Page 25 of The Magpie Lord
“I’ve no idea,” said Stephen. “Awayis really all I’m concerned with. Does it matter?”
Crane shrugged as he opened the side door, and recoiled as he came face to face with Graham, standing right at the door. The old man held a candlestick, and his face was deeply wrinkled and malevolent in the dancing shadows as he looked them both over.
“Oh, there you are, your lordship,” he said. “I trust you had a pleasant time in the garden. Dear me, Mr. Day, your lower garments are quite wet. Perhaps you should spend less time on your knees.”
He turned on his heel and stalked off. Stephen looked after him, and turned to Crane, face neutral.
“It amuses him to be offensive,” Crane said, wondering whether Stephen had grasped the ludicrous insinuation. “My apologies. I’ll have a word.”
There was nothing in Stephen’s muddy eyes, except perhaps tiredness. “Don’t bother. Good night.”
Chapter Nine
The unseasonable sun was shining through the narrow windows of the drawing room, onto the faded carpets and brocade chairs, and Crane was bored.
Stephen had been particularly uninteresting at breakfast, barely meeting Crane’s eyes, making only polite and noncommittal remarks. Crane, deprived of conversation, found his mind kept wandering to Hector, and the jack, and the ghastly legal and financial tangle ahead of him, until he had all but forgotten the dull little man opposite him.
Stephen had disappeared after consuming a huge breakfast and was now sequestered in the library, where he had been all morning, armed with the most detailed map Crane possessed and supplies of tea and cake from Mrs. Mitching. Merrick had gone off to spread the agreed story that the cement fixing the stones of the Rose Walk had deteriorated catastrophically and it was likely to collapse on anyone foolish enough to walk through it. Crane had settled down with Piper’s accounts, which possessed all the clarity and order of a plate ofchao miannoodles but none of the spice, and had thought that this would be the dullest thing he did all day, right up until the moment Sir James and Lady Thwaite arrived to make a morning call.
Sir James concluded his hunting anecdote with a hearty laugh, in which his wife joined. Crane said, “Very good,” without any effort at sincerity. “Now...”
“Well.” Sir James glanced at his wife. “I expect you’re wondering why we’re here, my lord, and the fact is, we’re having a dinner this evening.”
“We had no idea when you’d be back, you see,” put in Lady Thwaite. “Or we would have sent you a card. Naturally.”
“Cards,” said Sir James dismissively. “Man doesn’t need a card to share meat with his neighbours. Come and take pot luck with us this evening. You can meet our Helen again, and all the society roundabout here, not to mention the Brutons. Muriel’s friends, they are, coming up from London today. Just your sort. Sir Peter and Elise, that’s Lady Bruton, don’t know if you’ve met them? You London folk all know each other, I dare say.”
“That’s most kind of you, but—”
“Now, don’t say you have another engagement.” Lady Thwaite had an air of suppressed triumph. “The Millways are coming, and there will be Mr. Haining too. And really, I can’timaginewhat else you could be doing.”
Crane could think of a number of occupations that would give him more pleasure, even in Piper. “I’m not engaged, as such, but I’m extremely busy. Matters are in something of a tangle here. I really can’t spare the time for social events, I’m afraid. Thank you anyway.” He rose as he spoke.
“But you must come.” Lady Thwaite stood too and took hold of Crane’s hand. “Listen to me. You can’t refuse to meet your neighbours and you really mustn’t decline. Come tonight, at seven, or you will offend us all and you don’t want to do that.”
“I—”
“Listen to me. You don’t want to refuse at all, dear Lord Crane. You know you must come. You have to meet Helen again. You like Helen so much, she’s so sweet and pretty. Such a lovely girl. So suitable, so eligible. You must come.”
Crane sighed internally, realising he would have to go. “Very well, then, thank you. But I’ve a guest with me here.”
“Bring him along!” said Sir James boisterously, getting in before his wife could speak. “The more the merrier.”
“I’ve no idea if he has dining clothes—”
“Oh, don’t bother about that! We’re not sticklers, are we, my dear?”
Lady Thwaite patted Crane on the arm with a victorious smirk. “Of course not. And you must come, dear Lord Crane, you really, really must.”
Crane returned to his work for ten minutes or so after the Thwaites had left, cursing himself for giving in to a pointless social obligation, and wondering what the devil Stephen could wear to any kind of dinner. The man was barely presentable as it was. He caught himself reflecting that his own amber cufflinks would match Stephen’s eyes, the blend of warm brown and glowing gold, and wondered why he’d had that thought, because Stephen’s eyes were a drab clay colour...
He put his pen down.
Heknewthe man’s eyes were golden, changeable, intense. He’d watched them long enough. But he also knew they were dull and unattractive, because...
Because Stephen had told him so?
Crane made himself go over and over the last night, memories swimming to the surface as he concentrated. The cold rough stone. Stephen on his knees. Warm breath and soft lips against his hand.
