Page 53 of The Magpie Lord
“Could you try to remember?”
“You want to talk aboutmagpies? Now?”
“I’m starting to wonder if it’s all about magpies,” Stephen said. “Yes, now.”
Crane gave him an incredulous look, but clearly decided not to argue, and shut his eyes in an effort of memory. “I don’t know. The damn things used to flock round my father, all the time, but—that’s right, never me or Hector. Because of course if any creature came near enough for him to throw a stone at it, he did. So they learned to avoid boys, I suppose. Father got fairly angry about it, he had a pet magpie and he couldn’t understand why they flew away from us. I seem to remember it turned out to be my fault. There, does that explain everything?” he added, with some sarcasm.
“It’s enlightening. Because your father was posthumous. Of course.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
Stephen pushed a hand through his hair. “Let methink.”
He had to give Crane credit: the man knew how to wait, and when to. He stood in uncharacteristic obedience, unmoving as Stephenthought, and those thoughts darkened and hardened, things falling into place with dreadful inevitability.
Stephen looked up at last. Crane was still silent, waiting.
“I have a few questions,” he said, in his professional voice, very calm and even, because otherwise he was going to panic. “First. Since your return, have you had intimate relations with anyone up here?”
“Have I bedded anyone, you mean? Not in Lychdale.”
“Do you have any close living relations? Uncle, aunt, nephew, niece?”
“Only if Hector had other children. I’m not aware of any.”
“Can you think of any means by which someone might have got hold of your blood in reasonable quantity? Any serious cuts or wounds? Teeth drawn?”
“No.”
“Blood, bone and birdspit, and it’s not blood or birdspit,” said Stephen. “This is not good. Where’s your brother buried?”
“The mausoleum,” Crane said, not bothering to comment on the non sequitur, for which Stephen was grateful. He didn’t have time forwhy. “Round the other side of the grounds. Near the Rose Walk.”
“And was it always this cold in Piper?”
“I can’t say I remember it being so bad, no. I want you to explain this.”
“I will,” Stephen said. “But I don’t want to start till I have time to finish, and we have to hurry. The servants should be out by now, shouldn’t they?”
“With Merrick behind them, I expect so.”
“Can you get rid of him too?”
“I doubt it,” said Crane. “It’s been twenty years and he’s not left me in a sticky situation yet. Why do you want him gone? He may not be magic but I’d still back him against anyone I’ve yet met here.”
“I’m sure,” Stephen said. “But if someone threatened to do to Mr. Merrick what they just did to the horses, is there anything they couldn’t make you do?”
Crane’s face tightened. “Right. He’s not going to take it well, though.”
“I’ll talk to him. If we can get rid of everyone else, there will only be you and me to worry about.”
“That was exactly why I wanted you to come to Northamptonshire,” muttered Crane.
Stephen snorted, without much amusement, and led the way back. They trudged through the wet grass, dew flashing and sparkling in the sun, magpies fluttering around them.
Chapter Sixteen
The house had been emptied, except for Graham, who stood in the hall, having a raging argument with Merrick. Crane stalked over and spoke in low, cold, savage tones, his words making the old man go red and then white with outrage, until he turned and stormed out. Stephen was leaning against a panelled wall, eyes shut, breathing in a shallow, controlled way. It reminded Crane of his trance in the garden, a week ago, but then Stephen’s face had been preternaturally calm. Now he looked tense, almost afraid.
