Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Charlie had never been outside of London before.
He’d never been as far away from Bermondsey as Marylebone before Jonathan had saved him.
But a fortnight after their first visit to The Zagreus Den, after waking each day with the fear that Jonathan would decide he no longer fancied having Charlie around, assisting with his photography sessions, the two of them boarded a train that whisked them away with heart-stopping speed to an entirely new world called Wiltshire.
“I still cannot comprehend how Brutus arranged this,” Jonathan said as he offered Charlie a hand down from the first-class compartment they’d made the journey in. “I would have wagered impressive money that any suggestions of inviting me to this house party would have been laughed at.”
Charlie had never doubted for a moment that Brutus would manage the arrangement.
He and Jonathan had returned to The Zagreus Den a few days after their initial visit so that Jonathan could give the two brothers his answer about the mission they wished to send him on.
They’d arrived in the middle of a casual afternoon.
Rather than attending another banquet in the Den’s hall, Brutus and Titus had met them in one of the smaller parlors.
The meeting had been much more casual and friendly than that first luncheon.
Valentine had been there to serve, and with a quick wink at Charlie, Charlie had joined him in pouring tea and offering around a plate of cake.
He’d been happy to see Valentine again and happy to slip into the role of servant for Jonathan.
Another young man had been in the room with them, naked and kneeling between Brutus and Titus’s chairs.
He wore a plain, leather collar around his neck with no chain attached to it, and did not raise his head or look anyone directly in the eyes throughout the entire visit.
Brutus and Titus didn’t acknowledge him at all, and after a few, worried looks, neither did Jonathan.
The young man could have been a piece of furniture.
“He’s training,” Valentine had whispered to Charlie at one point, as they’d returned their plates to the table at the side of the room.
Charlie hadn’t been given a chance to ask his new friend what that meant.
He had, however, mimicked the naked man’s posture, albeit still clothed, as he took up a spot kneeling beside Jonathan’s chair.
Valentine had knelt by the other side of Titus’s chair, so it seemed only right for Charlie to assume the role he wanted so desperately.
If Jonathan had seen anything wrong with what was going on in that room around him, he gave no indication. He’d chatted and laughed with complete ease, answered Brutus and Titus’s questions and asked a few of his own, and generally behaved as if that sort of thing happened to him every day.
But Charlie had started to see the tension in his savior, the contradiction between what his body was saying and what his smiling face and idle conversation hid.
He felt that same underlying unrest at night, when Jonathan took him to bed.
Most nights, Jonathan would make love to him, or fuck him, depending on his mood, and Charlie gladly succumbed to whatever his savior wanted.
But with those nights of intimacy, he was beginning to learn a different Jonathan from the one who charmed his clients and teased that he might give Charlie his five shillings and send him on his way in a few days.
That Jonathan drew Charlie in, spoke to his soul. That Jonathan was not Charlie’s superior, he was a fellow sufferer who could not put his pain into words.
That was the Jonathan Charlie wanted so desperately.
Charlie scrambled to lug the heavy boxes of photographic equipment out of the train compartment and onto the platform, where porters were ready to load it onto the carriage Lord Frome had sent to collect the two of them.
He was determined to stay with Jonathan, no matter how much his savior batted around the idea of putting him back on the street, like a cat playing with a feather it would soon grow bored of.
The only way to prevent what he knew would eventually end in his death in some alley was to continue to be as useful to Jonathan as possible, in and out of bed.
“Whenever you’re ready, sir,” the coachman who helped the porters load their things onto the carriage said to Jonathan with a deferential bow.
“And so our adventure begins,” Jonathan said with a wink, gesturing for Charlie to climb into the opulent, leather-smelling carriage ahead of him.
Charlie scrambled in and scooted to the far side of the rear-facing seat. Their adventure had begun the moment they’d entered The Zagreus Den, but he wasn’t about to part his lips and tell Jonathan that.
Wiltshire was the most beautiful place Charlie had ever seen.
As much as he felt it was his duty to give his full attention to his savior, the verdant hills and sunny gardens of the country they passed through on their way from the train station to Fairford House captivated him.
Bermondsey, and even Marylebone, seemed grey and gloomy and dull compared to the countryside around him now.
