“I am not getting any younger, you know, and there are some marvelous ancestors in the family. One day, someone will want to write about them.”
This part of the conversation had been directed at myself. It was something she had suggested before. I had pointed out there was the official Montgomery record that was part of the royal archive.
“Of course, dear. However, that hasn’t always included those who were born below the salt... Robbie FitzWarren, for example. The stories about him that I was told as a child! Quite a bounder! And not mentioned in the official family record at all. Brodie reminds me of him.”
There had been other colorful characters that had been briefly mentioned in records, or not all.
“She has been occupied today with pictures. Out and about since the early hours. Mrs. Ryan has been quite exhausted with her roaming about. You know how she can be when she is occupied with something new, miss.”
I did know, very well. However, that did not explain what the new project was, Mrs. Ryan’s condition after following her about, or which pictures were in question.
Mr. Symons had been in service to my great aunt long before my sister and I arrived as children. He had never married and lived at Sussex Square.
He had considered us very near his own children to be watched over, and I owed him a great deal for his ‘discretion’ in the secrets he kept about my own early adventures. Such as when I had escaped through the window outside my room on the second floor rather than attend an extremely boring social event Aunt Antonia was hosting.
Linnie had been my co-conspirator in those adventures until she was caught in a very creative lie about where I was at the time.
More recently, Mr. Symons had become a reliable source. I could always rely on him to provide information about what my great aunt was up to, considering her advanced age and some of her own early adventures.
“She is quite spirited,” he had observed on more than one occasion.
I thanked him now and continued on to the formal parlor, where tumblers and a decanter of Old Lodge awaited on a side table, along with a most interesting flat box the size of one of my books.
It was made of leather and wood with a small metal latch on the side. I pressed it and the box opened to reveal a lens mounted on a small extended leather bellows. It was a camera!
That explained Mr. Symons comment about ‘pictures.’
There had been some remarkable developments in cameras, far different from the large, bulky ones on tripods that street photographers used or the ones used in photographers’ studios.
“Here you are, dear!” Aunt Antonia announced as she swept into the parlor. “I needed to change into something more appropriate than my hunting costume for going out and about.” She glanced at the side table.
“I see Mrs. Ryan has provided refreshment. I was quite concerned about her earlier. She was quite exhausted.”
And then, “You’ve discovered my camera. A remarkable invention. It creates images on a roll of film that the fellow Kodak invented.” She went to the side table and poured us both a dram of whisky.
She handed me a tumbler. “It’s most entertaining. I cannot wait to see the photographs once they are...” she searched for the word.
“Developed?” I suggested.
“Yes, that is the word, some sort of chemical bath. I’m told any pharmacist attendant can provide that. Supposedly they have the appropriate materials.” She paused.
“Do you suppose your friend, Mr. Brimley, might be able to accommodate? Charming man.”
“Very possibly,” I assured her, my thoughts already returning to my inquires of the day.
The camera was quite small. It would have been most convenient. I could have taken pictures of the items I discovered instead of taking them.
“You mentioned a new inquiry case in your telephone call this morning,” she reminded me.
I retrieved the gold button we had found at St. John’s Wood from the pocket of my walking skirt.
“What can you tell me about this?”
“Oh, dear. I shall need my reading glasses,” she announced. “There at the hearth table. Odd. How is someone supposed to find their glasses when they need them to find something in the first place?”
Wisdom from someone who had finally admitted that she had some difficulty reading invitations to events, the dailies, and of course the scandal pages.
She had blamed it on bad handwriting from the sender of an invitation at the time, and then poor print at the newspaper, until Linnie convinced her that glasses were quite fashionable.
