Chapter 17 #2
“I would prefer to keep my boy with me,” Jonathan said with an apologetic smile. It was a massive risk, referring to Charlie as his boy, but if ever there was a time to let Frome know that he was aware of the sort of world he existed in and to indicate he was of a like mind, the time was now.
Frome drew in a slow breath and nodded as if he did understand. “I see,” he said, more suspicious than Jonathan wanted him to be. “I am not entirely certain—”
“Moorgate. There you are.”
Jonathan was saved from the potentially explosive moment as Thomas, of all people, approached them from one of the side halls, a glass of water in one hand. The addition of another guest whose suspicions he would have to make excuses for made his stomach twist and threaten to empty in earnest.
But Thomas approached him with an affable, almost silly smile, holding out the glass of water. “I’ve fetched this, just as you asked,” he said. Handing Jonathan the glass once he was close.
“Thank you,” Jonathan said, fighting not to sound completely baffled.
“You know about young Moorgate’s illness?” Frome asked, bristling with suspicion.
“Yes, of course I do,” Thomas chuckled. “We were all there at the table when he rushed out of the room to cast up his accounts.” He turned to Jonathan, thumping a hand on his back, and went on with, “Nasty business, food poisoning. I’m glad your young apprentice here fetched me to help.”
Jonathan lifted the glass of water uneasily to his lips, staring at Charlie with widened eyes. Charlie, in turn, looked at Thomas as if their rescue was secured.
“You were not where I expected you to be,” Thomas went on. “Otherwise, I would have brought you your remedy much sooner.”
“No,” Jonathan said, taking another sip of water. “We’d moved on from the laundry back into the house. It was too cold and dark outside.”
“Ah,” Thomas said, hooking his thumbs around his braces and rocking slightly, smiling at everyone.
Frome watched the exchange as if reassessing everything he thought he knew. “You did not—” he started, then gave up whatever he’d intended to come next.
For a moment, the hall buzzed with awkwardness. Jonathan was certain they all knew that the others were lying, but none of them seemed willing to address things directly to bring whatever had been simmering under the surface of the entire weekend party to the fore.
“I should retire,” Jonathan said at last, drinking a bit more of the water before handing the glass over to Thomas once more. “I am by no means recovered, and Lord Frome is correct, I should be in bed right now.”
“I could send one of the footmen to attend to you,” Frome offered, still suspicious.
“That will not be necessary.” Jonathan smiled weakly at him.
They all stood perfectly still for a few moments more before Frome cleared his throat and said, “I suppose that is all, then. If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have business to attend to.”
Jonathan was certain he did and that said business would cause nothing but trouble for everyone. He nodded once, then took Charlie’s hand and started for the stairs.
“Are you certain you do not need the rest of this water?” Thomas asked, chasing after them.
“I do not,” Jonathan said with a tight smile, hoping the man would go away so he and Charlie could figure out what to do next.
Frome glanced their way one more time before disappearing down one of the halls. Jonathan was relieved to be out of his sight.
“I am certain the water would be beneficial,” Thomas persisted, following them all the way up the stairs.
Jonathan tried not to let anger get the better of him. It was better than the terror that spread through him, just under the surface, but not by much. He just wanted to be alone with Charlie so they could figure out how to flee.
“I know your handsome young apprentice would—”
“I am sorry,” Jonathan rounded on Thomas once they were halfway down the hall. “I do not need your help,” he hissed.
“I think you do,” Thomas said, his voice and, indeed, his entire mien instantly changing to one of deadly seriousness.
Thomas reached for the hem of his sleeve on the hand that held out the glass of water and pulled it back, revealing a tattoo of a snake on his forearm. A snake coiled into the shape of a heart. The symbol of The Zagreus Den.
It did not make Jonathan feel even slightly better.
“What have you thrust me into?” he demanded, grabbing the front of Thomas’s shirt and turning him to slam him against the wall, spilling the water. “What sort of game have you and your friends made me and Charlie a pawn in?”
“A game with the highest stakes,” Thomas replied calmly, setting the glass down on a small table by his side. “Stakes that I am certain your boy has already discovered.”
Jonathan’s anger dissolved into far less tangible, but still potent, emotions. “I understand, too,” he whispered. “I understand that Lord Fabian is a prisoner in this sick world of slavery and seduction you’ve unwittingly pulled me into.”
“You were already a part of it, whether you knew it or not,” Thomas said, meeting Jonathan’s eyes with an unwavering confidence. “Your photographs have provided a catalog of merchandise for years.”
Jonathan’s mouth dropped open. “I’ve only ever taken photographs,” he argued. “I never kept any of those boys or sold them, only their images.”
“They’ve been easy enough to find on the streets,” Thomas said, “once their images were circulated. The Den has tried to reach all of them before Cleveland Street could, but we have not always been successful.”
“What are you talking about?” Jonathan demanded, gut churning with dread and guilt.
Thomas sighed. “This is neither the time nor the place to discuss these things,” he said. “But whether you are fully aware or not, you are as much a part of what has been happening here as any of the rest of us.”
“What is happening here?” Jonathan demanded. “Did Brutus and Titus send me into a trap?”
“Not at all,” Thomas answered. “They were honest about the task they sent you to complete. We require documentation of the men Hammond has been attempting to recruit to—”
He was not given a chance to finish. One of the doors opened at the far end of the hall, and Jonathan’s father stepped out.
Jonathan let go of Thomas and reeled back, reaching for Charlie. His old fear of his father eclipsed any of the new fear for the mind-bending circumstances he’d fallen into.
His father jolted to a stop as soon as he spotted the confrontation in front of him, his eyes going wide, as though he hadn’t expected any of it. As he approached, he schooled his face into a calmer expression, but the alarm was still there.
“Have you recovered from your illness?” he asked, everything about him wary, and likely for a thousand other reasons besides Jonathan’s state of health and fitness.
“I have not,” Jonathan said. He sent Thomas a glance, then grabbed Charlie’s hand to tug him along toward their rooms. “If you will excuse me,” he said, glancing back to both his father and Thomas.
“I must take to my bed. And in the morning, I need to secure a carriage to take me and Charlie to the station.”
If Thomas really was on their side, as he seemed to be claiming, then he would find a way to help Jonathan and Charlie escape from this mad place.
Thomas stood a bit straighter, looking at Jonathan as if he was disappointed in the decision to flee instead of joining whatever cause he believed he was fighting for.
Jonathan was done with people being disappointed in him.
He was done with being used as a tool or an excuse in other men’s games.
As he strode into his room, shutting the door firmly behind him and Charlie, all he wanted to do was to get as far away from lies and deceit as he could so that he could hide away with Charlie forever.