(A Charm of Magpies 1)The Magpie Lord Read Online Free PDF Page B

Five
    It was the following Thursday, and hot. The iron girders that roofed Paddington Station shimmered in the heat that rose from the engines and beat down from the cloudless sky, more like August than April. Clouds of steam belched and rolled across the platforms. Metal screeched, porters bellowed, horns blared, and Stephen Day sprinted down a platform, dodging crowds of full-skirted ladies and the importunities of railway officials.
    “Mr. Day!” yelled Merrick from the first-class carriages, waving, and Stephen ducked under a protesting guard’s arm, threw his bag into the carriage, and made it onto the train a full four seconds before the wheels began to turn.
    He slammed the door and collapsed onto a seat, trying not to suck in breath too noisily.
    “You cut that fine,” remarked Crane. “This is a surprise, I must say.” He was wearing a superbly cut light-grey suit that matched the grey of his eyes, and looked cool and patrician and unruffled, as befitted a man who owned a sizeable part of Gloucestershire and could afford people to carry his bags. Stephen had run from Baker Street and could feel his face glowing and sweat running down his spine.
    “I got held up.” He was horribly uncomfortable, and he was not going to stand on ceremony. “Is there nobody else in here?”
    “As you see.”
    “Then if you don’t mind…”
    Crane inclined his head. Stephen stripped off his gloves and his shabby coat with relief, grateful that no ladies were present. He slung his bag onto a luggage rack and sank back into a well-upholstered seat.
    On the other row of seats, Merrick and Crane looked at him, and at each other.
    “Busy morning, was it?” said Crane eventually. “Or a long night?”
    “The latter, running into the former. Some business to take care of.”
    “So I see. Merrick, get a pot of coffee lined up for Mr. Day, strong, and on your way, tell the guard we’re reserving this whole carriage to the end of the line. Encourage him not to come in. Get the blinds on your way out.”
    “My lord,” said Merrick woodenly, pulling the blinds on the compartment door and letting himself out.
    “Is there a reason you’re making this a private compartment?” Stephen enquired warily.
    “Yes,” said Crane. “Is there a reason your sleeve is soaked in blood?”
    “What? Where? Oh bother .” Stephen contorted himself to look at his left elbow. “Blast.”
    “It looks to the untutored eye as though you have been leaning in a puddle of blood,” said Crane. “Quite a large puddle.”
    “Yes. I dare say it does.”
    “Because…?”
    “I can’t talk about my business. I’m sure you understand.”
    “But since you’re now about my business, Mr. Day, I’d like to know whose blood you’re wearing. Within the bounds of discretion. For my own peace of mind.”
    Stephen gave him a narrow-eyed look. “It was a cat,” he said. “And bleeding it wasn’t my idea, I can assure you.” He stifled a yawn.
    There was a subdued knock and Merrick entered bearing a tray.
    “Another small miracle, thank you.” Crane nodded towards Stephen. “It’s cat’s blood, in case you were wondering.”
    “Course it is, my lord.” Merrick manipulated cups and coffeepot deftly. “There you are, sir, that’ll set you up. You won’t be disturbed, my lord. Do you need me?”
    “No, carry on,” said Crane. Merrick said something in Chinese and there was a brief staccato exchange before Merrick withdrew again.
    Stephen sipped his coffee, watching Crane over the cup’s brim. “What was that?”
    “I reminded him not to fleece the fireman too badly. He’s a devil with a pack of cards. Why are you here, Mr. Day? We were expecting Mr. Fairley.”
    “Yes, I know. I, ah…I got your lawyer’s letter.”
    The stiff cream vellum envelope, wildly incongruous as it lay on his doormat with the cheap stationery and the bills. The letter it contained, from Crane’s lawyers, who were not Griffin and Welsh. The written,