Frome hummed again doubtfully. “You do not need to go jaunting off across the countryside on a train in your condition, young Moorgate. You need bedrest and careful monitoring.”
Jonathan wanted to curse. In fact, if he truly had been ill with a stomach complaint, Frome would be right.
“I’ve no wish to impose on you,” he said.
“It is not an imposition at all,” Frome said, regaining some of his earlier cheeriness. “Perhaps if you retire to your room, your young man here, Charlie, can come with me to the kitchens so that he might fetch you some sort of carminative.”
Charlie tensed by Jonathan’s side, inching closer to him.
“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 hewas 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?—”
