CHAPTER EIGHT — THE TAVERN ROOM

Ida Bell found Edwin Frost at the Alder Creek tavern just before supper.
He was sitting on an overturned barrel beneath the kitchen window, eating bread and cheese from a folded cloth.
He looked barely thirty, with tired gray eyes and a rough scar along his left thumb.
When Ida mentioned the photographer, he stood immediately.
“I’ve already been paid,” he said.
“I haven’t come for money.”
“Then what do you want?”
“To know what you saw at Vale House.”
Frost examined the street behind her.
“Who sent you?”
“A man whose name is being attached to a picture he never sat for.”
Frost folded the cloth around his unfinished meal.
“Mr. Pike made the picture exactly as requested.”
“Was there a woman in the room?”
“Yes.”


“Was her name Catherine Vale?”
Frost shook his head before he could stop himself.
Ida watched the admission settle across his face.
“Who was she?”
“A paid model from Richmond.”
“And the man?”
“Another model.”
“Was either person enslaved at Vale House?”
“No.”
“Then why is Mr. Vale demanding that Samuel identify himself in the picture?”
Frost’s mouth tightened.
“I don’t know what they intend to say about it.”
“Then you haven’t heard the whole story.”
She told him about the supper, the intended statement, and the threat that Samuel would be removed afterward.
Frost looked genuinely alarmed.
“That wasn’t part of the commission.”
“What was the commission?”
“A private tableau of a woman near an upstairs window with a man’s coat behind her.”
“Why not use the actual people?”
“Mr.

Kersey said their presence was unnecessary for a general likeness.”
Ida leaned against the wall.
“Did you see Mr. Pike develop the plate?”
“Yes.”
“Did he make more than one?”
“Three.”
“Where are the others?”
“One is at Vale House, and one remains with Mr. Pike.”
“And the third?”
Frost hesitated.
“He discarded it.”
Ida watched his hand tighten around the folded cloth.
“Where?”
“He broke the glass.”
“Did you see that happen?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps we should be careful with the word discarded.”
Frost looked across the square toward the office of the county newspaper.
“What do you intend to do?”
“Ask you to speak about the work you performed.”
“I would lose every commission in this county.”
“Samuel could lose his life.”
Frost exhaled slowly.
“I have a mother in Richmond.”
“So does someone in almost every room where an injustice is arranged.”
“That doesn’t make it easier.”
“No,” Ida said.
“It makes your choice belong to you.”
Frost looked at the street again.
Then he asked whether there would be a place for him to stand beyond the reach of Julian’s steward.
Ida considered the matter before answering.
“The rector will be among the guests.”
Frost laughed bitterly.
“His brother owes Julian money.”
“The editor?”
“The editor prints whatever keeps the advertisements coming.”
“Then we’ll need somebody else.”
Frost suggested a visiting cabinetmaker named Thomas Greer who was staying at the tavern on his way to Fredericksburg.
Greer had constructed the photographer’s stands and could explain how the screen and window frame worked without examining the controversial image itself.
“Will he speak?” Ida asked.
“He hates Mr. Pike because Pike still owes him seven dollars.”
Ida smiled despite herself.
“That is an honest beginning.”
Frost stood and brushed crumbs from his coat.
“I can tell you what was in the room.”
“Will you say it in front of the people who are supposed to believe the result?”
He looked sick.
“I don’t know.”
Ida accepted that answer because it was at least true.
Before leaving, she asked whether the first likeness showed both models clearly.
Frost nodded.
“Pike said their faces spoiled the effect.”
“Then their faces would also spoil the lie.”
“Yes.”
“Where is that plate?”
Frost stared down at his shoes.
“At the bottom of my travel case.”