Page 59 of The Magpie Lord
“And the ways are—?”
“We’d like you to marry Helen Thwaite.”
Crane blinked. “Miss Thwaite.”
“Yes. She’s a very pretty girl, isn’t she? Perhaps alittledifficult. Dear Muriel has struggled to find her a husband with her temperament, but that need not worry you. You need only give her, let us say, two sons, an heir and a spare, as they say, to ensure that the entail is fulfilled in the event of any mishap. We should hardly want your estate to descend to a distant cousin. But after that I dare say you could follow your own inclinations. Discreetly, of course. I should insist that you treat dear Muriel’s daughter with respect, she is my very great friend, but—” She gave a little laugh. “I do understand men, you know.”
“And how long would you anticipate I might live, once I’ve supplied you with the children you require to control my fortune?” enquired Crane.
“That depends very much on you, Lord Crane,” said Lady Bruton gently. “If you make your fortune available to us willingly, that will be most welcome. And I need not scruple to tell you that we have ambitions to take our rightful place in the governance of this country. If you take your place in the Lords, in the seat of power, as our voice, you might make yourself quite invaluable.”
“As your creature.”
Lady Bruton smiled. “There’s no need to be dramatic. After all, our servant will be everyone else’s master. And there will be many compensations for your service, believe me.”
Crane nodded. “And the alternative?”
She shook her head, smiling sadly. “You cannot leave this house except as our man, Lord Crane. Please understand that. Your death would serve our purpose really very nearly as well as your faithful life.”
Crane looked at the lovely woman opposite him. Memories crowded in: Merrick’s awful, imbecile rictus; the hair in his throat; the screams of the horses; the foul oiliness of the Judas jack. Stephen’s crumpled body.
He was alone and entirely helpless, and he knew that there would be no mercy and no escape, and he didn’t want to die.
He met her eyes. “I’m no stranger to compounding for my life, madam. Or to the awareness of death. I experienced, long ago, several months of degradation that I now find it astonishing I endured, but I welcomed it because the alternative was death. I know myself, my lady. I want to live.”
“I’m delighted to hear you are so wise,” said Lady Bruton warmly.
“So I can honestly say I would rather die than accept your offer.”
There was a short silence. Lady Bruton’s fixed smile suddenly had more teeth in it. “Really. And may I know the reason you choose not to join us?”
Crane took a deep breath, and told her.
ANGRY HANDS PUSHEDhard, and Crane tumbled down the steps, unable to break his fall properly, landing heavily and painfully on the hard earth floor with his shoulder, a stone step gouging a long scrape into his arm as the shock jarred his brain. He took a harsh breath as the cellar door slammed shut, leaving him in darkness.
“Fuck.”
“Crane?” said a disbelieving voice.
“Stephen?Christ. Stephen. Are you all right?”
“So far.” Stephen sounded hoarse. “You?”
“Fine. Bruton roughed me up a bit. I annoyed his lady.”
“How?”
“I told the whey-faced bitch what she and her repulsive cohorts could do with their offer of servitude. And then I stopped being polite.”
Stephen chuckled weakly. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“You may be alone in that sentiment.” Crane could still feel an echo of the shrieking agony that the enraged Lady Bruton had sent flaring through his bones. A bruise was swelling around his eye where Sir Peter had taken a more direct approach. “What happened to you?”
“Someone, presumably Bruton, gave me a reasonably savage beating. I made sure I was well out for it,” Stephen said. “I woke up in here. He’s cracked a couple of my ribs, I think.”
Crane got himself to his feet, hampered by the iron cuffs and chain that pinioned his hands behind his back. “Hold on.” He moved over and tripped on a crate, falling to a knee. “Damn it. Can you make light?”
“I can’t do anything. I work with my hands, and I’ve got iron round my wrists. I think Bruton might have stamped on my hands, actually. They hurt.” Stephen’s voice was controlled, but there was a tremor in it.
