Page 44 of The Magpie Lord
He didn’t point out that nobody except the Vernons had made any effort to put the socially inferior Mr. Day at ease, because the little devil was obviously up to something. Crane could see him, and Mrs. Vernon, next to him, clearly could, but the rest of the company once again turned away as though he were simply not there.
Helen Thwaite continued to glower, made a few more unpleasant remarks, complained she had a headache, and left the table abruptly.
Eventually the meal ended. Crane sat through a single glass of port with the gentlemen before announcing that he would have to leave, after a private word with the vicar.
Mr. Haining was a thin, old-maidish sort of man, liver-lipped and almost completely bald, with a red birthmark disfiguring his scalp. Crane had taken his measure through the course of the meal, and wasn’t disposed to be pleasant.
“Mr. Haining,” he said without preamble. “Do you recall the case of Ruth Baker of Nethercote? Killed herself two years ago.”
“A terrible business.”
“I understand she’s buried outside the Fulford churchyard.”
“That’s right. As a suicide...you understand.”
“No, I don’t. She was seduced by deception, at the age of fifteen, learned that she was carrying her own father’s child, and killed herself. I’d have thought that a case for pity, not ostracism.”
Mr. Haining’s eyes bulged. “This is scarcely a suitable topic for a lady’s parlour.”
“There are no ladies here,” Crane said. “Just you and me. What pastoral care did you offer this strayed lamb of your flock, Mr. Haining?”
“It’s hardly my responsibility—” began the vicar.
“Actually, it is. Did you know her father, and seducer, was my brother?”
“I really feel that gossip is inappropriate—”
“How much influence did my father bring to bear on your decisions regarding the girl?”
“It was—that is—there were certain difficulties—the fact is— My position carries certain obligations to all levels of society, Lord Crane, and one must weigh—”
“Enough,” Crane said contemptuously. “It is my opinion that Ruth Baker killed herself while the balance of her mind was disturbed. As such, she should be properly reinterred, in her local church. This ceremony should take place as soon as possible, at my expense. That’s my opinion, and I think you’ll find it’s your opinion too.”
“I’m afraid not, my lord,” said Mr. Haining stiffly. “I must absolutely refuse to contemplate such a thing. It is a matter of the dignity of the Church. The great gift of human life is not to be thrown away.”
He put up his weak chin. Crane let the silence stretch out to an uncomfortable length, until he saw the flicker of nerves in the man’seyes, then spoke very gently. “Vicar, I’ve let it be known that I don’t propose to run my affairs with threats, intimidation or the abuse of power. That, in fact, I’m not like my brother or my father. I hope this has reached your ears.”
The vicar looked at him hopefully. “Yes, it has, my lord.”
Crane smiled and leaned closer. “The thing is,” he murmured, “between us...I’mquitelike them.”
Chapter Fourteen
Stephen and Crane settled into the dogcart for the drive back to Piper. The wind was up now, and the night was at last suitably cold for April.
“What on earth did you do to the vicar?” Stephen asked. “He looked like he was going to cry.”
“Sanctimonious prick. I told him that he’d rebury Ruth Baker within the week or there would be a new vicar in place within the fortnight.”
“Can you dismiss a vicar?”
“If she’s not properly interred by next Sunday, we’ll find out.”
They probably would at that, Stephen thought, looking at the set of Crane’s mouth. “You seem very concerned by this.”
“She was my brother’s child. My niece,” Crane said. “Which makes her baby—”
“Your brother’s child.”
