Free The Parliament of Blood by Justin Richards Page A

Just plain Mr.’
    â€˜Oh,’ Blake said, disappointed. ‘Never mind. Maybe one day … What do you want, anyway?’
    â€˜I wondered if you would look at some photographs for me,’ George said. ‘There may be something strange about the way they have been created. The process.’
    Blake gave a grunt and adjusted his blanket. ‘Suppose I could,’ he muttered. ‘You said you are from the British Museum,’ he added, with a hint of suspicion in his tone.
    â€˜That’s right. I’m afraid the photographs have to stay at the Museum, but perhaps you could come and look at them there. I can send a carriage,’ he added, hoping that this would indeed be possible. ‘Tomorrow?’
    â€˜Trip out, eh?’ Blake seemed interested. ‘British Museum. How grand.’ He nodded slowly. ‘So long as that harpy Mrs Eggerton lets me escape for a day.’
    â€˜I’m sure it will be fine,’ George said, though he did not relish speaking with Mrs Eggerton. The large, severe woman who ran the home had met him at the door and subjected him to a loud, intense questioning before allowing him to see Blake.
    â€˜Strangest thing I ever saw,’ Blake said, ‘to do with weird photography …’ His voice faded and he stared out across the grounds.
    â€˜Yes?’ George said.
    â€˜I’ve seen double exposures, where you get two pictures all muddled up together. Fogged plates where the light got in. Even a picture of a séance where there’s spirits above the medium, though I expect that was faked up in the processing. There’s always an explanation, a technical explanation. But the strangest thing was when I was with Talbot, all those years ago. When he was refining the process, looking at using silver and taking his first photographs.’
    â€˜And what was it?’
    Blake seemed lost in his memories, and George had to prompt him again before he went on. ‘There was a man. Came all the way out to Lacock one night to see us. From London. Well, to see Talbot. Offered him money.’ Blake laughed, but his mirth turned to coughing and it took him several moments to recover. ‘Tried to talk Talbot out of it. Told him the process would never work, though we could show him it did. Then he offered Talbot money. A lot of money. Just to stop, do something else, abandon his work. Most peculiar.’
    â€˜Indeed,’ George agreed, wondering whether the man was just rambling now.
    â€˜But Talbot would have none of it. Stubborn, was Fox. He said he’d prove to the gent – and he
was
a gent. Very highly placed, I remember. Fox said he’d show him it worked, and he had me set up a camera in the next room. There was an adjoining door, and he opened it just a little. Just enough for me to point the camera into the room without being seen. And this fellow was sat in a chair by the window, while Talbot said he had to go out for aminute and would he wait. That’s when I did it. I took the photograph, with that man sitting plain as daylight, nice and still, in the chair by the brightest lamp. Fox was going to post it to him afterwards, just to make the point.’
    â€˜And did he?’ George wondered.
    Blake’s watery eyes widened slightly and the flabby skin at his neck shivered. ‘Did he what?’
    â€˜Send the photograph.’
    â€˜No,’ Blake said. ‘And you know why? Because when I developed that photograph, when I printed it up, it showed the lamp and the chair plain as anything. But the man, the man who wanted Talbot to cease his work …’
    Blake shuddered, perhaps with the cold. He pulled his blanket tight round him.
    â€˜The man,’ he went on, ‘wasn’t there. The chair was empty. I took his photograph, I know I did. But he just didn’t appear in it. Like he was invisible to the camera. Darnedest thing I ever saw,’ he said. ‘Or didn’t see. British