moments, then sent them on their way, never to see them again.
He should probably do that with Charlie as well.
Later.
“If you’re finished with—” Halfway through reaching for Charlie’s empty plate, Jonathan heard a distant but distinct knocking. He frowned, glanced at Charlie, and when the knocking came again, he said, “Someone appears to be at the door.”
Charlie went pale and shrunk in on himself as Jonathan stood and headed for the doorway into his studio. Behind him, he was vaguely aware of Charlie breathing heavily, as if in a panic, but he walked on.
The knocking sounded again as Jonathan pushed aside the curtain separating his studio from the front of his shop.
The shutters were all drawn, blocking his shop from the world, but he could just make out a man with dark hair and a close-shaved beard peering through the gap left by the shutter over the front door.
It was before opening hours, but Jonathan smiled as he did for potential customers anyhow and rolled up the shutter, then unlocked the door.
“Good morning,” he greeted the tall, broad-shouldered man who had been peering into the shop and the willowy young man with him. “You’re up and about a bit early today, aren’t you?”
“Forgive me,” the dark-haired man said, his voice gruff and low. “I was hoping you would be able to accommodate us at this early hour. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Moorgate, and I should very much like to hire your services.”
The hair on the back of Jonathan’s neck stood up. Between the man’s imposing form and confidence that bordered on aggressiveness and the young man’s too-sweet smile, he immediately had an inkling of the sort of services the pair might be looking for.
“Come in,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing for the two, vastly different men to enter. “I’m afraid I am not immediately prepared for customers at such an early hour, but I would be more than happy to discuss what sort of photographs you’d like to have taken.”
“Again, I apologize for the early hour,” the man, who loomed even taller once he was in the cramped space of the front of the shop, said. “As you may understand, time and discretion are of the essence with this particular…errand.”
Excitement zipped through Jonathan’s blood. He loved a bit of intrigue, and the dark-haired man seemed to be surrounded by it.
“Brutus,” the man said, extending his hand.
Jonathan took it, fighting not to be intimidated by the strength in the man’s handshake. “Jonathan,” he answered name for name without giving more than he’d been given. “But I suppose you already know that.”
“I do,” the man said, letting Jonathan’s hand go. “And this is Phoebus.”
Brutus brought the young man forward, resting his hands on his shoulders as he positioned him, as if for Jonathan’s viewing.
“It’s Phoebus who I’d like to have photographed,” Brutus said.
“I see,” Jonathan said with a slow nod.
He did see. A quick sweep of Phoebus’s form and he definitely saw.
“I generally choose my own subjects,” Jonathan confided in Brutus quietly.
Brutus grinned. “It’s not what you think.”
Jonathan’s brow lifted. “It isn’t?”
“Not precisely,” Brutus said, his grin widening.
“I see.” Jonathan wasn’t certain he saw at all. “If you would come this way, we can discuss what you have in mind,” he said, turning to walk through the curtain and gesturing for Brutus and Phoebus to come with him.
The sun had barely risen, but already the day was unraveling in a dozen unexpected ways.