Chapter 9 #2
Jonathan had a difficult time paying attention to Frome’s increasingly fervent lecture about his estate.
He could see why the man was so passionate about the land.
Everywhere Jonathan turned, he saw a potential photograph.
The house and grounds were beautiful from every angle, and as they walked, he made notes in his head about where he would position his camera to capture the loveliest angles.
But photographing Fairford House was only an excuse to be there.
It was the men around him that he needed to capture and record to fulfill his mission.
None of them seemed to be anyone special.
He’d never heard of Charles Hammond before, or Balthazar Thomas.
He didn’t recognize any of the men who walked with him or who had remained at the house, enjoying their refreshments.
Photographing prominent men with high political position or social status was one thing. It felt like Brutus had sent him off to document a great deal of nothing.
It made Jonathan nervous.
Why did his new friends really want him in Wiltshire?
“The orangery was built during the Regency of Prince George,” Frome explained as they walked back toward the house nearly an hour after setting out.
“It is a particular favorite feature of Mr. Coombe, my head gardener. He has cultivated every sort of fruit, vegetable, and flower that should only grow during the summer in there. He has a particular passion for forcing things to grow when they shouldn’t. ”
Of all things, that simple statement had the hair on the back of Jonathan’s neck standing up. Not that he was one to talk when it came to being passionate about something that could be considered unnatural.
“What is that smaller building beside the orangery?” Thomas asked as they huffed their way up the sloping hill to return to the house.
“That?” Lord Frome shrugged, his face red and a bit sweaty. “That’s nothing. Just another outbuilding. What I’m certain Mr. Moorgate here would really be interested in is the portrait gallery inside the house. My forefathers were great collectors of art, which I am also eager to have documented.”
Jonathan glanced at the small, stone house off to the side of the orangery. He was inclined to agree with Frome that it wasn’t much of anything. He would have a devil of a time figuring out how to compose a beautiful picture of the orangery without its heavy, grey mass ruining the image.
By the time they reached the house, Jonathan was more than ready to join the gentlemen who had remained behind in taking a bit of refreshment.
He was gratified that Thomas, Hammond, and a man named Dalhurst were eager to keep him engaged in conversation as well, introducing him to some of the other guests as they did.
Even his father didn’t seem to think he was a blot on their current company as he sat in a chair at the opposite side of the circle that had formed around Jonathan as the footmen offered their treats.
Jonathan had the fleeting thought that, as striking as Frome’s footmen were, he would rather be served by Charlie, dressed in a toga and kneeling at his feet.
“We really should not keep young Mr. Moorgate idle for long,” Thomas said after about half an hour of conversation. “I’m sure he has a great deal to do, and that he wishes to work with the light while he has it.”
“You have a good point there,” Jonathan said, half wishing he could stay where he was and blend into his current company a while longer. “I should discover what has become of Charlie, my apprentice, so that we can begin our task.”
“One of the footmen will fetch him,” Frome said. “Robert?”
The young man who had just taken Jonathan’s empty punch glass nodded and walked back to the house. Jonathan watched him go with a grin, assessing whether he would make a good subject for the sort of photograph Mr. Hammond had intimated he enjoyed.
When he turned back to the others, he caught Hammond smiling at him, as if the man had read his thoughts.
He wasn’t sure he liked that.
Whether it was Hammond’s sly look or anticipation of getting on with things, the conversation suddenly wasn’t as enjoyable as Jonathan had thought it was moments before.
His father hadn’t spoken a word to him since their initial meeting, but had watched him like a hawk as he conversed with others, waiting for him to commit some terrible error.
The narrow-eyed way he stared made Jonathan want to prove to him that he could be every bit the gentleman his father was.
Jonathan was intensely and surprisingly relieved when the footman returned to the garden, leading Charlie behind him. He leapt up from his seat, nearly knocking over the plate of cake Thomas had balanced on his knee next to him, and hurried around to meet Charlie halfway across the lawn.
“Have you been settling in nicely?” he asked Charlie as he headed toward the lad with long, fast strides.
His steps faltered a bit when he saw how ashen Charlie’s face was and how furtively he glanced around, once he was out in the open.
