Page 29 of The Magpie Lord
“No,” Stephen said. “I think it’s mostly me and I think I should stop it.”
“It’s not mostly you. But... All right. I won’t resume this subject unless you do. If you don’t, I’ll respect that. If you do, I will take it you’ve made your mind up. Your choice.”
Stephen didn’t want it to be his choice. He wanted to be an extremely long way away from Crane, so that choice didn’t come in to it. But he nodded anyway, because there wasn’t much else to do, and they stood in awkward silence for a moment.
“Work,” Stephen said finally. “Can we go back to this dinner invitation?”
“The— Oh, yes, that. Right. What happened was that Sir James and Lady Thwaite, of Huckerby Place, made me think I had to accept a dinner invitation. That sounds ridiculous.”
“When you accepted this invitation, did either of them touch you?”
Crane frowned. “I have an idea Lady Thwaite took my hand.”
“May I?”
Crane extended his hand. Stephen took it—be professional, Day—turned it over thoughtfully, brought his face down, and sniffed deeply, running his nose just above Crane’s skin.
“What in God’s name are you doing?”
“Witch-smelling.” Stephen sniffed again. “There’s definitely something there. Fluence. Not me.”
“So this fluence requires physical contact, does it?”
“Skin contact. Have you any idea what Lady Thwaite was saying?”
“I’m not sure.” Crane frowned. “I can’t seem to remember the words. I just know that she changed the way I thought. As you did, as the Judas jack did.”
“Why on earth would she fluence you to accept an invitation?”
“No idea. But I don’t think it’s the first time she’s done it.”
“Really.” Stephen felt a familiar prickle along his spine, the hackles of the hunting dog. “Is anything striking you as odd about your previous relations with her?”
“That I have any. I’ve been ignoring cards and refusing invitations since I got back, but I found myself visiting the Thwaites on each of my previous visits down here. I may add, if I wanted to get to know any of my neighbours, it wouldn’t be them.”
“Does your presence lend social cachet?”
Crane shrugged. “Well, I’m the new Lord Crane, but on the other hand, I’m the old Lucien Vaudrey. And they’re an established countryfamily, they don’t need my countenance, such as it is. I’d scarcely think it was worth the effort, and certainly not three times over. There was nobody else there the second time, in fact. Just the Thwaites and their daughter.”
“Ah,” said Stephen. “Their unmarried daughter, is that?”
“They’ve only the one. Mid-twenties, unmarried, very pretty, very charming—what?”
Stephen kept his face inexpressive, biting back an inappropriate urge to laugh. “Out of curiosity, have you been having any thoughts of matrimony, at all?”
“Well, it’s crossed my mind. For obvious reasons, I’m not inclined to marry, but there’s the succession...which...which I don’t give a damn about...” Crane’s voice tailed off, then he exploded, “That fucking harpy!” He stalked a few paces, spine stiff with anger. “Do you seriously think I was being entrapped into marriage by magic?”
“It’s possible,” Stephen said. “Fluence wouldn’t do it alone, but if Miss Thwaite is pretty and charming, it could certainly pave the way. You’re the last Vaudrey, you’re in search of a wife and an heir—”
“I’m not. I amnot.”
“You might be expected to be. Wealthy neighbours, lovely daughter, good family. You might well be led to feel she’d do as well as another.”
The darkness was back behind Crane’s eyes. “She is not charming. She’s a thoroughly nasty, foul-tempered piece of work. I am not going to marry that ill-conditioned little shrew, and I will not be manipulated by that sour-faced bitch her mother!”
“No, you won’t,” Stephen said. “I’ll put a stop to it.”
“Do you think she’ll listen to you?”
