Page 15 of The Magpie Lord
“Dormant,” he said, mostly to himself. “Or dead. Too long asleep to wake. Coma.”
“You’re being a little unnerving,” said Crane. “Are you going to tell me there’s a beautiful princess sleeping in the tower room?”
“That wouldn’t be my first guess.” Stephen pushed his hands through his too-short hair. “Have you seen the mummies at the British Museum?”
“The Egyptian ones? No, not yet. But they have a similar thing in China.”
“Did you ever imagine if they started moving? Withered hands reaching towards you and sunken eyes staring?”
“I didn’t, but now I know what I’ll be dreaming about tonight.”
“It’s how this house feels.” Stephen realised he was flexing and pulling at his fingers. He jammed his hands in his pockets. “I suppose we should go in,” he added without enthusiasm.
Crane led the way. An elderly bald man was standing at the thick wood door, his heavy jowls conveying weary disgust. “Your lordship,” he mumbled.
“Graham. This is Mr. Day, who is attending to some legal matters for me. I’ll expect you and your staff to answer all his questions as fully as possible.”
The butler looked Stephen up and down. He didn’t roll his eyes and turn away in contempt, but it was evidently a close-run thing.
“Yes, my lord.” Graham bowed them in. “Mr. Skewton has left a number of papers for your lordship on your lordship’s desk in your lordship’s study. And Sir James and Lady Thwaite have left cards for your lordship, your lordship.”
Crane looked at him expressionlessly. Graham stared back.
“Very good,” Crane said at last. “Mr. Merrick is of course responsible while I’m in residence. Do take the opportunity to rest your feet, Graham.”
The old man’s bald head flushed a dark red. “Idon’t neglect my duty, your lordship. Lord Crane would never have suggested such a thing. The maids have put your guest in the Blue Room, your lordship, but I dare say Merrick will have something to say about that on your lordship’s behalf. The Peony Room, perhaps.”
He stalked off through the hall towards the servants’ quarters. Merrick followed, soft-footed. A door down a corridor slammed, almost certainly in Merrick’s face.
“Loyal family retainer?” asked Stephen.
“That’s right.”
“Couldn’t you pension him off?”
“Too much effort. If I got a decent butler, I’d have to import an entire competent household to support him, and since I’m going to sellthis damned barrack as soon as I’ve unpicked the legal situation and clarified the accounts, I can’t summon up the energy.”
“Oh, you’re selling the house?”
“Or setting fire to it,” said Crane. “I’m currently leaning that way.”
“It’s very cold,” Stephen agreed, looking around. Darkly panelled walls, heavy wooden furniture, old hangings and threadbare rugs... “Forgive my curiosity, but I thought your family was rich.”
“It is. There are extensive landholdings round here and the land is good. Hector was expensive, and Griffin was stealing with both hands, but there’s plenty of money. But one of the ways the rich stay rich is by not spending anything.”
“I knew I was doing something wrong,” Stephen said. “What was the significance of that exchange about rooms?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Well.” Stephen rubbed his arms, feeling grateful for his jacket for the first time that day. “Perhaps I could look round and familiarise myself with the place?”And see if I can work out what’s wrong with it, he added mentally.
“I’ll take you round,” said Crane. “Neither Skewton nor the Thwaites offer the charm of your company, and I’m saying that to a man who spent the night disembowelling cats.”
“I didnot—”
“This is the drawing room. It probably wouldn’t be so bad without the panelling, or the chairs, and if it was in a different house.”
Stephen followed Crane round the chilling, ancient house, mentally mapping it, half listening to Crane’s sardonic commentary as he tried to pinpoint the source of his discomfort.
