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VII.

Regina arrived in a big rented cab. Stuart didn't have enough time to drink his morning coffee and smoke his first cigar. When he exited to welcome her, she was already taking her things out. She refused coachman's offer of help and was struggling carrying a big suitcase. Stuart hurried to give her a hand. "What's inside?", he asked, breathing heavily because it was quite weighty.

"Oh, just dad's old treasures", she winked at him and left him to deal with the huge bag on his own while she took care of smaller ones.

She opened the big suitcase inside of the studio. Stuart gasped as the camera came into his view. The suitcase was made especially for it, so its parts fit perfectly into dents among the protective sponge. Camera's body reminded Stuart of harmonica. A bubble-looking object was connected to it by a tube. Besides the lens put into the clip, there were multiple lenses for changing. Besides them, a detachable iron stand was stored in the suitcase.

"This isn't one of your old view cameras", Regina spoke, "but a press camera. 1900 Goerz. My father purchased it from an American. He met him one evening in a pub. They got into a talk and foreign man told him he had this camera but never used it. Poor man wasn't aware of its worth and my dad got it for a ridiculously cheap price. Luck always followed Roland Jamieson!"

In another, smaller bag, a similar camera was stored, but it had a mahogany body and a drop shutter Regina called "guillotine". "This one's British, made in 1889 by mister Flammang. You see, when the air-bulb is squeezed, the piston in forced upwards, revealing the lens, and a photograph is taken. Goerz's camera is more modern than Flammang's. Since it was made for press people, it produces printed photographs. Rather practical compared to your copper plates." She continued to the next box. Stuart recognized the camera she took out. "A classical boxy calotype camera. Old hag just like yours, but even this one is at an advance since it can produce more than one photo."

"Daguerreotypes are unique." He knew she was joking just for fun and admired his camera no matter how anachronistic it was.

"And next thing will shock you." The last bag contained another small camera in the shape of a box. Regina handed it to him. He studied all its sides. It was so simple, but he couldn't figure out how was it used. "A button", Regina pointed to one side of it. "I introduce you to the newest technology; Kodak camera made for anyone and everyone!" His facial expression must've said enough. Regina burst into laugher. "You're not fond of it. Fair enough. I think it's nice that everyone can take their own photos, make memories whenever they want to. And look at this." She was holding a small paper box in her hand. "You press the button, we do the rest", was written on it. "It's called a roll film. By putting it inside, you're able to take plenty snapshots. It sells for only one dollar in America. They call it Brownie."

Stuart returned Kodak camera to its place. There was one bag left. It looked like a wallet. "What's in there? Not another revolutionary camera I suppose."

Regina shook her head. "I took it by accident. Just a bunch of photos... Better not look at them. What they show isn't pretty."

Stuart's morbid curiosity encouraged him to demand take a look, but Regina's emotions were visible enough to repel the idea. Her face brightened up as she took out morning newspapers. She turned them on the explicit page to show him their new advertisement. Written in big red letters, title Malcolm's Photo Studio had its own place to attract the attention of possible customers. Stuart grinned, but Regina figured out he wasn't exceptionally glad to see this. "You don't like the name? I couldn't wait, so I just told them to write what I saw written on the sign next to the bell outside..."

"You didn't do a mistake", he reassured her, "it's just that I didn't expect this to happen so quickly... How much did it cost? I told you it's not a very money-making job..."

Regina hissed. "Never mind that, my treat. Now that everyone can see our commercial, the job shall become profitable."

Stuart read further. Small words beneath the name of his studio informed that he was one of the rare photographers still willing to take photos of the dead, and suggested this to be his biggest talent. However, it also offered other services such as family and wedding portraits. It listed all photo techniques his and Regina's equipment enabled them to use and finished with an address. Stuart was a bit exasperated because Regina worked on their project behind his back and the offer in the newspaper surpassed what he was used to do, but it was catchy. And it wasn't one of the local magazines, but the one residents of Edinburgh also read.

