Page 11 of Familiar Things New

“Beer would be lovely. Thank you.”

And then William walked away. Edwin glanced over at Andrew. The man really was filthy now. Hands covered in soil. Dirt caked on his neck. Apron and shirt both equally as unclean as those. Andrew seemed to realize precisely what Edwin was thinking. He shrugged his shoulders in an exaggerated, boyish manner.

“I should probably clean myself off.”

“Definitely,” Edwin confirmed.

Andrew’s eyes fell to his shoes, and he scrubbed his face with one of his hands before pausing, clearly having realized his mistake.

“Oh, my, I probably made it worse now, haven’t I?” he said, looking up with a sweetly sour expression.

Edwin smiled warmly and barely held back a chortle. “Yes. You have.”

After letting out a sigh that was mixed with a chuckle, Andrew asked, “Where can I wash up?”

“Down the hall,” Edwin said, pointing to the doorway and then flicking his wrist to the right. “Last door on the right, next to the library.”

“Thank you.”

“I should thank you, too,” Edwin said. “For replanting the orchid with me.”

Andrew’s smile broadened. “Happy to help.”

Both men became quiet.

After a moment of awkward silence, Andrew shrugged in that same somewhat boyish manner, clasped his hands behind his back, and left the room.

Edwin smiled to himself. Andrew seemed like a nice person. Clumsy. But nice.

Once the sound of Andrew’s footsteps faded, Edwin inhaled a long breath, thanking the heavens above that the Whitneys must have had too many other ornate things if they supposedly wouldn’t notice the broken, imported planter, and attempted to release the rest of his worries about the blunder with his exhale.

And then he began to scrub the back of his neck with his hand, only to realize his silly mistake after it was too late.

He shook his head and laughed.

***

Hours later, Edwin was preparing to leave. After packing his notebook safely inside his leather bag, he walked around the conservatory one final time to confirm that the plants looked happy and watered. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember whether he’d completed every task. Pruning. Cleaning. Checking for mold. Rotating the plants. All complete. He wouldn’t be back until Monday. Hopefully the plants wouldn’t need anything before then.

Satisfied, Edwin walked out into the hall, keeping his head low. Typically, the Whitneys only interacted with certain staff members, like their head cook or their butler or others who were much more important than Edwin would ever be, and so, even when Edwin passed them in the house sometimes, neither of them ever spoke to him, especially if he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

As Edwin neared the library, the sound of William’s laughter floated out of the room, making Edwin pause. Quietly, Edwin crept toward the entrance. Once he was just outside, he pressed his back to the adjacent wall and listened.

“I might want one of those tintypes myself,” William said, presumably to Andrew.

Leaning forward, Edwin peered into the room through the space between the open door’s edge and the frame. William was chattering away while Andrew was putting his camera into a leather bag. Edwin wondered whether William’s parents were still there. He leaned forward a little more and stretched out his neck, hoping to see better, but then lost his balance a bit, making the bottom of his shoe squeak on the hardwood. William and Andrew looked over.

“You’d make a terrible spy,” William remarked with a smirk.

Edwin crinkled his nose. “I wasn’t sure whether your parents were still here.”

“They left a while ago,” William said. “Andrew here took three wonderful photographs of them—one of those with me in it as well—and then they left to see some friends.”

William headed over to the sofa while Edwin walked farther into the room, though he stopped after only a couple of steps. A moment later, William returned with one of the photographs balanced on a pan. It featured William by himself, sitting in the high-backed chair and looking way more serious than he’d probably ever been in his whole life.

“I look too stuffy in this one. Give it to Agnes once it’s ready. Andrew has to mount it on cardstock first.”

“You want her to have your least favorite photograph?” Edwin asked.