Ancient Appetites

XII

The cemetery was thronged with people. A second, smaller explosion punched up through the ground nearby, followed by another two in quick succession. They did no damage but added to the panic. Most of the injured were making their feelings felt: screams and moans carried through the air. But some of those stretched out on the ground lay without moving, and made no sound at all.

Nathaniel strode through the chaos towards his father. Edgar was standing, leaning on his cane and smoking a cigar. His claw clicked in a steady rhythm. Coated in a layer of dirt, he dominated the scene like a battle-hardened general, barking orders to those around him:

'Warburton! Enlist the help of any other doctors we have on hand. See to the most seriously wounded only – let the servants deal with the rest. Gideon, you and Roberto take some men and get these crowds back, damn it. It's like a bloody circus in here! O'Keefe, I want teams for heavy lifting for those who are trapped, and assign some men skilled in explosives to explore every inch of this area and make it safe.

'Eunice, supervise the women. See that brandy, blankets, smelling salts and bandages are brought out for those who need them and inform the housekeeper to make the West Hall ready for casualties. Where's the Viceroy? I want troops from the Royal Barracks here to secure the area within the hour. Gerald! Where's Gerald?'

'Here, Uncle Edgar.'

The Patriarch turned to find his nephew standing behind him.

'Ah,' he grunted. 'You will assist Warburton for as long as he needs you, then I'm putting you in charge of the remains that this cataclysm has spewed out all over the cemetery. You will be responsible for uniting each corpse with its respective components and seeing that they are laid to rest once more in the state they enjoyed before they were so suddenly exhumed.'

'Yes, Uncle Edgar.'

'Now where the hell is Nath-?'

'I'm here, Father,' Nate announced as he walked up.

'You will-'

'Melancholy is trapped, sir,' Nathaniel cut in, taking some satisfaction in being able to interrupt his father. 'I need some men to free her.'

Edgar stared at his son with his one good eye for a moment and then nodded. Reaching up with his claw, he took the cigar from his mouth.

'Then take them,' he growled: 'Take what men you need and make good use of them.'

Daisy kept her eyes fixed on the ground, her cheeks blushing a stark crimson.

'You said you'd be discreet,' she muttered between clenched teeth.

'I could have kept your situation to myself altogether,' Nathaniel replied. 'But some blackguard might have come along and taken advantage of you in your exposed condition.'

'So you decided to set an example?' she hissed.

In fairness, he thought, I could have brought the whole crowd. He had called over the eight strongest-looking men he could find to help him lift God's messenger off his sister-in-law. The navvies were treating the situation as delicately as they could, doing their best to avert their eyes from her misfortune. But Nate knew that Daisy would be the talk of the town before the day was out. He took her hands and nodded to the man nearest him as the navvies gripped the angel's wings.

'One… two… three… Heeaave!'

The marble sculpture slowly came up, the stone sliding from the earth with a soft grating sound – but their strength failed and it slipped back down again with a slushy thud.

'And again!' Nate urged them. 'On three!'

They all counted off once more and, with a concerted effort, hauled the statue up far enough to free the folds of Daisy's dress and allow Nate to pull her free. The sculpture toppled down onto its front as he helped her get to her feet. He was all ready with his next jibe when he saw Clancy walking towards them. The footman's face was as inscrutable as ever, but Nate felt suddenly ashamed of himself. Looking down into Daisy's face, he saw that it was taking all her strength to keep from bursting into tears. She had been dreadfully humiliated, and instead of trying to ease her distress, he had made fun of her.

He picked up his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Clancy stopped just short of them, his eyes fixed on Nathaniel. The manservant glanced diffidently at Daisy, nodded towards the navvies and then looked pointedly back at his master. Nate got the message and felt even more embarrassed; as a gentleman, this was his situation to deal with. Clancy should not have to point out his duties. Nate glanced around; it appeared that no one else had noticed Daisy's plight.

