“He must!” Jonathan raised his voice and pushed away from the table, nearly knocking Charlie sideways and upsetting some of the equipment as he began pacing. “He must, otherwise why would he be here?”
Charlie stood quickly and reached for the box of plates Jonathan had shifted out of its neat place. The very last thing they needed was to break the photographs they’d already taken. They were the proof of who the bad men were, after all.
He sucked in a breath.
They were the proof.
“Your father is an MP,” he said, turning to face Jonathan, the box of plates in his hands.
“He is,” Jonathan growled, throwing out a hand in a useless, frustrated gesture. “A pious, pompous Member of Parliament who gloats every time he helps to enact a law that decimates the rights and welfare of working people.”
“He does?” Charlie blinked.
Jonathan laughed humorlessly. “He detests the ‘drudges’, as he calls them. He believes they should all be rounded up and stuffed into workhouses for the benefit of those who truly make the world turn.”
Charlie frowned as more pieces began to fall into place. “Mr. Blythe owns half the warehouses in London’s docklands,” he said, remembering the things Jonathan had told him about the other guests or that he had learned from the servants in the house. “Mr. Atherton owns factories in Spitalfields.” He glanced up from where he’d been staring at nothing. “Mr. Chillington owns three workhouses.”
Jonathan stopped and whipped back to face Charlie. “Are you saying this is all connected? That Frome has gathered a cabal of industrialists and politicians so that they might band together to control the labor market of London?” His expression showed he did not think much of that idea.
Charlie stepped toward him, holding out the box of plates. “It’s Hammond,” he said. “He offered me a position. He is luring Mr. Copeland to join him. What if he is luring everyone to join him.”
A spark flashed in Jonathan’s eyes. “By why? What use would it be to him to have a group of prominent men gain membership to whatever den of his own he might operate?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said, breathless with the connections that were just out of his grasp. “But Brutus and Titus want us to stop him.”
Jonathan flinched back, then frowned. “Why would they do that?”
Charlie held out the box of plates again. “They won’t join if they fear they’ll be exposed. And if they don’t join, they won’t have the power to hurt people. The Zagreus Den is trying to stop people from being hurt.”
Jonathan just stared at him. But instead of sneering at Charlie’s theory, he studied him with a gaze that was a thousand miles away.
Finally, when the tension in the room was so sharp Charlie thought he would shatter, Jonathan breathed, “We need to get out of here. Immediately.” He marched toward the table. “We’ll take the camera and the other equipment. No, we’ll leave the camera behind.” He swore under his breath as though he despised that idea. “It has to be done,” he sighed, gathering the boxes of plates and putting them in the already half-full satchel. “Leave everything else behind. We must leave now.”
Charlie jumped into action, knowing Jonathan was right. The only material thing that mattered now were the exposed plates. They had to get them away so they could be developed and delivered to Brutus and Titus. Charlie did not need to know the full plan or the nature of the war they’d stepped into to know Hammond and the men he was attempting to recruit needed to be stopped.
As soon as they had the plates packed away, Jonathan gathered up his lenses and packed those away in a second case. “These are too expensive to leave behind,” he said, one eyebrow arched, as if he was beginning to feel the excitement of their mission again. “The rest can be purchased anew.”
They tucked a few items of clothing around the lenses and boxes of cases, for padding if nothing else, then Jonathan slung the satchel over Charlie’s shoulder. He took the other case himself and moved to the door. Everything else was abandoned.
For several long minutes, Jonathan listened to the door. Charlie wasn’t certain his nerves could withstand the suspense.Finally, Jonathan pulled away from the door, turned the handle, and gestured for Charlie to follow him out into the hall.
The upper floors of Fairford House were silent. Charlie fought not to make a single noise as he and Jonathan crept on to the grand staircase, then made their way down to the front door.
“Dammit, it’s locked,” Jonathan whispered as the door failed to open. “We’ll have to find another way.”
“The window,” Charlie whispered, choking out the words.
Jonathan nodded, then headed down one of the side corridors, Charlie following as fast as he could, his heart racing. They were so close. If they could just climb back through the window and escape the darkness of the house, they could run all the way to?—
“There you are.”
As soon as they stepped into the dark parlor, Mr. Hammond struck a match and used it to light the lantern on the table he stood beside.
“I told you it was only a matter of time before your errant son joined us,” Hammond went on, grinning at Jonathan’s father, who stood in the shadows at the side of the room.
Jonathan stepped back, his hand squeezing all the blood out of Charlie’s, when he realized they wouldn’t be able to make an easy escape. “Hammond,” he said, his voice stony. “Father.”
“Leaving so soon?” Hammond asked, turning up the gas on the lantern he’d just lit so that it illuminated the entire room, albeit with eerie shadows and oily, flickering light.
