Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
The grief Charlie felt, knowing Fabian was gone, bored so deep into his soul that for a moment he could hardly stand to be alive. He wasn’t innocent enough to believe that Fabian was being taken to someplace better. The exact opposite was likely true.
They’d been too late. Worse still, Davidson had seen his efforts to help Fabian earlier and had reported him. Fabian had been whisked off to God only knew where because of him.
Maybe Jonathan was right. Maybe he should have been more cautious and assessed the situation before running headlong into even greater danger.
“Charlie,” Jonathan whispered above him, his voice broken.
Charlie had had his face buried against Jonathan’s side as grief overwhelmed him, but at the urgency in Jonathan’s voice, he glanced up.
Jonathan’s face was painted with flickering shadows in the moonlight, but the sadness and fear were still there.
“We have to move,” Jonathan said, cupping the side of Charlie’s face. “Dalhurst is coming this way.”
Charlie caught his breath and swallowed hard. He’d made so many mistakes already. It would be another one entirely for him to give in to defeat and let himself and Jonathan be caught.
He nodded and stood when Jonathan did, imitating his master and pressing his back against the wall of the orangery. Dalhurst was nearby, but he seemed to be interested in something having to do with the cottage, something Charlie couldn’t see.
“Back to the house,” Jonathan whispered, as if Charlie had any doubt about where they needed to go.
They took a few tentative steps in the dark, but were stopped right away when a man other than Dalhurst said, “You’d do well to search the area. Hammond was certain the boy would try to rescue Lord Fabian, and since Moorgate left supper early, he’s sure to be helping him.”
Jonathan grabbed Charlie’s arm and squeezed hard. Charlie wanted to turn and throw himself into Jonathan’s arms in return, his fear was so powerful. They both seemed to know that any hesitation on their part could lead to their discovery and capture.
Charlie didn’t want to think about what would happen if they were captured.
“They aren’t in their room,” a third voice, Davidson’s voice, said.
“Which means they must be out here somewhere,” Dalhurst said.
Charlie glanced desperately around for any means of escape. Jonathan stood straighter and scanned the area, too. He must have seen something favorable, because he drew in a breath, shifted to hold Charlie’s hand, then pulled him hurriedly along the length of the greenhouse.
Charlie wanted to stop and ask where they were going and what they should do to keep themselves alive.
He’d ended up in the wrong place, cornered in a dark alley, on the street a few too many times in the past, so he was painfully aware of what they were up against. He was unsure whether Jonathan had ever been in a situation like that before.
Considering how relatively easy Jonathan’s life had been, Charlie wasn’t certain of that at all.
“This way,” Jonathan whispered with a bit more authority, tugging Charlie away from the greenhouse.
They were forced to dash across a length of open grass, exposing themselves to anyone who might be looking in their direction.
The moon had just gone behind a cloud as they broke out into the open, though, and even though it wasn’t much in the way of concealment, it was all they had to get them down the sloping hill toward one of the clusters of trees that had been artfully placed across Fairford House’s grounds.
As soon as they were cloaked by the trees, Jonathan paused, pulling Charlie into his arms as he rested his back against a thick oak.
“Listen,” Jonathan panted, clutching him against his pounding heart.
Charlie didn’t need the order. He pressed one cheek to Jonathan’s shoulder, but with his other ear, he listened as hard as he could for anything that would hint they’d been discovered.
“Did the carriage already collect him?” a new, faint voice joined those at the top of the slope, near the orangery. Hammond’s voice.
Dalhurst answered, but they were too far away for Charlie to make out anything that was said. It was maddening to know an entire conversation had begun that likely involved not only Fabian, but discussion of their whereabouts, and Charlie couldn’t hear any of it.
“I can’t hear what they’re saying,” Jonathan echoed his thoughts, his body tense and hot. “We need to get farther away.”
Charlie nodded, rubbing his face against Jonathan’s shoulder, then pushed back.
He stared at Jonathan in the guttering moonlight. It was almost too dark to see him, but it hardly mattered. Charlie imagined that he could feel the things Jonathan was thinking. He believed Charlie now. He believed everything Charlie had told him about the necessity of hurrying to rescue Fabian.
It hardly mattered at this point.
