Ancient Appetites

XXVI

Edgar would not grant Nathaniel an audience, nor would he accept any messages from him. The Duke seemed to have made his mind up that his son was a traitor, and was going to have nothing more to do with him until his punishment had been decided.

Nate spent the rest of the day with Tatiana and Daisy, who seemed to be avoiding her husband. She had still not challenged Roberto about Hennessy and was unsure if she even wanted to – and she was thankfully reluctant to discuss it in front of Tatty. Nate felt his sister was still a little young to be dealing with the harsh realities of a marriage in crisis. Better that she spend a while longer believing in the kind of life portrayed in her romance novels.

It would have helped if Daisy could have brought herself to cheer up a bit. With her pale face, glassy stare and the bags under her eyes, she looked awful. Tatty kept asking if she was ill.

The three of them walked in the gardens and went riding in the early evening; leaping their horses over gates and hedges, galloping across the countryside until the animals were lathered and panting and eager to return home.

Whenever Nate passed any of his other relatives during the day, he caught their suspicious glances – the way they avoided contact with him if they could. He decided not to take dinner in the dining room, eating in his rooms instead, with only Clancy for company. He asked his manservant to sit with him and have some tea; something he had never done before. It was a strange thing to be alienated in your own home, to be lonely with your entire family around you. The fear of what his father might do to him for his supposed treachery was beginning to set in too. The Duke was a master of cruel and unusual punishments. As they sat there together, Clancy related amusing stories of Nate's childhood, and Nate was grateful for the small comfort he got from them.

He retired early, weary from his low mood. This could not go on; he would have to talk to his father tomorrow – he would force his way into the old man's office if need be. This misunderstanding had to be sorted out. He found peace in this resolve to take action and drifted off to sleep…

A soft knocking on the hall door woke him and he lay there for a moment in the dark, his fears playing on his mind, wondering if the Duke had finally made up his mind to dole out his punishment. But it was more likely to be Daisy again, fretting over Roberto's night-time habits. He climbed out of bed and pulled his dressing gown on over his nightshirt. The knock came again. Out in the living room, he disarmed the booby traps and, after some hesitation, took a six-shot revolver from the drawer of the writing desk. If these were his punishers coming to pounce on him in the night, they were going to get a right bloody shock.

Opening the door, he stood there speechless for the second time in as many nights. In the dim light of the corridor, Elizabeth was waiting, dressed only in a white nightgown. Her long dark hair hung down over her shoulders and her feet were bare.

'I'm sorry for waking you, Nathaniel,' she said softly. 'But I think we need to talk, you and I.'

Nate remained frozen there for a moment, and then decided that it would be slightly less scandalous to let her into his living room than to leave her standing out in the corridor. Waving her in, he immediately went to the speaking tube to summon Clancy to escort her back to her room.

'If you are uncomfortable with my being here,' Elizabeth told him as she sat down on the sofa, 'I won't take up much of your time. Sit here next to me, so we can talk quietly'

Nate drew in a breath and closed the tube, sitting down at the far end of the sofa.

'What do you want?' he asked warily.

'I need to ask you, Nathaniel, if you are guilty of the treachery of which you are accused.'

'No,' he retorted. 'No, I'm not bloody guilty. You came here in the middle of the night to ask me that?'

Elizabeth regarded him for what seemed like the longest time and then nodded to herself.

'I believe you,' she said. 'Hugo and I both think you were wrongly accused. That is why I am here. We want to ask for your help. We are hoping that the Duke will soon recognize us as being full members of this family, and when he does, we intend to take on our share of the responsibilities. Hugo has paid great attention to what has been happening in this house since God chose to resurrect us, and he has great fears for this family'

She moved closer, and Nate became aware of her scent: clean skin and a faint perfume. The way she turned her head towards him accentuated the line of her throat and her elegant neck and shoulders. There were still the faintest lines on the skin of her face from the leathery wrinkles that had once covered it, and he had to remind himself that this woman was more than six hundred years old. He tried not to meet her eyes; they had a mesmerizing fervour to them he found disturbing, so he watched her lips instead as she spoke.