Wiltshire was a heaven of its own in shades of green and gold.
As they made the turn from the road onto a long drive that wound through a matching pair of ponds, within sight of a small wood, and up a slope to the stately house at the top of a hill, Charlie realized Jonathan was studying him instead of the landscape.
“You’ve truly never been to the country before?” Jonathan asked, amusement and something deeper sparkling in his eyes.
Charlie blushed and shook his head. He didn’t know why he felt sheepish admitting that. His world hadn’t felt small until he’d stepped away from it and seen how limited it had truly been.
The grounds of Fairford House might have been lush and idyllic, but things changed as soon as they reached the house.
“Mr. Moorgate,” a tall, stern-faced man in a black suit greeted them as the coachman opened the door to let them out of the carriage. “It is good of you to come on such short notice. I am Mr. Glenn, the butler here at Fairford House.”
“Mr. Glenn,” Jonathan greeted the man with a smile as he stepped down, then turned to offer Charlie a hand.
For the first time, Charlie didn’t want to take it. Not with the way Mr. Glenn arched one eyebrow with subtle disapproval. If Charlie didn’t know better, he would have said the man understood immediately what sort of relationship he and Jonathan had.
“Is this your….” Mr. Glenn barely nodded at Charlie.
“Charlie is my apprentice,” Jonathan explained, placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and ushering him forward. “Though he will also be serving as my valet for this visit.”
“I see,” Mr. Glenn said tightly. He glanced briefly at Charlie, then back to Jonathan. “Will the young man be responsible for your photographic equipment while you are at Fairford House?”
“He will,” Jonathan confirmed. “Charlie is familiar with the care and upkeep of everything from the tripods to the dry plates. I ask that your staff defer to his direction in all things related to the transportation and storage of my things.”
“You wish to keep these things in your rooms?” the butler asked.
“Unless you are able to provide me with a room in which I can do my work,” Jonathan said.
“I will see what Lord Frome says,” Mr. Glenn said with a half-bow. “If you will come with me, sir,” he went on, turning and starting toward the house’s imposing front door. “Your father, Mr. Moorgate, has already arrived. I believe the gentlemen are enjoying some refreshments on the back lawn.”
“Refreshments,” Jonathan said with a broad smile, clapping his hands together and rubbing them. “I could do with some of those myself.”
They made it as far as the front hallway of the grand house before a knot began to form in Charlie’s chest that wouldn’t move. There was something about walking from the bright sunshine of the afternoon into the cool, dark house that felt like walking into a pit.
The house was decorated in a style that felt old to Charlie, not that he knew anything about how lords decorated their estates.
Everything was polished wood and brass. Great, fierce portraits hung around the walls.
The paper between those portraits was dark green, gold, and rust-red, like dried blood.
Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor in a way that made Charlie’s teeth stand on edge.
“This is Davidson, one of our footmen,” Mr. Glenn introduced a slender, unsmiling young man with black hair as he stepped forward from a side hall. “He can assist your…man in bringing your things in and securing your equipment in the rooms you’ve been given.”
“Excellent,” Jonathan said, smiling and affable, as though the house wasn’t looming around them like it was looking to find fault.
In contrast, the muscles in his back were bunched so tight that Charlie assumed he was in pain.
“I would be much obliged to you, Davidson, for taking good care of Charlie here. It’s his first time out of London. ”
Charlie snapped to look at Jonathan, unhappy with his savior giving anything away about who he was and what his weaknesses might be.
Davidson swept one look over Charlie, then smirked in a way that had the hair on the back of Charlie’s neck prickling. “Don’t worry, sir,” he said. “I’ll take good care of your boy.”
“Excellent. Thank you,” Jonathan said.
“I can show you to the garden now, sir,” Mr. Glenn said, gesturing for Jonathan to walk on with him.
“Get everything settled, Charlie,” Jonathan charged him with a warm smile and a wink. “I’d like to get started photographing the place as soon as we’re settled in.”
“Very good,” Mr. Glenn said, as if Jonathan had addressed him and not Charlie.
“You can follow me,” Davidson said to Charlie as soon as Jonathan and Mr. Glenn started to walk on.