(A Charm of Magpies 1)The Magpie Lord (14 page)

Stephen was—had to be—realistic in his expectations. He didn’t have either the height or the wealth to wear suits like Crane, even if he’d cared enough about clothing to try, and he would never be physically impressive. Normally he was unconcerned by that. But normally he was a stone heavier and able to tap into the etheric flow. As it was, looking at the cheap suit hanging off his starveling frame, his thin, pale, worried face and horribly short hair, he was conscious of a wish he’d taken another month’s convalescence as his doctor had attempted to order.

Well, too late to worry about that now. A larger concern was what he’d find at this dinner.

On its own, identifying and slapping down an abuse of power would be nothing, a daily chore. But someone fluencing Crane wasn’t an isolated incident. It was part of a tangle of threads—the Judas jack, Hector’s ghost, and the unpleasantly
wrong
atmosphere of Piper, which nagged at Stephen’s instincts like a bad tooth.

It was of course possible that all these were separate matters, brought together by coincidence, but Stephen hadn’t survived seven years as a justiciar by trusting to luck. So tonight he would watch, and wait, and work out how to unpick the knot of trouble around Crane.

This meant that he would be spending more time here, with him.

Considering the utter fool he had made of himself, for the second time that day, the walk home had been surprisingly tolerable. Crane had kept the conversation flowing: charming, fascinating, amusing. They had talked the whole way back and had reached Piper before Stephen’s urge to curl up and die of self-inflicted embarrassment became unbearable. He had mumbled something about working in the library, suddenly desperate to hide away, and Crane…

Crane had said, “Then we will speak later,” but as he spoke he had taken Stephen’s chin in one hand and stroked that thumb over his lips, opening them with a firm, deliberate touch, so that Stephen found himself standing receptively, obediently, waiting.

That was all. It wasn’t much. But they both knew that Crane could have him at the crook of one long, slender finger.

He could still feel those powerful hands on his shoulders, slamming him back against the bookshelves, throwing him onto the desk, holding him down. It had been humiliating, of course—his own arousal and Crane’s bitingly accurate assessment of it. It had also been painfully, dangerously exciting, and Crane had known it, had identified Stephen’s desires, and was quite evidently a match for them.

I’m in charge. I’ll take it out on you.

Stephen didn’t anticipate that Crane would let him off so easily next time, and he didn’t want him to.

That didn’t mean this was anything other than madness, of course.

How was your trip to the country, Steph?
he imagined his partner asking.

Oh, I let a bored aristocrat use me as his new plaything, and now my Aunt Annie will never speak to me again. So-so, really.

A nice relaxing interlude, though, with a remarkably attractive man who’d normally never look twice at you, isn’t that just what you needed?

Ah, well, you see,
he replied to the imaginary Esther,
I
could
have just had a tumble in the grass, but I thought I’d wait and make sure of things. That he’s a decent man. Fair-minded. The things that matter to me.

He could almost see Esther rolling her eyes. He could never have had this conversation with her in reality, but he knew what she’d say all the same:
Well done, Steph. Why settle for a bit of simple pleasure when you could turn it into a hopeless passion for a man who could have anyone, and probably will?

He sat on the four-poster bed, looking round at the faded wallpaper that splashed great pink peonies over the room, lit by the rapidly fading evening sun. He was extremely conscious that Crane was just beyond the connecting door, could hear him talking to Merrick in that extraordinary language that made it impossible even to guess at meaning. He thought they might be laughing.

When Stephen emerged from the house, the last of the golden light was turning cold but the evening air was like bathwater, a shock after the bone-chilling freeze of Piper.

Crane was lounging, looking predictably perfect in an impeccable dining suit. You wouldn’t have thought he had a body like a sailor, or a mouth like one. Stephen gave a brief, convulsive shiver at the thought of that mouth.

Crane gave Stephen an up-and-down glance and waved him to the dogcart. There was no groom.

“Are you driving?” asked Stephen.

