Chapter Text
Jonah Magnus didn’t hire by the needs of his household, or the suitability of the candidate. Even before becoming embroiled with his research on the Dread Powers he had always been more keen to hire those that were interesting over those that were competent.
In the early days this was less of a problem. Jonah spent most of his time in London, in an apartment, away from the estate he left to his solicitors and groundskeepers. He rarely had to go to Edinburgh at all, only needing in his direct employ a valet to keep his shirts ironed and a cook for the occasions he wasn’t dining out or at his club.
Things were different now. His growing collection needed a place, and what better place than his large unused manor home?
Of course living in a manor meant staffing a manor, not to mention his own struggles keeping his horde of dark knowledge organized.
Having interesting people working for him, he realised with a sigh, meant for the occasional missed button.
He privately smiled to himself when Jon noticed the error and quickly moved to correct it.
Jon did try his very best, but he was…
“I apologise, sir,” Jon said. “I was distracted.”
Distracted, yes. He had snuck into the collection again. His own little research project. Often spiders, but sometimes just pulled to a statement or letter out of pure curiosity. Jonah didn’t mind, and perhaps would have verbally reassured and allowed his valet access if only Jon’s guilt wasn’t so dear to him.
So unbecoming of a valet, sneaking into his master’s private collection. It was a betrayal, a betrayal to a man that had been nothing but kind and understanding to him! And now you can’t even do up his bloody buttons correctly.
Jon was easily Jonah’s favourite. It was the reason he had hired him as a valet instead of footman as Jon had applied for.
He had arrived at a fine time. His last butler, James Wright suffered a ‘heart attack’ after reading the book Jonah had acquired from Maxwell. His former valet Elias had filled the role. Within a week the place was in chaos. Two of the footmen quit, hence the posting and they hadn’t even filled the valet position yet.
When Jon came in Jonah had one of his startling flashes of insight. Jon had been comfortable enough in his former position, but when he heard Jonah Magnus was hiring, well he had to at least try, right? Everything he wanted—needed to know all in one big house in Scotland.
He was lovely. Terribly awkward and shy, but rather than look away like most struck with nervousness, he made deep and uncomfortable eye contact. His grandmother had snapped at him whenever he didn’t meet her eyes, and even when he was supposed to be showing deference he would stare hard. He was prickly and defensive, and for all he tried to be polite he often came off as superior and brisk.
He had a stern face, but everything he was feeling could be read in his large dark eyes that seemed to magnetically draw everything in the room to his gaze.
He could get by as a footman in a place like Bournemouth, but for a large country estate? He’d never get hired. And as a valet in the intimacy of his master’s confidence? Completely preposterous.
Jonah, utterly enamoured, hired him on the spot.
Jon’s pride intertwined with his panic, immediately in over his head. It was sumptuous.
Jon quickly moved to help Jonah into his vest. All things considered, on a practical level at least, Jon wasn’t the worst hire Jonah had ever made when it came to actually performing his duties. He wasn’t well suited for the position, or trained for it, but he did his best to fulfil his role. He cared about his performance (and what people thought of his performance, bless him). He had even caught Jon reading a men’s fashion article a week ago trying his damndest to see to his master’s wardrobe. A fish out of water, but one that would rather suffocate than show it.
“And what have you been so distracted about, Jon?” Jonah asked, as if he didn’t know, as if he hadn’t had peepholes and vents installed in his home for the sole purpose of spying on his servants. As if he couldn’t at times read their minds of all their little fears and uncertainties.
Jon stiffened, both at the use of his first name and the question itself.
“I… w-well,” Jon said hesitantly. He defaulted to a scowl to hide his nervousness.
He could imagine Jon was berating himself for not having a good excuse, for looking the fool.
“Relax, Jon,” Jonah ordered with good humour.
Jon did not relax. Instead he was looking at Jonah plaintively with those lovely wide eyes.
“Sir, you shouldn’t—”
“I’ve told you you can call me Jonah when we’re in private, Jon,” Jonah interrupted, delighted by the social terror he was causing. Jon may resent his position in life, an orphan, the son of a dock worker, but he knew his place in it, and tried so hard to abide the expectations society had placed on him. From experience he knew how painful it was to stand out. If people knew he was calling his master not only by his name, but his first name??? To his face?
“S-s-sir,” Jon pleaded.
“You see me in my underclothes, shave my face,” Jonah continued to tease him, a cat with a particularly endearing mouse.
“That’s—that’s how it should be,” Jon attempted to seem an authority on the subject.
“Elias never lectured me about it.” Jonah batted that weak little burst of confidence away handily.
