“You can follow me,” Davidson said to Charlie as soon as Jonathan and Mr. Glenn started to walk on.
Panic welled up in Charlie’s gut. He did not, under any circumstances, want to be separated from Jonathan or left alone in that house. Fairford House wasn’t The Zagreus Den, and Davidson wasn’t Valentine. There was no telling what sort of danger the grinning footman was about to lead him into.
But Jonathan walked on, chatting lightly with Mr. Glenn about the portraits on the wall and the arrangements for the weekend. He looked completely in his element, as if he attended summer house parties at gorgeous, terrifying country estates all the time. For all Charlie knew, he did.
“Jeremy and the lads will bring all your master’s things in from the carriage,” Davidson addressed Charlie more casually once Jonathan and Mr. Glenn were gone. “I’ll start by showing you where everything is and where your master’s rooms are.”
A shiver went down Charlie’s spine at hearing Jonathan called his master. Davidson didn’t mean it in the same way Valentine had used that word. It was a mere title and formality coming from Davidson’s lips. It meant nothing, whereas Jonathan meant everything to Charlie.
With heavy steps and one last, long look in the direction Jonathan had disappeared, Charlie followed Davidson.
“Fairford House works much the same as any other estate,” Davidson explained as they left the front hall and turned quickly onto a smaller, narrower hallway. “Have you ever been in service?”
Charlie shook his head no.
Davidson huffed. “I’m not surprised.” He glanced Charlie up and down with a sneer. “Houses like this are divided into upstairs staff and downstairs. Right there is the dining room, and across the hall is the breakfast room. And farther down this way is the butler’s pantry.”
Charlie looked around as much as he could, trying to take in every detail of the fine rooms with their stilted, pristine furnishings. He couldn’t imagine real people being anything close to comfortable in either of the rooms, or any part of the house that he’d passed through so far.
“Through here are the stairs leading to the servants’ hall and the kitchen,” Davidson explained, passing through the butler’s pantry and turning a corner.
They passed a pale young woman in a stiff, black uniform coming up the stairs as they descended. The maid didn’t look at them, and Davidson didn’t really look at her or tell Charlie her name before she hurried on her way.
“The kitchen is down that way,” Davidson pointed once they were at the bottom of the stairs, “and the servants’ dining room is just through here. I imagine you’ll be taking your meals with us, if you aren’t too high and mighty for that.”
Charlie flinched at the bite in Davidson’s voice. He didn’t know how to answer the accusation. Or was it a joke? He couldn’t tell.
When he didn’t say anything at all, Davidson let out a breath and shook his head, then walked Charlie on through the servants’ dining hall to a second hallway across from it.
“This is where most of the important downstairs rooms are,” he continued his tour. “Mr. Glenn’s office, Mrs. Sandhurst’s room. The wine cellar is back that way, and the silver room is across the hall.”
Davidson stopped so abruptly Charlie nearly slammed into him.
“If any of the silver or wine goes missing during the next few days, I’ll know who took it,” Davidson snapped.
Charlie worked his mouth in an attempt to say he would never steal anything, but the words stayed frozen in his throat.
Davidson laughed, then gestured for Charlie to keep following him.
“I’ll show you the kitchens,” he said, taking Charlie back the way they’d come, “but I can’t imagine you’ll have any need to meddle with anything in here.”
Charlie shook his head, mainly because he didn’t know how else to respond.
The kitchen was busy. It was full of steam and delicious smells. But like the maid they’d passed on the stairs, the cook and maids who hurried around with their sleeves rolled up and dampness plastering tendrils of their bound hair against the side of their faces, none of them were smiling.
Despite the scent of good things, the kitchen felt heavy. All of Fairford House felt heavy.
It was such a direct contrast to The Zagreus Den that it left Charlie’s head spinning. It didn’t matter that the artwork on the walls of Fairford House, where there was any, was respectable and grand. It didn’t matter that the servants rushing about seemed to be efficient and orderly. It didn’t matter that the bedchamber and dressing room on the first floor that Davidson said had been assigned to Jonathan during his stay was as neat as could be, or that a fire had already been lit in the grate to warm it. The Zagreus Den had been lurid and fantastical and uninhibited, but Charlie had still felt safer there.
He'd been the one to convince Jonathan to help Brutus and Titus with whatever secret plan was behind the need to photograph people at Fairford House, but Charlie was beginning to regret it. Every instinct he had told him to turn and run.
“I could have told Jeremy and George to bring all your master’s things up to these rooms themselves,” Davidson said, tilting his head up proudly as they left the rooms and started back through the house to the front drive, “but it sounds like your master doesn’t want anyone touching his things but you.”
Charlie opened his mouth, but no sound came out. So he just nodded.
“Would you like help?” Davidson asked, his grin unkind. “Just say the word and we can all assist you in carrying things upstairs.”
Charlie pressed his lips together and frowned. He was being laughed at and made fun of. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