“Yes. So we can talk.”

“Oh.”

Crane flicked the reins and set the horses moving down the long avenue that led away from Piper. Stephen took a deep breath.

“I think I should apologise for that performance earlier. I made rather a fool of myself.”

“If you think that was making a fool of yourself, you have a lot to learn,” Crane said. “Some day you should bring a bottle of brandy down to the kitchen and get Merrick to tell you about the occasions I’ve really made a fool of myself. I promise you, the brandy will run out before the stories do.” He shot Stephen a sideways glance. “Besides, it gave me the opportunity to put a smile on your face. I enjoyed that.”

Stephen had no idea how to answer that. The horse trotted on. It was dark down the tree-lined lanes, and there was the occasional rustle of birds above and the harsh calls of nesting rooks and, probably, magpies.

“Tell me,” Stephen said eventually. “Your local reputation…is it as widely spread as Aunt Annie suggested?”

“I dare say.” Crane didn’t sound concerned. “I was expelled from five schools, three of them for gross immorality. My father was happy to tell all and sundry that was why he was getting rid of me. And of course, there’s no laws against it in China, so I lived as I chose, and word got back.”

Stephen stared at him. “No laws?”

“No laws, no moral objections. Nobody cares. It’s just one of the things people do. I’m sure my father didn’t know
that
when he sent me there.”

Stephen thought about that. “What about practice? Shamanism? Is that legal?”

“Yes, of course. Legal, acknowledged, shamans on every corner and advising the government— God, you look like a child outside a sweet shop.”

“I feel like one,” Stephen said. “No laws. You mean, like…normal?”

“Entirely normal.” Crane shrugged. “I had a fairly intense fling with a youngish and rather lovely mandarin. He took me to the odd state banquet. Nobody raised an eyebrow. Except the British contingent, the bacon-and-egg types. They didn’t like it. I expect they wrote back to England in droves. Didn’t bother me. I’d never planned to come back so I didn’t care about my reputation in England—and, actually, after twenty years in a sane country, I don’t care now. If I’m arrested Merrick will post bail and we’ll get on the next ship back to civilisation.”

“Can I come?” said Stephen, and blushed as the words left his mouth.

“By all means. The laws don’t apply to you, though, surely?”

“Yes, of course they do. Well, they absolutely would if I was arrested and sentenced. Admittedly, I don’t propose to let that happen, for witchcraft or anything else. But in theory, yes.”

The horse trotted on.

“Tell me what’s going to happen this evening,” Crane said. “Will Lady Thwaite know you’re a justiciar?”

“I don’t expect so, unless she’s heard from Miss Bell, but that seems unlikely. I’m not sure I’ll act on her tonight, incidentally. I want to get a sense of what’s going on here first. Would you mind letting her fluence you?”

“Yes, I bloody would!” said Crane with startling vehemence, jerking the reins. “I will
not
be played with like that.” He was obviously forcing down anger as he went on, “I object to having my mind invaded. That is an absolute refusal. No.”

Stephen frowned. “This is the sore point you mentioned, isn’t it? What happened?”

Crane’s mouth tightened. “Oh, we had a charming experience with one of your lot in China.” He stared up into the trees, muscles twitching over his face. “In a word, Merrick rooked a shaman at dice, and the bastard put a curse on him that made him…imbecilic. Animal. It was disgusting. He drooled and gibbered. Smeared his shit on the walls and—
tsaena
. It was grotesque. I thought he’d be like it forever.” He jerked his head, shaking off the memory.

Stephen’s hands were twitching compulsively with the urge to strike. On the occasions he thought of leaving his thankless, dangerous job, it was expressions like the one Crane was wearing now that made him keep on going. “How did it end?”

“I paid the shaman off. Everything we had, more or less. No choice. I tried to negotiate and he threatened to do the same thing to me. So I paid up, and he lifted the curse and went off smirking.” Crane wiped a hand over his face. “I have plenty of bad memories but Merrick grinning in the corner like an ape is… No.”

