(A Charm of Magpies 1)The Magpie Lord by Kj Charles Page B

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 if he ’s here to finish the job his brother started—”
    “What’s your grievance against Lord Crane?”
    “He’s a damned Vaudrey!”
    “ Lucien Vaudrey,” 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 for that ?” She jerked her head at Crane.
    “ Now .”
    Miss Bell went a deeper red. She spun and led the way with angry nervous steps to one of the cottages. The boy ran up to her as she walked; she said something quietly to him and he hurried away.
    The cottage looked neglected, the plants outside withered and dead, and the door stood open.
    They filed inside, Merrick leaning against the door to discourage eavesdropping. It was dark and dusty with an accretion of spider webs in the corners, smelling of dead fires and some acrid scent Crane couldn’t place. The air felt withered and old and greasy. Crane, who was starting to recognise some things, darted a look at Stephen and saw him rubbing his fingertips together like a pastry cook at work.
    Miss Bell said, “This was Gammer’s cottage. What do you want here?”
    Stephen ignored her. He was walking around, touching walls, running his hands over furniture, testing the air. He stopped for several minutes in the tiny kitchen, hands planted on the table, quivering slightly, returned to an old oak dresser, pulled out just one drawer, which seemed to be full of bits of fur and leather, and rummaged through it.
    It took about ten minutes, and in that time nobody spoke. Miss Bell adopted a neutral expression and seated herself, on an uncomfortable straight-backed chair instead of the rocking chair that stood in the corner. She sat, looking into nothing, as though she would be happy to stay there all day. Crane leaned his shoulders against the slightly damp plaster of a wall and watched Stephen’s intent face and searching, restless