'Hugo feels that all your modern science – all these marvellous comforts with which you surround yourselves – are making the family weak and vulnerable to attack. Your fighting arts are used only for sport; your armoury is too far from your living quarters. Your windows are too large to prevent missiles from being hurled through them. You have no keep to speak of – the walls around your boundaries are low and would be impossible to defend.'

Nate gave her an incredulous look, not knowing whether to laugh or not. She did not seem to notice, continuing to list the family's faults.

'None of you wear armour when you leave the castle, and you often travel far afield without an armed escort. Your older men have grown fat, anchored to their chairs by their huge backsides. This cannot go on!'

Elizabeth moved closer still, until he could feel her breath on his skin.

'Hugo believes that this is why we were brought back from the dead,' she whispered huskily. 'To save this family from its sloth and gluttony and weakness. And save it we will! But we will need strong, moral men to help us in our struggle – men like you.' She took his hand. 'Is this all you want from your life: spending your days playing with toys, your nights dallying with chambermaids or drinking to excess? Let Jesus Christ, Our Saviour, give meaning to your life, Nathaniel.

'We are only beginning to understand how powerful this family is, but it is clear that decisions here affect the entire land; how you choose to live causes ripples across its people. Don't let sin bury your family, Nathaniel. Work with us, be a warrior for our Lord God and do His work on this earth. Join us, and we can promise you Paradise!'

And as he hesitated, shaken by what he was hearing, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth against his.

Nathaniel had Clancy start packing the next morning. He wanted to get away from this house and everything in it. Elizabeth's shameless attempt to seduce him into betraying his father had reminded him why he had fled to Africa nearly two years ago. This way of life was unbearable; being surrounded by people who were bred to believe that success was more important than loyalty, or love or even plain, common decency. He needed to find some space, some time to himself. His revenge on Gideon and his brood would just have to wait.

The fact that he was under house arrest meant nothing to him – let anyone try and stop him from leaving. He would wait out the day and make his escape in the early hours of the morning. There was the small matter of Hugo's impending betrayal to deal with, but Nate would corner his father at dinner and warn him then. He wasn't sure how great a threat Hugo could be, but he was still in no position to oust the Duke.

There were a couple of hours before dinner, and he decided to spend them going through the papers he had taken from Marcus's desk. He was not the studious type and had put it off long enough. Besides, he didn't want to have to take them with him – he would have enough baggage was it was.

The business documents threatened to put him to sleep, but he combed through the texts, searching for anything that might relate to his brother's death. But he didn't know enough about the business to determine if anything was incriminating or not. He decided to hand them on to Silas before he left.

Then there were the letters Marcus had kept with him wherever he went: the peach-coloured, scented envelopes of letters that Tatiana had sent to her big brother in America; the flowing script of Roberto's lyrical prose and the spidery scrawls of Nate's observations from Africa. Nate clutched them so hard they crumpled between his fingers and he found himself close to tears. With all the scheming, all the conspiracies, it took these simple pieces of writing to remind him how much he missed his brother.

He was stuffing the letters back into their envelopes with unnecessary roughness when his eyes fell on his most recent letter, which Marcus must have received only just before he left America for Ireland. Drawn on it in hasty lines was a map of what looked like streets. No, he corrected himself – not streets, corridors. It was like the maps they had made as children when they played games in the hidden passageways; but if it was on this envelope, it meant Marcus had been doing some exploring in the week before his death. It appeared to be a route marked in paces… and it started in Marcus's living room. The route ended at a point marked with the words: 'panel next to fireplace'. Seconds later, Nate was rushing down the corridor towards the elevator.

He knew the doorway behind the bookcase in Marcus's living room and wasted no time in pushing the worn copy of Poe's The Fall of the House of Usher to open the door. Inside, he found a candle and matches and started along the narrow corridor, ignoring the dust and the insects and spiders that had made the dark place their home.

The route on the map took him deep into the house, through passageways he hadn't known existed. Finally, he reached a ladder extending up through the ceiling and down through the floor. Reading the map with a frown, he took hold of the ladder, gripping the candle as best he could, and started climbing upwards.