Stephen bit his lip. “And now I’m doubly ashamed of what I did last night. I won’t let anyone touch you again. You have my word.”

“Thank you.”

“Er… That said, would you be able to tolerate an attempt if I promise it won’t work?”

Crane shot him a look. “Why do you want me to?”

“Honestly, I want to find out what is going on around here. And the easiest way is to let them show us what they want.”

Crane frowned. “Is this not just a rather silly woman abusing her powers?”

“Probably, yes. But what with the jack and the haunting, I’d like to be sure of that before I act.”

“I see.” Crane turned the horses through a gate. “I don’t know. I can’t promise to behave myself.”

“Well, it’s up to you,” Stephen said. “You’ve heard my recommendation.”

“I don’t know. Oh, sod it. You’re the expert. Whatever you want. What reason should we give for your presence?”

“Oh, legal business. Vague, dull legal business. Messuage, enfeoffment, conveyancing.”

“Dull things. Right.”

“I’m going to be fairly dull myself,” Stephen said. “I plan to go unnoticed, as much as possible.”

“As you wish. But it occurs to me that Graham will have spoken to the servants when the Thwaites visited. If they listen to servants’ gossip…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Stephen said confidently. Away from Piper’s malign influence, he could feel the stronger flow tingling through his blood. “Nobody is going to think of me in those terms.”

“Well, I didn’t like to say so, but that is a dreadful suit,” Crane agreed, as he pulled up the horses outside the house. “You’d look much better out of it.”

He climbed lithely down from the dogcart and handed the reins to the Thwaites’ groom. Stephen muttered, “Swine,” and followed, feeling a grin dawning irrepressibly on his face.

Chapter Thirteen

Huckerby Place was a far more opulent home than Piper, in that it was warm and welcoming and had been decorated within the last decade, and furnished within the last five.

The Thwaites’ daughter Helen was not, in fairness, “pretty”. She was a remarkably beautiful girl, tall and slender, golden-haired and blue-eyed in the best English tradition, with perfect skin and teeth and a clear, ringing voice. She greeted Crane with bright-eyed flirtatiousness, holding out both her hands to him. Crane smiled and disengaged himself, and bowed formally rather than taking Lady Thwaite’s outstretched hand. Stephen lurked behind him, ignored.

The other guests were all in the drawing room.

“My dears,” Lady Thwaite announced, “Our new earl, Lord Crane. Now, do you know everyone, my lord?”

“Nobody, I’m afraid,” Crane said.

“Well, of course, you’ve spent so little time in Lychdale,” Lady Thwaite said. “We’re fortunate to have had as much of your company in this house as we have, when you’re so busy. I’m sure I don’t know what the attraction of our little home can be,” she added roguishly.

“Oh, Mother,” murmured Helen, dimpling.

Crane didn’t smile at Lady Thwaite’s sally, but moved forward to the other guests. The first was the vicar of Fulford, Mr. Haining, a fussy man in his fifties, quickly elbowed aside by Mr. and Mrs. Millway. This couple were obviously aiming to be part of the provincial gentry: a little too familiar, a little overdressed, and full of regret for the absence of the Thwaites’ sadly delayed houseguests who should have arrived already, and who Crane would have found
so
charming. “
Dear
Sir Peter and
dearest
Lady B, you doubtless know them, Lord Crane?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Oh, but you must meet them! They live in London too!”

“What a remarkable coincidence.” Crane turned to the last guests, the Vernons: a country solicitor and his plump, kindly looking wife, who regarded Crane with a slight frown.

“Pleased to meet you, Lord Crane,” said Mr. Vernon, shaking hands. “I had a letter from your lawyers. About Allan Day.”

“Good,” Crane said. “I hope you found it informative.”

“I did, yes. I was rather taken aback by it.”

“You’d never have believed my father would do such a thing?”

“The letter didn’t reflect well on him,” Vernon responded carefully.