“Has something happened?” Jonathan asked quietly once he was close enough that no one would overhear them.
Charlie said nothing, of course. He watched the footman continue ahead of them, then stared with wide eyes at the gentlemen guests, most of whom were at least casually gazing back at the two of them.
Jonathan glanced over his shoulder and smiled at them, then turned back to Charlie, gesturing for him to walk with him back into the house.
“I don’t know what Brutus was on about, charging us to photograph these men,” he said, keeping his voice as low as possible. “I don’t recognize any of them, by name or by appearance. I struggle to see the point in photographing nobodies.”
Charlie glanced up at him with wide eyes. As they stepped through an open doorway from the garden into a dimmer parlor, his pupils expanded to make his expression look wary and haunted.
“This is not a good place,” he whispered, hugging himself as they crossed the parlor and headed into the hall.
“What?” Jonathan balked a bit. “Fairford House is lovely. Lord Frome gave me a tour of the grounds and gardens earlier. They were designed by Capability Brown, though I don’t imagine you would know who that is.”
They went silent for a moment as they passed a grim-faced maid in the hall, then made their way up a wide staircase to the first floor.
“I don’t suppose we can make any judgments about Fairford House until we’ve at least attempted to fulfill the task Brutus has set for us. There may be more notable guests arriving soon.”
Charlie knew the way to the rooms Jonathan had been given and stepped ahead to open the door for him. He didn’t look at all convinced about simply going about the business of photographing the estate, though.
“Why don’t you think this is a good place?” Jonathan asked as he sorted through his equipment, which Charlie had put away nicely. He loaded a satchel with a box of dry plates and a few of his favorite lenses. It was bright enough outside that they wouldn’t need the flash pan, though.
Charlie took a long time to answer, but to Jonathan’s surprise, he did. “The house is holding its breath,” he said. “There is danger in the walls.”
Jonathan laughed. “My dear boy, I’d no idea you were such a poet.”
The fierce, offended look that flared in Charlie’s eyes made Jonathan momentarily ashamed of himself.
Jonathan cleared his throat and forced himself to be serious. “Where is the danger?” he asked.
Charlie continued to hold his gaze with unnerving intensity for a few more seconds. Just as Jonathan’s back began to prickle with uneasiness, he let out a breath and glanced down.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just there. Something is very wrong here.”
Jonathan’s brow flew up. Those might have been the most words he’d heard from Charlie in a single utterance.
A deep part of him wanted to take his sweet boy seriously. An entirely different part of him wanted to believe that the party was nothing more than a gathering of gentlemen. Gentlemen who seemed to find him interesting and worthy of their company, and to enjoy that.
“I suppose the only way to discover more is to do the job we were sent to do,” he said with a shrug, walking over to grab his camera, which was already affixed to its tripod. “And the only way to accomplish that is with time. We move forward with eyes wide open, yes?”
Charlie’s head was still bowed, and his brow was furrowed in dissatisfaction. It pained Jonathan to think that his lad was upset about something, but he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do about it.
Finally, Charlie raised his head to meet Jonathan’s eyes and nodded.
Jonathan shifted his camera into one arm and walked over to Charlie so he could caress the side of his face.
“All will be well,” he said. “You’ll see. We have a mission and days to complete it, and then we will leave. That’s all that’s been asked of us.”
Charlie pressed his cheek into Jonathan’s palm, closing his eyes for a moment as if reveling in the sensation.
His devotion warmed Jonathan from the inside and sent blood pumping to inconvenient places when they needed to return to the company of the others. Charlie really was a treasure. He was lucky to have found the man.
“Come along,” he said, pulling his hand back and shifting his camera again. “Let’s photograph some brilliant, Wiltshire countryside.”
He marched over to the door, camera held like a pike over his shoulder. Charlie followed him, but when they reached the door, Jonathan turned back to him.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you, Charlie,” he said. “I promise that whatever it is about this house that unsettles you, I will keep you safe. If it all becomes too much, we can simply pack our things and leave.”
Charlie breathed out and smiled a bit, which had Jonathan smiling back at him.
But as they left the room, Jonathan hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He hadn’t felt so accepted by the men who were supposed to be his peers in ages, and he had to admit that he rather liked it.