The ladder led him up to another corridor, and it was twenty paces along this passageway that the map ended. In front of him was another door, with the compulsory box of candles and matches on a shelf to one side. Blowing out his candle, Nate peered through the tiny peephole in the door. His heart sank as the room he saw beyond confirmed his fears. His hate for his family became absolute.

Nate moved away from the door and lit his candle once more, following the map's directions back to his dead brother's living room. Something rustled in the dark near his feet as he made to open the door and he kicked out at it, presuming it was a rat or mouse.

As he opened the bookcase in front of him, a flash of red darted out between his feet, shot along the skirting board and disappeared behind a chest of drawers. He heard it skitter away out of sight. Getting down on his hands and knees, he started crawling around, looking under the tables, desks and chairs. The little creature dashed out from under a divan and into Marcus's trophy room. Nate crawled in after it. The room's walls were lined with the heads and hides of other animals his brother had valiantly shot dead. There were glass cases for the smaller trophies. Nate crawled back and forth, searching under the bottoms of the cases.

A maid barged in at one point, found him on his hands and knees on the floor, and quickly excused herself, blushing violently. He sighed and continued his search.

He saw a skittering movement under the curtains and lunged after it, but the creature was as small as a mouse and moved almost as fast. It scooted under a case and he scrambled over the floor in pursuit, reaching in to grab it and nearly knocking the case over. The creature evaded him again, but this time he saw where it was going and, jumping to his feet, bounded over and slammed the living-room door shut to stop it escaping. The little creature changed direction, teasing him to come after it again.

'Enough playing,' Nate panted, grabbing a polar-bear skin off the wall. 'Your master is dead.'

He threw the heavy hide over the engimal before it could run again. It was slowed down long enough for him to pin the skin over it and force it out into his hand. It was bright red, with black spots like a ladybird, and was a similar shape. It ran on a single ball tucked into its belly.

The creature's large, single amber eye looked up at him and it gurgled some gibberish at him. Marcus had bought this little mite a few years ago and Nate had always been fond of it. He wasn't surprised that Marcus wanted him to have it. It must have gone wandering not long before Marcus left for the Mournes. Like Tatiana's songbird, it could make a wide range of sounds, but most of them were in the form of human voices. None of them made any sense, and if they were in any language at all, it was one that nobody in this world understood. That was why Marcus had named it as he did. Because it babbled on and on.

'Hello, Babylon,' he said softly.

'Hello, Nate,' the engimal replied, and Nate nearly dropped it as he recognized Marcus's voice. 'Hope you're well, old bean. Unfortunately, if you're listening to this, I must be dead.'

Nate clutched the creature in trembling hands, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.

'As you've no doubt realized,' Marcus's voice continued with a slight underlying hiss, 'Babylon has the capacity for recording speech. I only found out myself a few months ago. He can also follow simple instructions; such as giving you this message – when you are alone and you call him by name. Dashed clever, isn't he? But that's another conversation for another day Perhaps in the afterlife, eh? Let me get to the point.'

Nate drew in a sharp breath. The thing spoke exactly like Marcus. He had heard of these 'mimic messengers' before, but had never come across one. Hearing Marcus speak to him from beyond the grave like this was downright spooky.

'For some time now,' the voice went on, 'I've had my eye on the throne. You know I've always been ambitious, and I finally came to the conclusion that I could do Father's job better than he could. I wanted control of the family. It was what I was brought up to do, after all, and I thought it was about time. And, well… You know what that meant.

'I had to murder our father, Nate. I found a secret way into his bedroom and I intended to kill him in his sleep. Now, you might think it's a bit extreme, but I also know you won't be too upset either – you always hated the arrogant blackguard even more than I did. But since you're hearing this message, I can only assume that I have failed in my attempt and he has snuffed me out instead. What a confounded bore this whole business is! I hope I made a handsome corpse.

