Stephen paused in his work to put a hand on his arm, warning. Esther said soberly, “I’m sorry. But you should know, you didn’t kill him. The possession destroyed his mind, and his body wouldn’t have survived long after it. Your friend was already gone.”
“I saw him earlier today,” Crane said obstinately. “He was himself. He spoke to me.”
Stephen gave his arm a gentle stroke. “Things like that can squat in the mind, almost unnoticed, almost harmless, for a very long time. Like a toad, or a cancer. I’d imagine that it simply roosted in Mr. Humphris when it wasn’t controlling the rats. It’s only when they take over the body that they destroy the original inhabitant, root out the brain and the soul and the nerves and replace them. There’s no coming back from that.”
Crane recalled Monk’s body, the ugly jerking. “It was moving him like a puppet. A meat puppet. It was going to do that to me, wasn’t it?”
“Not on my time.” Stephen cut through the last few strands of the rope, dropped the knife, and brushed his hands over Crane’s abused ankles with a gesture that looked professional and felt anything but. “You are, I think, fine. No damage done. Mr. Merrick, were you hurt?”
“No, sir.”
“Joss?”
“Flesh wound.”
“Bleeding wound,” Stephen said. “You’d have been next up for possession, because you let yourself get stabbed. You have to pay more attention.”
“Sir.”
“And while I’m on the subject of attention, when I say three over eight I mean three over eight, and not somewhere between three and a half and four,” Stephen added. “I’ve never heard such a racket. Do we need to go over resonance again, Saint?”
“We was a bit busy,” Saint muttered.
“You’ll always be busy. And then you’ll be dead because you can’t get a simple resonance right. Both of you go to Mr. Maupert tomorrow, and don’t come back till you can give me three over eight for five minutes, understood?”
“Sir,” mumbled the two juniors in chorus. Saint went on, “But Mrs. Gold doesn’t—”
“When you can do what Mrs. Gold does, you can decide for yourself what’s important,” Stephen said. “In the meantime, resonance.”
“Enliven your lessons by meditating on the words hold the line,” Esther added. “That was shambolic, Saint. Otherwise, though, not bad work, you two. We would still have had our backsides kicked without Lord Crane, of course.”
“The reverse is significantly more the case,” Crane said. “I’m indebted to you all.”
“So am I,” said Leonora quietly. “This was my fault, Tom’s fault. I’m sorry.”
That was greeted with silence, because there wasn’t much to say to it. Crane looked round. “Town?”
“Dead,” Esther said.
“What? How?”
“Poison. He seems to have taken something very unpleasant and very fast acting. No blood. I don’t think he wanted to be Xan’s next host.”
“Jesus. What are we going to do about him?” Crane asked. “About all this mess?”
Stephen opened his mouth, but Esther interrupted him firmly. “That’s my decision. Mr. Merrick, I need an able-bodied man. Can I call on you?”
“By all means, madam.”
“Good. Joss, take Mrs. Hart to the surgery. You can wash there and borrow another dress,” she told Leonora. “While she changes, Joss, get yourself stitched up, then escort her home. But send for Inspector Rickaby first and have him directed here. Got it? Good. Steph, I want to be sure Lord Crane’s free of that thing. Get him home and keep an eye on him overnight, please. Saint, you, me and Mr. Merrick will tidy up here.”
“How’s that fair?” grumbled Saint.
“At what point did I promise you fair? You have your jobs, go.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Stephen was wearing one of his blander expressions.
Merrick came over and offered Crane a hand, pulling him to his feet. “You alright?”
“Yes. You?”
“Course.”
Crane nodded, gripping Merrick’s hand for a second’s silent connection. The manservant patted him on the arm. “Off you go now, my lord. All done here.”
Chapter Sixteen
They emerged up a flight of stairs, through a clean but bare house, and out into the late-afternoon light together. Crane had had no idea where he was or how long he had been in the cellar, but now he looked around with a frown. “Are we in Holborn?”
“Not far off. Can you walk home? It would be better if you could, to get your body feeling more normal. Exercise will be good for it,” Stephen added demurely. “Joss, take Mrs. Hart in a cab. At least—Lord Crane…”
Crane found a couple of shillings in his pocket. “Here you go. Be good, Leo. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Are you all right, Lucien?” she demanded. “You look dreadful.”
“Thank you, adai. I’ll be fine once I get into bed.”
“I’m sure you will.” She flashed him a little smile. “Tomorrow, then.”
“You don’t feel she might need someone with her?” asked Stephen as they walked away. “She must be feeling terribly guilty.”
“She’ll live. Leo never had any more morals than Tom, not really.”
“Hart had a lot to answer for,” said Stephen grimly. “That poor lost soul.”
“Monk?”
“Xan.”