Jon wasn’t quite sure what to say. He didn’t exactly … respect the butler’s lax standards. Elias was more likely to watch the cobwebs gather than to dust, but he was an authority figure, and Jon had a thing about authority, and was perhaps worried if he pointed it out Jonah would give him another unearned promotion.
Now Elias, wonderful personality for a valet. Charming, quick witted, and a problem with over indulging narcotics. An eye for fashion and a good head for finances when sober. Cut Jonah shaving constantly, ruined half the clothes he tried to clean, stole money, didn’t seem to be aware of how often he was fucking it all up. Daddy issues. Honestly he was doing less harm as the butler. Failing upward, his father who cut him off for his rakish behavior would be so proud.
Jonah had never called Elias by his first name in private. It would have been too welcome. Elias still clung to his memories of life as a wastrel heir. The good times, when people like Jonah would be happy enough to mingle with the son of new money when the money was that highly stacked. Hearing Bouchard made him think of his father and all the lovely little sparks of fear and anger it stirred.
Elias had been fun to watch up close, but Jonah had grown somewhat tired of his antics, Jon was a breath of fresh air—and easier on his wallet.
“Alright, Jon,” Jonah said, letting him off the hook of forming another argument. Jon was so relieved that he didn’t even try to lecture his master for his continued liberty with his own first name.
Jon finished up his duties. Jonah let him go, saying he would take breakfast late. There was a pile of unanswered letters on his desk… and a pile of unsorted accounts he should really get to filing, instead he went to the hidden compartment behind his mirror. He gave himself a cheeky smile and removed the piece of wood. Behind it was a pipe that carried sound up from the downstairs with such startlingly pleasing acoustics.
He listened to Tim, one of the footmen, idly flirting with Sasha, one of the maids. Sasha wasn’t interested in anything but Mr. Stoker’s friendship, a deep affectionate friendship, but an entirely platonic one.
Tim was a beautiful young man prone to sweet smiles and flirty looks. He had seduced many a village girl (and lad if some of the gossip could be trusted). He was on the cusp of being labeled a rake if he weren’t such a satisfying lay that his lovers forgave him his carelessness with their hearts.
Sasha having no interest in him was probably what made him think she was the one as if such a thing existed.
Jonah appreciated such a rare woman like Sasha, although he had always found the mentality of working women far nobler than the ladies of society. Sasha was brave enough not to be tied down in misery for the prospects of a safe life. She earned and saved her wages and planned to retire one day surrounded by friends, but no husband in sight. Meanwhile, Janice Fieldgate was having a panic of some such about her betrothed losing a vast amount of his fortunes gambling, and worrying about a life in comfort instead of lavishness.
Jonah missed London, but he didn’t miss the obsession with marriage.
From context clues there were others in the room as well. Michael the gardener and his jarring laugh, Helen stirring the pot both literally and figuratively, who was she trying to pit against another today?
That would leave…
“Can you see it?” Martin’s voice burst in, interrupting the murmuring conversations.
“See what?” Sasha asked, smoothly pivoting from Tim’s flirts to Martin’s panic.
Jonah wished there was a way to see from here. He had floated the idea of mirrors to Robert once, the bastard had laughed at him.
Alas.
It would be too much time to go down the secret corridors and get a view through the peephole.
Luckily, the downstairs was vocal enough to fill him in.
“Then you can’t see it?” Martin said in relief.
As if on cue, Jon arrived.
“His lordship will be taking breakfast late,” he announced with gravity that the situation did not call for. A little awkward pause, “Sorry Ms. Richardson.” He added a little closer to contrite.
A heavy annoyed sigh.
His sweet valet tried to needlessly (and incorrectly) defend him. “He’s very busy with his work—Mr. Blackwood,” Jon’s voice dropped to sub-zero temperature and Jonah’s smile widened. Ohhh, it would be Jon and Martin at it again today then.
“Y-y-y-yes Mr. Sims?” Martin squeaked. The poor footman had been a pebble in Jon’s shoe from the get-go when on his first day Martin had let a dog into the kitchens. Jon’s sensibilities and need to do well in his position (and his terrible anxiety about his own qualifications) had him incensed at the disregard for decorum.
That is to say, Jon’s a cat person.
It didn’t help that Martin was a fraud. Faked references, no experience, he had been a day labourer before he managed to find this position. If anyone ever found out he would be fired or worse, but his poor mother needed to be supported. She was ever so ill. How hard is it to lift things for rich layabouts? I’ve been lifting all my life! The little details he missed? Well he would learn. He would learn and not screw up. He would be so good at his job that even Mr. Sims would praise him.