'So consider this a warning, old chum. You and Berto were never cut out for this life; I've done some pretty horrendous things since I started work and I'm certain that neither of you would have the stomach for them. And you're definitely not ready to take on Gideon and all the other coves who are going to come at you now that I'm gone. They won't play fair and they're more ruthless and vindictive than you'll ever know. Take my advice: go into exile – take Daisy and Tatty and go to the far side of the world. For God's sake, Nate, get the hell out of that house.

'Father won't protect you; it's not his way. He always said you and Berto were too weak to be Wildensterns… and you are, I suppose. You've no taste for blood – and that's what the world is built on. Other people's blood. Don't let them spill any of yours, Nate. Take what money you can and run. I don't want you joining me just yet.

'Ta-ra, old bean. Look after yourself.'

And with that, Marcus fell silent for the last time. Nathaniel put his fingers to his cheek and found it wet with tears. He remained sitting there for another hour.

Daisy was in the church, praying for guidance. Judging by her continuing state of bewildered distress, her prayers seemed to be falling on deaf ears. She had still said nothing to Berto about his affair with Hennessy, but she had spent more time horse riding, using it as an opportunity to speak to the head groom, to find out what kind of man he was. To her disappointment, Hennessy did not appear to be the devil himself, but was instead a quiet, simple man from Donegal, with a wry sense of humour and the kind of humble dignity often found among those in service.

It made her despise him all the more.

But now Daisy had something else to worry about. Elizabeth's maid, Mary, had come to her earlier in the day, her eyes red and raw from crying. Her hair was hanging down over one side of her neck, which came as a surprise because Mary was a conscientious girl, who was always very careful about her appearance around the family. Then Mary showed her why her hair was hanging down. The maid had gone with Elizabeth to meet Hugo in the conservatory. Hugo had started 'givin' 'er the eye', as Mary put it, and Elizabeth, who had been watching her brother, had contrived to leave him alone with her maid. Once his sister had left, Hugo had turned on the charm – or so he seemed to think – and after a momentary courtship, had tried for a kiss.

Mary was 'havin' none of it, but couldn't rightly say so to his lordship', so she had tried to be coy and turn away. That was when Hugo had pulled her against him and bitten her neck. His bruised teeth-marks were still clearly visible on the skin just above her shoulder. He had even broken the flesh in a couple of places.

That was what she got for 'being a tease', he'd said.

Daisy had walked her right up to the Duke's study and demanded that Hugo be forced to apologize. The Duke had assured her that no apology would be forthcoming, nor was it the policy for members of the family to apologize to servants.

Now, Daisy knelt in the church and prayed for guidance. She did not care much for this church. It was cold, which was not unusual for churches, but it had a menacing air about it too, and there was too much gold ornamentation for her tastes. It seemed to be everywhere. It was positively gaudy. It was disturbing how fond this family was of its gold.

Someone else was coming up the aisle. She could hear soft footsteps on the mosaic floor, but she did not look up. She wanted to be alone, and as long as she kept her eyes closed and the conversation remained between herself and God, she probably wouldn't be interrupted.

The wooden pew on which she was kneeling creaked and she felt the weight of another's knees bow it slightly. Daisy resisted the urge to open her eyes and see who it was.

'You are a devout woman, Melancholy,' a voice said quietly, shockingly close to her ear.

She looked up to find Hugo kneeling right beside her. Daisy was overcome with a sudden rage.

'Don't you dare open your mouth to me!' she hissed at him.

'But I feel compelled to, my dear,' he crooned. 'After all that your mouth has been saying about me. It seems my mouth has been uppermost in your mind.'

'Only when it bites into the necks of servant girls!' she snapped. 'What kind of savage are you?'

'I confess, my appetites get the better of me sometimes,' he said airily, his hand coming to rest on hers where it lay on the back of the pew in front of them. 'I am a passionate man, used to taking whatever he wants. But you must understand: I am from a harsher time and I know I can be overly sharp. I am a sword in need of a sheath.'

'It's less your sharpness, but more the danger of infection from your rust that I fear,' Daisy retorted, getting to her feet. 'Like so many men, sir, you are a weapon with no sense of direction. If you'll excuse me, I think I should remove myself from the range of your sword before it seeks a scabbard it cannot hope to fill.'

And with that, she left.