Page 32 of The Magpie Lord
The pregnant woman gaped at him and appealed to the woman in brown. “Marjorie!”
“Go home, madam,” Stephen repeated. “Henry, listen to me, take your wife home now.”
“Marjorie—” The pregnant woman fell silent as the big man put a heavy arm on her shoulders. Merrick let her go, exchanging a quick glance with Crane.
The woman in brown was thin-lipped, glaring between Stephen and Crane. “Go on, Liza. Think of the baby. I’ll deal with this.”
“And the rest of the spectators,” Stephen said. “You, you and you. Off you all go. Now, please.”
“You don’t give the orders here,” said the woman called Marjorie.
Stephen flicked a glance at her. “Yes, I do.”
Merrick and Crane watched in silence as the small, bewildered group trailed away. The woman in brown stood alone, staring resentfully at Stephen.
“Right,” she said. “You’re here for Edna Parrott, are you? Well, she’s dead. So ifhe’s here to finish the job his brother started—”
“What’s your grievance against Lord Crane?”
“He’s a damned Vaudrey!”
“LucienVaudrey,” Crane put in. “Not Hector, not Quentin. Lucien. The one who’s been five thousand miles away for twenty years. I have no idea what my father or brother did to you, or to this place. Perhaps you could tell me.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.” The woman’s arms were tightly folded. “Just get out and take your dogs with you. You’ve no right to be here.”
“Wrong,” said Stephen. “I am a justiciar, and I am here on a matter of dark practice and murder. I am requesting you to speak to me now.”
“And what if I don’t?” said the woman through stiff lips.
“Then it will stop being a request.”
The woman’s face was set like stone. She stared at Stephen, eyes dark, and Crane suddenly realised her pupils were dilating.
“Don’t be silly,” Stephen said, with a touch of impatience.
“This is my place,” she said, low and angry. “I have rights.”
“And you have duties,” said Stephen. “What’s your name?”
“Bell. Marjorie Bell. I’m Gammer’s granddaughter.”
“I’m Justiciar Stephen Day. This is Lord Crane, that’s Mr. Merrick. Now—”
“Stephen Day?”
There was just a hint of a pause before Stephen nodded.
“Nan Talbot’s nephew Stephen?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth dropped open, a picture of incredulous contempt. “Allan Day’s son? Helping the Vaudreys? Your father must be turning in his grave.”
“My father knew his duty,” said Stephen stonily. “He did his job, and I am doing mine. Starting now, Miss Bell.”
“Does Nan Talbot know you’re working forthat?” She jerked her head at Crane.
“Now.”