After his new co-worker showed him her precious possessions, it was his time to introduce her to the magic happening after the mere act of photographing with a daguerreotype camera. Like an apprentice, Regina watched and listened carefully as Stuart explained her what each chemical did to the daguerreotype in making. She nodded when he warned her about the mercury's poisonousness and pointed out how gentle she must be when coating it with gold chloride. If he had to explain the process to anyone else, Stuart would be in despair for he wouldn't know how to demonstrate each part in both understandable, yet forewarning way. How could he pass his fascination and dedication to another person? But he was delighted to show his masterwork to Regina and had no doubts that she understood him perfectly. Her eyes sparkled with innate intellect and the same curiosity which overwhelmed Stuart when he waited for a new picture to form.

Regina came the next day and the day after that, but no customers arrived. She kept herself busy; she brought decorations to brighten up the studio. Stuart watched her in perplexity and amazement as she bounced from one corner of the room to another, placing a flower here, a decorative plate there, a sculpture of Venus somewhere else. She made lunch for them and talked about everything that came to her mind. Stuart was unable to oppose anything she did or said. She cleaned all of her cameras with more care than he thought it was possible and found a space for each of them in the studio. "When people come in, we want them to see what we offer", she explained.

It was Friday when a new customer arrived. It was a local butcher whose father had sadly passed away and he wanted Stuart to photograph him. He frowned when he saw Regina, but said nothing to offend her. Stuart was prepared for people to feel repulsion and doubt because a woman was now working with him and he was known as a weirdo fascinated by the dead.

The deceased one was brought in tomorrow morning. Regina remained calm while the body dressed in a fine suit was positioned on the sofa. She even came up to the butcher and said: "Which type of photo do you prefer? We have a few in store." With her hand she showed the cameras in line. The man, obviously ignorant of the existence of different cameras, just asked for the standard type. Stuart turned the hourglass as the daguerreotype was being taken. When they were left alone, Stuart asked Regina whether she was feeling alright. She smiled. "Well, it sure is different when dead person is sitting like a living human being... But I've seen blood and tragedy much worse that this." He allowed her to do the process in the dark room, but remained at her side to correct any mistake she might make. However, Regina remembered everything he told her and did the job as if it wasn't her first time. They left the photo to develop and went to celebrate the success with hot tea.

After a murmur of delight caused by the nice smell of the tea, Regina spoke: "You never told me why you started photographing the dead in the first place. Quite a peculiar interest."

Stuart's moustache twitched. He liked Regina a lot, but was unprepared for such personal questions. He looked at her pondering whether to open up himself or change the subject. But her expression was so comforting he found himself speaking the truth before he even realized the meaning of his words: "It was in the war." Her eyes widened, uttering the unspoken question about his age. The last infamous war was indeed the Boer war, but not the one he was involved in, but the Boer war which lasted from 1899 to 1902. Many sons of Great Britain went to fight in the Second Boer War and many died. "Not in that war", he went on. "I enlisted in the 1880. I spent three months in Africa. My brother also went, but only to protect me." It was probably the first time he admitted this conviction of his aloud. It felt strange to share his opinion with another person.

"I wasn't aware of you having a brother. Or a family at all."

"My brother passed away recently."

Regina lowered her head. "I'm sorry", she said with a voice of one who has experienced the true sadness of being left behind after the deceased loved one.

"I hadn't seen him or anyone from my family since the early eighties... They invited me after the funeral, I was supposed to spend holidays with them, but I missed my opportunity."

She didn't push him to continue, but his tongue was loosened. "My brother, Oliver, was always everyone's favourite. Even as a young boy, he was particularly polite and clever. Naturally, he excelled at school. He grew into a well built lad. He was good at sports and science. He was popular with girls and never fought with our parents. I loved him same as everyone else. We were really close. It seemed normal for me to follow in his steps, but I was nowhere near as brilliant as Oliver. Compared to him, I was a lame companion who always clung to his brother."

"You were jealous."

He was, though he never expressed his unhappiness. At least not until the war. Stuart had nothing particular in his mind when he enlisted. He saw the advertisement and the decision was made. "I never argued with Oliver. We played together as kids, he helped me to study when I started falling behind with my studies. We talked all the time. I was the first person he informed about his plans to propose to Carol." But deep beneath, Stuart wasn't satisfied with himself. When Oliver wasn't around, people only talked about how they missed him. Their mother tried to hid her preferences, but it was obvious Oliver was her favourite. Their father was disappointed with Stuart being unable to keep up with the family tradition of raising talented and successful sons. He had no friends because he was an introvert and the only one who could make him talk and laugh was his brother. "Oliver went after me. It might seem like mere three months, but a few days of war are enough to twist your mind."

