Page 13 of A Case of Possession
“I know.” Stephen wasn’t looking at him.
“I’ll give my lawyers your name,” Crane went on. “They’re entirely discreet. Then you can use them at will, without going through me.”
“Though still dependent on you.”
“Welcome to life for everyone else,” Crane snapped, somewhat offended by Stephen’s unappreciative response. “At least I’ve got money. There are plenty of people with neither money nor power who have to deal with this shit, so—”
“I know. Sorry. Thank you.”
“I don’t want your thanks. Just stop trying to stand alone when you don’t have to. Accept some damned help, now and again. The rest of us do.”
Stephen smiled tiredly at him and curled up under his arm, into his chest, but he didn’t reply, and within a few moments, he was asleep.
Chapter Five
Crane woke the next morning to the sound of Merrick bringing him a cup of coffee. He opened an eye and registered that there was only one cup on the tray at the same time as he became conscious of the empty bed around him. He muttered a curse.
“Problem?” enquired his henchman.
“No. Nothing.”
“Mr. Day didn’t turn up, then?” said Merrick, homing in on his thoughts as ever.
“Been and gone.”
“Came and went?”
“Oh, shut up.” Crane sat up and sipped his coffee. God knew when Stephen had left, he hadn’t even stirred, but the little sod had ways of moving around silently. There would, he knew, be no note. There never was.
And that was perfectly reasonable, because they were both free men who could do as they pleased. He would rather have found Stephen’s small form curled under his arm, would definitely rather be having a slow, leisurely morning in bed with him, watching the laughter and the lust warm his tawny eyes to gold, but doubtless he was busy. Crane had learned not even to ask about his work, counting it only as “busy” or “not busy”.
They really had needed to talk more about bloody Rackham. That was the only problem. Otherwise Stephen could come and go—thank you, Merrick—as he pleased, and it was absurd of Crane to feel hurt, let alone this sliver of fear that this time he wouldn’t come back, that the whole damned magpie business and Rackham’s blackmail might make Stephen decide that life would be safer lived alone.
Rackham. Crane’s eyes narrowed as he watched Merrick move round the room. “Any luck yesterday?”
“Not a dicky bird.” Merrick picked up a discarded sock. “No gambling, no junk debts. Nothing nobody’s talking about. If Mr. Rackham’s got himself in trouble, I reckon it’s a shaman thing.”
“He has got himself in shaman trouble,” Crane said. “Stephen mentioned that, but he didn’t think it was enough to warrant making a run for it. So he concluded Rackham must be up to something he doesn’t know about.”
“Suspicious-minded bugger, Mr. Day. So what about Mr. Rackham, then? Am I going to break his legs?”
“Not yet, no.” Crane drained his cup. “He’s battened onto Leonora Hart.”
“The hell he has.” Merrick’s face darkened. “Why don’t I break his fucking neck and have done?”
“Give it time. We’ve till Friday, he said. And we must act in a civilised fashion in this country, you know.”
“If you say so, my lord,” muttered Merrick. “What’s Mr. Day think?”
“Says he should be fine. Says it isn’t likely to be a problem.”
“Believe him?”
“No. Come with me to the office today, I want you in Limehouse. I’m going to call in some obligations and do a bit more work on Rackham’s affairs. Buy up some debts. Revive some old grudges. See how fast I can get him to the verge of ruin.”
“Ah,” said Merrick, satisfied. “Thatkind of civilised.”
It was four o’clock when the summons came.
