Page 5 of A Case of Possession
“I’m not drinking to Merton,” said Humphris flatly. He was another Shanghai trader, one of the few Crane liked rather than tolerated through habit.
“I’ll drink to his passing,” Crane added. “Accident, or did an outraged parent finally catch up with him?”
“Accident, cleaning his gun.” Town gave a meaningful cough.
“Not just a swine but a coward.” Humphris spoke contemptuously, and then looked at Crane with sudden horror, very obviously recalling that his father and brother had both killed themselves. “Good God, Vaudrey, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Not at all.” Crane waved it away. “And in any case, I agree with you.”
“Still, I beg your pardon.” Humphris cast about for a change of subject. “Oh, have you heard about Willetts? You know, the copra dealer. Did you see in the papers?”
“No, what?”
“Murdered.”
“Good God.” Crane sat up. “Are you serious? Is there an arrest?”
“No, none. He was found in Poplar, by the river. Stabbed, apparently. A footpad.”
“The devil. Poor fellow.”
“Willetts and Merton, within a fortnight.” Shaycott kept up the portentous tone.
“Yes, the subscription book here is going to start looking thin at this rate,” Crane agreed heartlessly, and Town added, “The Curse of the Traders.”
“Don’t joke about that, you fellows. I’ve heard some things in my time—” Shaycott ignored the susurrus of irritation this kind of remark always produced, and launched into a tale. It was one of the deceased Willetts’ stories, a lengthy yarn involving rats the size of dogs, but Crane had heard it several times before and found Shaycott dull even telling the best of tales. He drifted off into a reverie, wondering whether Stephen might be curled up in his bed when he returned home, and what he would do if he was. His attention was only recalled when Humphris waved a copy ofThe Timesin his face.
“Look sharp, Vaudrey! I was asking if you’ve seen this? The Engagements column?”
“Oddly enough, I haven’t read it today. Are we to wish you happy, Monk?”
“Monk” Humphris, who was as confirmed a bachelor as Crane, although in his case because of a natural preference for celibacy, made a rude gesture. “Not me, you fool. Leonora Hart is getting married.”
“The devil she is!”
“Oh, you hadn’t heard?” said Town. “I had wind of it some time back. The chap’s smitten, by all accounts.”
Crane grabbed the newspaper and scrutinised it. “Eadweard Blaydon? How do you evensaythat?”
“It’s pronounced Edward. Politician. Member of Parliament. He’s a reformer. Rooting out corruption. End the sale of honours and the benefits of clergy and the pernicious practices of bribery. An honest mandarin.”
There was a dubious murmur at that, unsurprisingly, since most of those present regarded bribery as something between a handy tool and a form of tax, and none of them had high opinions of mandarins, of whatever nationality.
“Do you think she’s told him about Hart?” an unpopular man named Peyton remarked snidely. “If there was an official in Shanghai he didn’t bribe, I never met him.”
“Hart was no fool,” Crane said. “Blaydon will have a job on his hands to match up.”
“Is that why Mrs. Hart hasn’t remarried? Hart’s glorious memory?” Peyton’s voice was sneering. “BecauseIheard there was some sort of scandal with some Singapore man. Town, doyouknow—”
“Tom and Leonora Hart were two of the best friends I’ve ever had,” Crane interrupted, locking eyes with Peyton. “Hart saved my skin more than once. His death devastated Leo. If she is able to marry again, I’m damned glad for her, and if any of you feel the urge to spread spiteful fishwives’ gossip about her or Tom, I suggest you resist it.” Peyton went red. “Leo is perfectly capable of defending her own honour,” Crane went on, loudly enough that the other conversations in the room were suspended, “and I’m sure Blaydon can and will do so for her as well, but just to be clear, I will take any offensive comments about Leonora Hart as a direct personal affront, and Iwillmake the speaker eat his words, at the end of my boot if need be.”
“I’ll back you up on that,” Monk Humphris said.
“Sir, I don’t like your tone to my uncle.” The young man stood as he spoke, slightly too violently.
“And I don’t like your uncle’s tone, so it evens out,” Crane replied, and stood too, staring down at the young man for a couple of deliberately intimidating seconds, before going over to pour himself another whisky from the tantalus. This allowed Monk and the others time to persuade the young man to sit down and be quiet. The words “disgraceful” and “lawless” were audible in Peyton’s nasal voice; “quite right”, “bad man to cross” and “that vicious brute Merrick” came from the others. Judging that a sufficiently comprehensive analysis of his capabilities to put the young spark off, Crane strolled back to his chair, deciding that he’d find out what the hell Leo was playing at in the morning.
Stephen lay naked, arms spread wide, the Magpie Lord’s ring glowing on his finger, illuminating the fingers that curled like claws. He writhed and twisted, uttering incoherent pleas for mercy as his silky cock jutted hard from the reddish curls at his groin.