"Have you killed?", Regina asked without hesitation.

"No", Stuart admitted, "Oliver made sure I wouldn't defile my soul with such a sin. On the other side, he had shot two or three Boers." Stuart hid from Oliver during that period of their lives. The most he managed to spend without talking was three days, for he managed to keep away from his brother. "But he always found me in the end. He'd ask me whether I'd been hurt or if I want to eat. My answers were short and cold. I wanted to be independent. I thought I might earn some respect if people stopped viewing me as Oliver's follower." But war brought none of them glory.

During one of their last nights in the south, the wounded were brought in their camp. Everyone had to help the doctors because the wounds were severe and many men were hurt. Stuart and Oliver got separated. Although he knew nothing about medicine, Stuart did his best to help. However, they couldn't save everyone and more than three men died while he was holding them. "And in the midst of this horror, there were people taking photographs." He saw some photographs in Scotland, but he never gave them much attention. That night, he couldn't stop thinking about the dead men. He wasn't brought up in a religious family, so he never considered what could happen to a human's soul after death. Now his thought were so deeply engaged in the subject of afterlife, he went on for days without sleep. And the photographers tarried around, moving their heavy equipment from one place to another. They took photographs of landscapes, battlefields, soldiers, even of Stuart himself, but he didn't care about those pictures. His intrigue in death became connected with photographing, and he started wondering... "Can a photograph reveal the secret behind death?"

Regina's eyes regarded him with honest interest. "And have you discovered anything?"

He shook his head. "Nothing except the beauty behind what most people find terrifying. My parents gave me the money to start the business, but only because they believed I'd come running home after a short time." He shrugged his shoulders. "And here I am to this day, still fascinated by the photographs and the dead."

"And where does daguerreotype fit in this story?"

"The only photograph we had in our place in the village was a daguerreotype of my deceased grandfather. It was taken posthumously. He died when I was eleven years old. Perhaps that object influenced my future desires and choices together with what I saw in the war. I never thought about it... I never think much about anything..."

Regina surprised him by putting her hand over his. Her touch was gentle and comforting, though he was unsure why he needed comfort in the first place.

They moved back to the dark room to check what they've made. Stuart lifted the new daguerreotype towards the light coming through the open door. He blinked a few times. Something was strange. He showed photo to Regina. She knitted her brows. "You see, this is why I prefer modern cameras! If we had only taken the photo with a calotype, we would be able to make more copies and wouldn't have this kind of problems!"

The old man's eyes on the photo were closed. Stuart decided not to mention that they didn't look as if the picture was blotchy or the eyelids accidentally fell down in the moment the photo was taken, but as if the man was decisive on closing his eyes. He didn't want to be photographed.

"Similar thing happened with my last customer", Stuart said, "woman's arms were moved, but the people who ordered the photo didn't make a fuss."

Regina was not permissive. "We can't allow such mistakes! Word will spread that we're not professionals!" Taking another glance at the photo, she let out a disappointed sight. "We'll have to give this to the butcher, but next time we shall insist on taking numerous photographs with different cameras. I'll prove it to you and others that they're more efficient than daguerreotype. Though I must confess", a smile of curiosity and jolliness was back on her face, "these one-of-a-kind samples are truly beautiful. I bet a hundred years from now, when dozens of new, better cameras will had been invented, people will still sight at the magnificence of daguerreotypes."

The way she changed her tone from angry to cheerful astounded Stuart. He agreed with her demand immediately. When the butcher came to pick up the daguerreotype of his father, Stuart informed him that the photo didn't turn out the way they expected it to.

"Never mind, Stuart", the butcher said. He had purple bags beneath his eyes and his voice was low, so Stuart knew that he honestly mourned his father. "I'll take the picture, and you keep the money. Here", he put one pound on the desk between them, "for your fairness." Stuart was very surprised. One pound might not have meant a lot to a busy butcher, but that amount was often Stuart's wage. Since Regina had started working with him, he became concerned with the lack of supplies in his home. He had only the modestest of the foods. He was sometimes forced to beg for stale bread at the bakery. He spent all his gas for lamp and had no candles, so it was dark inside as soon as the night fell, which was quite early during the current winter period. For all this reasons, one extra pound meant the world to him.