Page 31 of A Case of Possession
“No harm done.” Crane wasn’t entirely sure that was true.
“Esther is not a stupid woman. She knows you’re hiding something.”
“That’s my problem, Stephen.”
“No, it really isn’t.” Stephen had led them down to the river with rapid strides. They paused now, looking across the broad sweep of the churning brown Thames. “Lucien, do you know what I have? In life?”
“What?”
“My profession. That’s it. I’ve no family, except my aunt, and she’ll never speak to me again. I live on the pittance they pay justiciars. My friends are all justiciars, or married to them. Everyone else hates us. If I couldn’t be a justiciar, I… God, I don’t know what I’d do. If I lost that, I’d have lost everything.”
“I’m here,” Crane observed, without inflection.
Stephen propped his elbows on a bit of wooden fencing. Crane joined him, and they both stared out at the turbid waters.
“You’re going back to Shanghai,” Stephen said at last.
“What? I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. One day. I’m not an idiot, Lucien. You’re bored. You had this wonderful life of adventure and excitement and living the way you wanted, and now you’re here, no ties, nothing to do, supposed to be in the House of Lords or making a suitable marriage, having to hide how you are, how we are— No, let me finish. I’m not complaining. I…like you, I like spending time with you, but you’re not going to tolerate this life forever, or even for much longer. Why would you? I wouldn’t stop being a justiciar. And that’s the point. You have your life in China, and I have my profession. So I have to make sure I don’t lose that profession, and my friends, over this. Over you. I don’t want it to come to a choice, but if it does, then I have to choose with the rest of my life in mind.”
Crane stared out at the churning waters. A breeze brought a tang of salty air to his nose. He felt oddly calm, but with an unpleasant quivery sensation in his stomach.
He wanted to pull Stephen into his arms, hold him, kiss the fear and the loneliness away, and then fuck him till he forgot any ideas he might have of ending things between them. But he couldn’t even touch him, because of the bloody laws of this bloody country that, yes, bored and irritated him beyond bearing.
Could he really say he wouldn’t leave?
It didn’t matter if he said it or didn’t. It would have to be Stephen’s choice.
He took a breath, kept his voice level. “I understand. And I’ve no desire to see you hurt. What do you want me to do?”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t…be together. For a while. Till this is over and Esther stops wondering about you and watching me.”
Crane looked at his hands, long fingers entwined, so close to Stephen’s on the salt-crusted rotting wood, so far from being able to touch him. “If you insist. If you think it would help.”
“It might.”
Crane nodded slowly. Stephen glanced at him, gnawing his lip. “I’m sorry. I realise this is tiresome. But Rackham’s death, and you in the middle of it, and Esther—it’s too much, too dangerous. My fault, for bringing you in, but I needed someone who spoke Chinese and could talk to shamans, and I don’t think there’s anyone in London who fits that bill except you and Rackham, and I had no idea how far this would run out of control.” He gave a little involuntary gasp. “I know what it’s like to lose everything, you see. I don’t want to do that again.”
“You won’t. Not through my agency. Not at all.” Crane hesitated, but it needed saying. “Do you not think that you should talk to Mrs. Gold?”
“About—”
“All of it.”
“No.”
“She might understand. She might even not be as surprised as you might think.”
“No. I can’t, Lucien. I can’t risk it. It wouldn’t be safe.”
“Because you don’t trust her to know about the power, about me?”
“Exactly.”
“Liar,” said Crane. Esther Gold’s fierce rectitude burned as brightly as Stephen’s. He could well understand how the pair of them were so disliked by less upright citizens. There was no doubting Stephen’s desire to keep the Magpie Lord’s power a secret, but Crane would have put serious money on his lover’s trust in Mrs. Gold, and on that trust being well placed. “Try again.”
Stephen was silent for a long moment, looking out over the Thames. When he spoke, he addressed the words outwards, as if continuing an argument with the river waters. “You see, my friends aren’t all people who’ve lived in China where nobody cares who you share your bed with. My friends live here, where it matters, where it says what kind of man you are. And I don’t want them to know that.”