“Search the area,” Hammond called out. “If they can’t be found in the house, it means they’re out here somewhere.”
“Come,” Jonathan said.
He pushed away from the tree, taking Charlie’s hand again and leading him through the wood.
It was maddening that the wood was only a small patch of trees instead of something they could get lost in.
Clearly, the estate’s grounds hadn’t been designed to hide in.
As soon as Charlie and Jonathan stepped out of the other side of the wood, they were in full view of whomever might be looking for them again.
“Hurry,” Jonathan said, gripping Charlie’s hand tightly and dashing with him to the next patch of trees, slightly farther down the hill.
They couldn’t hear anyone following them, but Charlie doubted that meant no one was looking for them. Of course they would be. Men who kept a young nobleman naked and chained so that he could be used and sold did not simply give up searching for men who knew the truth and might tell someone.
Jonathan didn’t rest once they made it to the next spot of woods, or the next after that. Charlie’s heart pounded and he lost his breath completely as Jonathan took him farther and farther away from the house.
At last, they reached a genuine bit of woods with a stream that wound through it at the very bottom of the hill on which Fairford’s manor house stood.
“I have no idea if we’re far enough away,” Jonathan panted, lurching over to a fallen tree trunk and sitting heavily against it.
Charlie sagged to sit by his side, looking out through the thick trees to the edge of the meadow they’d raced across.
He didn’t know what to say, whether there was any way to comfort Jonathan as he broke down into tears, burying his face in his hands.
He didn’t know if he wanted to comfort Jonathan or demand an apology.
He received an apology without asking for it.
“I am so sorry,” Jonathan sobbed, shoulders hunched, face hidden from him. “You were right in every way to demand I take action and I was so wrong.”
His words were true, but rather than igniting Charlie with righteous indignation, they stooped his shoulders and made him cry right along with his master, his heart bleeding for him.
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan repeated, then twisted to pull Charlie into his embrace.
Charlie let himself be comforted for only a moment before pushing and fighting to separate himself from Jonathan.
“I told you he was in trouble,” he said, voice hoarse and weak. “I told you he needed help.”
“I know,” Jonathan hung his head. “I didn’t want it to be true.”
Charlie gaped at him in the dark. “Just because you don’t want bad things to be true does not mean they are false,” he said, wishing he had better words for the admonishment he wanted to give, not just to Jonathan, but to the world.
“I know,” Jonathan repeated with a hopeless shrug.
Charlie wasn’t convinced he did know. He slid off the log and stood facing Jonathan, hands clenched into fists at his sides, anger and compassion battling within him.
“He needed our help. I needed your help. So many people need help. But they laugh and play games and hurt instead of help,” he said, flinging his arm out toward the house, unseen beyond the trees.
“Oh, God!” Jonathan said, gasping his way into a hard bout of weeping that shook his entire body. “They needed my help, and all I did was pay them a pittance for a handful of lewd photographs.”
Charlie took a step back, his throat squeezing with pity even while his gut churned as he shared the realization Jonathan had just come to.
“All those young men,” Jonathan wept on. “All those vulnerable boys. They didn’t need respite for one night, one belly full of food before being sent on their way. They needed help, and I failed to give it.”
He wasn’t wrong, but it broke Charlie’s heart all the same. Few things were more heartbreaking than the regret of a man who had been wrong for a very long time realizing he could have done things differently.
Charlie sank to his knees in front of Jonathan, resting his hands on his master’s thighs. “Did you know?” he asked.
Jonathan was silent for a few moments, breathing heavily as he wiped the tears from his eyes. They didn’t seem to want to stop, which caused Charlie’s throat to squeeze tighter.
“I want to say I didn’t know,” Jonathan confessed in a whisper. “I want to say that they were all as carefree and hedonistic as I was. It was a fair exchange. I didn’t ask much from them and they didn’t want much from me. Everyone benefited.”
Except they didn’t. Or, at least, Charlie wouldn’t have. He’d been on the edge of desperation, the edge of death, really. He wouldn’t have survived if he hadn’t carved a place for himself in Jonathan’s life with deft precision.
How many of the other young men Jonathan had lured into his studio hadn’t survived a month after leaving him?
It was too painful to think about now.
And yet, Jonathan did not seem to be able to think of anything else.