Poor Martin. He was easy to forget, fading into the background of every room he entered. He was a likeable enough presence that no one took notice of his deficit. At best they took pity on him. All except Jon. Martin’s lack of knowledge stuck out to Jon like a sore thumb. Jon was almost as good at sniffing out secrets as Jonah was, but he wasn’t as skilled at extracting them.
It led to a beautiful cycle of Martin desperate to win Jon over and Jon more irritated by Martin’s lack of professionalism (his thoughts).
And then there was the trouble of Martin and his weak presence. His mild personality meant no one disliked him, but no one knew him. He was so seen by Jon. It not only frightened him, but excited by him as well. It was pathetic and Jonah was eager to see if Martin’s feelings would develop into a bitter resentment or a hopeless crush.
That was the other thing, Martin had a lifelong struggle with feelings sodomitical in nature (which really was half the staff with Jonah’s preferences for servants with terrible secrets and his own apathy toward the sin). He himself preferred the company of men. High society women rarely had anything to say beyond prattle about their current children, or future children, or the other inane gossip that only brought light laughter and little trouble. Men couldn’t trap him in a relationship or with a bastard, and were only too eager to keep it hushed when Jonah grew bored of them. The added fear of exposure was just icing on the cake.
He had wondered if Jon might have such leanings, but it was impossible to tell. There was some vague talk of an engagement that fell through, but he hadn’t been able to get more than that.
Speaking of Jon, Jon had gotten himself worked up into a fine little tantrum. “Good lord, man! Are you aware that Sir Robert Smirke will be arriving this afternoon? Do you expect the first impression of Lord Magnus’ household to be a footman with a—what is that? A tea stain on his livery?”
“Ohhh, I do see it now,” Tim said unhelpfully, trying to dissolve the tension with levity.
“Tim,” Sasha sighed.
“Oh it’s not that bad,” Tim insisted. “I bet you Elias won’t even notice.”
“Mr. Bouchard,” Jon corrected, “Mr. Bouchard doesn’t notice anything,” he added childishly under his breath. Jonah smiled as he pictured a pout on his sharp features.
“Jon’s right, it’s noticeable,” Helen said, trying to hide her glee.
“See!” Jon said, a little too excited at having someone agree with him. Helen was probably lying just to get a reaction, bless her.
“I’ll fix it!” Martin promised. “I’ll fix it before Sir Smirke arrives.”
“You had better,” Jon said. “A stain on you is a stain on our employer.”
“Oof,” Tim muttered at such a stuffed-shirted line.
Oh, what a dashing valet he had acquired, Jonah mentally chuckled.
He replaced the cover on the vent and headed to the dining room, ringing the bell before picking up one of the newspapers laid out for him.
Tim had been right, Elias did not notice the minuscule stain.
But Jonah was sure to give a little frown toward it when Martin laid out the tea, sending him into another panic about his job.
He smiled behind his teacup. It was life’s little joys.
To work. He couldn’t play with the servants all day, lovely as they were.
“I never pictured you as a hoarder,” Robert said, looking dubiously at the stacks of papers and books that had consumed the library and had slowly expanded into some of the bedrooms. The east wing at this point had become storage for his project. He could feel his patron’s pleasure, having this… space, this temple, but it wasn’t quite… right. It wasn’t enough.
“Well, word has gotten around about my interests,” Jonah said with a shrug to the state of the mess. “And our friends are nothing if not helpful, using their connections, sending their own stories, and their friends in my direction.”
“I would say it’s helpful toward our research,” Smirke sighed hopelessly, “Except how do you expect to find anything?”
“Once I read it I have little interest in looking at it again,” Jonah admitted. He knew he had to keep the accounts. Knew they were for something. He had tried to file them away properly, but the abundance of paper became overwhelming.
“You should get Fanshaw over here,” Robert said with zero subtly. Jonah was almost insulted. “He’s a dapper hand at organisation.”
“Jonathan’s still refusing my letters,” Jonah said. “As you already know, you snoop.”
He had … regrets about Jonathan Fanshaw. The good doctor had luck when it came to running into the unusual. Doctors and grave robbers go hand in hand, science and cadavers wonderful little precipices to the unknown. He had had some good stories to share, and he had… potential. He had hoped he would be a part of his future. His worship to the Ceaseless Watcher would have been a sight to behold, he was sure of it. How he categorized things with such furious intensity. His refusal to walk away from his patients despite his fear of what might be happening to them.
Jonah… thought he had a stronger stomach.
