IX.

Rented cab stopped in front of him. Regina cheerfully jumped out of it. Wading through the snow, she came up to him and wished him good morning. A basket hung from her arm, a warm whiff rose from under the blanket with which it was covered.

"I woke up early this morning", Regina said as they entered, "so I made bannocks. Try them while they're still warm! But first bring me yesterday's photos!"

"Ahm", Stuart mumbled. He had left the daguerreotype on the desk in the studio, so he passed it to her. Regina whistled and complimented how nicely it had turned out, but she wanted to see the work she had done. "I don't think you should see them."

Regina's liveliness dropped. "What do you mean? Don't tell me you messed all of them up!"

"No!" In the same moment as he denied her accusation, Stuart thought it would be easier if he had admitted the mistake he hadn't made. "They're wrong. We'll return those people money they paid for them..."

"Wrong? What's wrong with them if you did what you were supposed to? Are you indicating I messed them up while photographing?"

"No! I never said that."

She was angry and he didn't know what to do to calm her. "Then show me the photos! Even if they are no good, I still want to see them. You must understand a photographer wants to see her artwork!" He understood this very well, but nothing was going to make him change his mind. "Wait, I know", her rage reached the peak, "you can't accept daguerreotype isn't the only tool for making photographic art! I see know. Very well." She put on the coat she took off only a minute ago. Panic raised in Stuart's throat, but he was unable to stop her or explain himself. "Perhaps we made a mistake, Mister Malcolm. It seems the two of us do not get along as well as we supposed. I must withdraw my consent to our partnership. The cab shall be sent for my equipment on Monday. Good day to you." Before he managed to take another breath, Regina's feet swung snow on the doorstep and she was out of his studio. Stuart was left alone with a bitter taste in his mouth to stare at the bucket she left on the sofa.

He went downstairs to take the key and was rushing to open the commode with the photos. Losing Regina was too much. He had to face his fears. He walked in circles, his hands shaking and holding the envelope. He forced himself to look at the photos left in his hands when the torn envelope fell to the floor.

Dead woman was differently moved in each of them.

Stuart examined each picture individually, trying to understand the cause of the anomaly. He knew all about photographic delusions, overlapping scenes and tricks which illusionists used to deceive fools who easily believed in ghosts. But there were no shadows in these photos, not a single blur that could be misinterpreted. Woman's arm in Flammang's camera photo, her lips in the calotype...

"You can't fake movement", Stuart whispered. "Besides, we didn't try to fake anything... Maybe it's Regina's doing, her way of teasing me..." Only he knew that wasn't possible. Regina was jolly, but she'd never trifle with job. And how could anyone modulate a photo to such an extent without somebody noticing? "It's a strange thing... Most strange..."

He stood next to the silent fireplace, his eyes directed before him in order to escape the photos left on his chair. What good would hiding them bring to him? And what about Regina? He was pretty sure by now that he wasn't insane after all. He decided to leave them among the rest of his collection. He had a few days before Monday to reconsider whether he should or not show them to Regina after all. He hoped to think of a way to apologize and make her return to her workplace.

When the deceased woman's loved ones arrived, he handed over the daguerreotype and gave them back the excess money. "Sadly, the others turned out to be a failure."

Stuart spent Sunday morning awaiting at the graveyard, but to no avail. The last member of the flock exited the church, followed by an elderly pastor. The man in purple robes remained outside when all of his listeners left. Stuart introduced himself and asked whether he knew where Regina Jamieson lived. The pastor was kind and answered Stuart the best he could. Stuart found Regina's place before noon.

A line of compactly clustered houses stretched down the street. Each of them was separated from the road by an iron fence decorated with various motives. The entrances were lowered and connected to the sidewalk via stairs. Stuart's look passed from one address number to another, but the pastor couldn't describe Regina's house, he only knew the name of the street. He walked down the lane, squinting through the windows caped in expensive curtains. This was rich people's district. Not a single residence was deficient in decoration or order. Through one of the windows, he saw a family of three sitting by the table. Servants were serving them chicken and baked potatoes. The child, little boy, was sitting in his father's lap, nervously kicking with his short legs, eager to taste the treats. Stuart sighed. Oliver was just like that as a kid, only more polite. Stuart was a toddler when Oliver was of a preschool age, and he had a strangely vivid memory of his brother running around the table before Sunday lunch. He'd calm down and sit at the moment their father would admonish him. Everybody praised his ability to put his bold spirit under control. Oliver was a hearty child. Their mother was grateful that Stuart's spirit was so different from his brother's, but other people whispered Stuart always lacked a sense of boyish curiosity and vivaciousness...

"Stuart!" His line of thinking broke at the vibration of Regina's voice. She was about to enter through the door of one of the houses. Stuart's eyes flew towards the window besides the door. It had no curtains, but three framed photographs were on the shelf on the inside. He smiled. Even if he hadn't stumbled upon her, he could've guessed this was her place.

"Regina, I came to beg for your apology", he sounded awfully formal.

She crossed her hands. "Really? For what?"

"For not showing you the photos..." Stuart swallowed saliva in desperation. He still hoped he won't have to show her the photos, but there was no way out.

He decided to put his barricade down after a nightmare he dreamed the Friday after she left his studio. He fell asleep in a chair in front of the fireplace. He hadn't even noticed he had fallen asleep, for he opened his eyes in a dream and saw the crackling fire. His vision was blurry. Next to the unfinished bannock on the table, an envelope was placed. Stuart reached for it, but a hand appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him by the arm. The sound of fire was replaced by crackles and shouts. He smelled mud and sand sprinkled with blood, disgusting stench which haunted the camp while the dying soldiers were being brought to the tents. He saw no men, no dines, but the sounds and the smell were there, more real than dreams ought to be.

When his vision returned, he was still in a chair. The fire had gone out, but other things were in the same place where he left them before dozing out. He spent the rest of the night awake with suspicious photos in his hands. The dream started with an envelope, and though he didn't manage to check what was inside of it, he had no doubt it was the haunting pictures. His all-night pondering resulted in a decision to show them to Regina if she still wanted to see them. He couldn't keep them for himself. Their mere existence was tearing his nerves. Perhaps the woman will take a look at them and laugh. Perhaps the peculiarity is only visible to him. If this was the case, Stuart would delay no longer to ask for professional mental help.

"Fine", she accepted his apology. Disagreements forgotten in a moment, she was already smiling. "But on the condition you show them to me!"

"If you wish so", he said. He was afraid of the truth, afraid of more nightmares which were sure to come when he was left alone.

"Great! Well, now that you're already here, would you like to enter? I have prepared something delicious for lunch!" By this time, he understood Regina's suggestions were mostly polite commands, so he didn't even bother to answer, but simply followed her into the house.