'Ah, there you are, Clancy,' he said. 'Take these men up to the house. Give them five shillings apiece and a stiff drink. Note down their names so that they may be commended to their foreman… and thank them for their discretion.'

'Thank… thank you very much, sir,' one of the navvies stuttered.

The others mumbled their thanks, but they had received the warning loud and clear. If word got out about what had happened to Daisy, they would lose their jobs.

'Yes, sir,' Clancy replied.

He didn't move an inch. Nathaniel was at a loss for a moment. Had he forgotten something? Clancy would never speak up in front of the workers, but- Nate could have kicked himself.

'I will escort Miss Daisy to the house myself,' he added.

'Very good, sir.'

Daisy clung onto his arm as the others walked away. Then he led her through the ruined graveyard towards the church.

'We should tell Roberto,' he said softly to her. 'He needs to know'

'He didn't come looking for me, did he?' she whispered back, her throat tense. 'Anyway, it's probably just as well he wasn't there – he'd only have got all melodramatic. You know what he's like. I'll tell him when I'm ready'

There were tears streaming down her face now. They both fell silent. He gave her his handkerchief, wishing he had done more to ease her embarrassment. His conscience always seemed to rear its head too late. As the two of them walked, their feet sank into the dark brown earth that had been sprayed over the grass by the explosion. The crowd of gawking onlookers stood behind a cordon of footmen, eager to see as much of what had happened as possible. They would be drinking on this for weeks.

Nathaniel noticed that the ground was covered with hats, caps and bonnets – all knocked off heads by the blast. He had lost his own, he realized. The carriages were gone: the horses and velocycles had obviously bolted. They would have to walk up to the house. It would probably do Daisy good to walk for a bit. His Aunt Eunice was moving to intercept them, some rolls of bandages in her arms.

'Daisy, my dear,' she called. 'This is no time to be a weeping willow. We've all had a shock. Chin up! You must compose yourself, young lady.'

Nathaniel could see flecks of earth caught in his aunt's dentures. He felt a sudden contempt for this petty, overbearing woman.

'Wildenstern ladies must set an example, my dear,' Eunice went on. 'Stop your crying now. Stop it! You have to be made of stronger stuff than this!'

'You have soil in your teeth, Aunt Eunice,' Nate said to her, and led Daisy straight past as the elderly woman dropped the bandages and hurriedly took out a compact mirror to examine her mouth.

'Don't pay her any mind,' he said quietly to Daisy.

'No.' Daisy stopped abruptly. 'She's right – I should be helping.'

She wiped the last of her tears away and took off Nathaniel's jacket, handing it to him.

'I'll be fine, thank you.'

Roberto, who had been supervising the cordon with Hennessy, spotted Daisy and started to hurry across the lawn towards them, concern written all over his face. Before he reached them, Edgar appeared with his black servants looming behind him.

'Miss Melancholy' He bowed his head to her. 'I trust your predicament was handled with sufficient propriety?'

'Yes, Father,' she answered, glancing sidelong at Nathaniel, who swallowed nervously.

But Daisy had no wish to embarrass him here and now. She fervently wished she could just escape the whole damned lot of them. She would get back at Nate in her own good time.

Nathaniel surveyed the chaotic scene around them. The damage would take weeks to repair. He shook his head in disbelief, flabbergasted by what had happened. Marcus's funeral had been bombed. The enormity of the situation was still sinking in. He found his entire body was shaking; his grief for his brother turning into a terrible rage.

'We have to find whoever did this,' he growled through clenched teeth. 'We have to find these rebels, these curs and… and… destroy them. There must be hell to pay for this.'

'The perpetrators will be dealt with,' Edgar told him in a matter-of-fact way. 'The situation is well in hand.'

The Patriarch turned to look round for a moment and Nate followed his gaze. Standing by the corner of the church was a broad-shouldered figure dressed in a suit and bowler hat. It was Slattery, the man Nate had met outside his father's office a few days before. He gave Nathaniel a friendly grin, showing off his gold teeth, and then disappeared round the corner.

'The situation is well in hand,' Edgar said again.