He didn’t tell Smirke any of this. Smirke was getting distant, getting cold feet too. He could feel it. He was less enthused about hypothesis and more inclined to speak socially. Trying to remind Jonah of more human interests.
That was a bitter disappointment as well. Two of his strongest allies and both of them didn’t have the nerve to dig deeper.
Jon would dig deeper.
He wasn’t sure why the thought occurred to him, but he knew it was true. His valet’s curiosity wouldn’t allow him to ever stop, even if he wanted to.
Alas, he was born the son of a dock worker and not a scion of the upper class with the access, privilege, and education it would afford him.
“Well,” Smirke said, trying for humour, “I admit I’m not impressed. I hope you aren’t planning to show Mordecai this with all the money he’s given to you.”
Jonah scoffed. “Morty is perfectly content with my letters, and happily makes his excuses whenever I send an invitation. He rarely has the… energy for me,” Jonah let a private grin slip. Mordecai and his unhappy marriage. Getting him into his bed had been a surprise, but quite a good position of leverage as it were. Lukas could barely stand to be in the same room as him anymore, having to face his illicit lover, not that he ever had much of a tolerance when it came to any room with people in it.
“You need to be careful of him,” Robert said, worry in his eyes. “I fear he may have gone deeper than our group's original goals laid out.”
Jonah wasn’t moved by the sentimentality. “You certainly have changed since the marriage.”
“Sorry?”
“You had a bit more boldness to you is all. You were the one so eager about pushing the boundaries of human knowledge. Of finding control. Balance,” Jonah said carelessly. “If this is what marriage does to a man, I want no part of it.”
Robert looked at him in disapproval. Robert and his penchant for digging, Jonah wondered what he had figured out about Jonah.
“Marriage is good for the soul,” Robert declared. “It makes you see things more clearly. Laura has made me see things clearly… I’ve been thinking about designing churches. Perhaps using what we have gained for… for protection.”
Jonah stared at him. “Churches?”
Sir Architect of Fear wanted to waste his time on bloody churches?
Smirke sighed. “I knew that you wouldn’t understand. You have been friends for a long time now, Jonah. Consider what it is your research is actually about. Consider Mordecai Lukas. Consider Rayner. It’s gotten out of control.”
“And you do love control,” Jonah said coldly. “I’ve been thinking, Robert, is it a good marriage that has put you off your life’s work, or was it something as small as a spider bite?”
“Jonah…that… that isn’t what’s happening.”
“I think it’s late,” Jonah cut him off. “Time for bed, don’t you think? Sweet dreams.”
He was in a foul mood when he retired to his rooms. Jon dutifully ran him a bath and laid out his sleep clothes. Smirke had left such a foul taste in his mouth he didn’t even have the energy to tease Jon as he let himself sink into the hot bath.
Instead, he closed his eyes, indulged in the feeling of Jon’s fingers in his hair. He didn’t think of himself as a man who needed people, but first Fanshaw and now Smirke abandoning it all…and he watched it happen as if he had no choice but to let it all fall apart.
“... Are… are you alright, sir?” Jon asked nervously. Jonah cracked one eye open. Jon looked tense and extremely uncomfortable, even as he continued washing out Jonah’s hair. He did not try to make small talk lightly. Jonah’s mood must really be apparent. “It’s… it’s just usually you’re in a better mood after having company.”
That, my darling valet, is because usually they are sharing with me stories of personal horrors, not mealy mouthed insipid words about building churches.
He didn’t say any of it. He just stared into Jon’s eyes. Jon automatically stared back, growing more and more tense.
Despite the two of them dead-eye staring at one another it did make him feel better. Something about Jon put him at ease. Not something anyone else would attribute to Jonathan Sims, and yet…
Jonah sighed. He let himself sink a little further into the water feeling a little looser. Like it was all going to be okay. Like Jon’s expressive eyes held the future, and it would all end up going his way.
“Are you worried for me, Jon?” he said at last, breaking their thick silence, but not releasing Jon’s gaze.
“I… I suppose,” Jon muttered uncomfortably. “I… I know you had looked forward to his visit.”
Jonah smiled, soft and genuine. “You’re quite sweet under your prickly quills, aren’t you, Jon?”
Jon, flustered and unsure, kept going. “I—well—I’m sorry anyway… the work you do is important, I truly believe that. If he can’t see it… well that’s his folly.” Jon twisted the washcloth in his hand.
“Thank you, Jon,” Jonah said. Jon’s uncharacteristic kindness carried him all the way to bed. It wasn’t until he was drifting to sleep that he wondered how Jon had known.
How did he know that he and Smirke disagreed about his work?