Merciless Reason (14 page)

When she and Tatty had climbed into their carriage with that girl, Mary, Daisy had considered taking the little mite back to Wildenstern Hall and adopting her. Ever since Berto's death, Daisy had felt his loss all the more every time she saw a young child—more than anything else, she wanted children of her own. But they had, instead, arranged to find a good home for Mary through an orphanage of which Daisy was both a patron and one of its directors. Wildenstern Hall was no place to raise a child.

Clutching the top of the desk and pressing her forehead against the blotter that lay on its surface, Daisy cried for her dead husband and the children they would never have. She cried until she was hoarse and her throat was sore, sobbing for her beloved missing cousin, for Leo's endangered soul. She raged through her tears at Gerald's murderous betrayals. Feeling as overwhelmed as a helpless child lost among hostile strangers, she wanted someone to help her carry all this, to love her and support her and stand up for her and fight for her. For the first time ever, Daisy admitted to herself, allowed herself the selfish thought, that she desperately, desperately wanted Nate to come back—for
her
.

Eventually, her breathing calmed down and her eyes were red and raw, emptied of tears. Her throat had a ragged, jagged feel and she took a drink from a cold cup of tea she had poured hours earlier. She dabbed her cheeks with her handkerchief, then went into the bathroom attached to her office—an indulgence she had allowed herself, since every other person working on this floor was a man. Splashing cold water on her face, and a little on the back of her neck, she dried her skin and looked at herself in the mirror, straightening her hair. Her make-up was long gone, but she would leave off replacing it for now. Her lilac silk embroidered dress, with its fringe and tassel trim, was a little crumpled, but she had been wearing it for nearly twenty-four hours, so that was to be expected. It would do for a little while longer. Blinking her tired eyes, she let out a long, steady breath as she stared hard at herself.

“All right now, Daisy,” she muttered in a firm voice. “That's quite enough of that.”

Walking back out into the office, she picked up the book that lay on her desk. It was entitled
Mechanical Biology: An Illustrated Study of the Anatomy of Engimals
. The author was the engineer Gerald admired so much: Isambard Kingdom Brunel. She drew her watch from a small pocket in the folds of her dress. It was half-past four. Many of the servants would be rising now, but none of the family.

“No point going to sleep,” she said aloud, as much to hear how her own voice sounded as any other reason. “Right then, Gerald. Parts from dead engimals, indeed? Let's see what you've been up to in my church.”

She went to open the door out to the corridor, when she noticed a folded piece of paper lying on the floor. It had obviously been pushed under the door. Opening the door quickly, she peered out. But there was nobody in the corridor. Unfolding the piece of paper, she found four words written in a scrawled handwriting—either the work of someone who was nearly illiterate, or someone who was deliberately trying to disguise their handwriting.

The mines in Glendalough

Daisy chewed her lip. The family did own mines in Glendalough. She had been looking into selling them, after Gerald had ordered them to be shut down and sealed off. Examining the paper and the handwriting, she sniffed the note and held it up to the light, but could learn no more about it. Did she have a secret ally in the house? She would have to take a ride out to Glendalough as soon as she could. It was a beautiful part of the country—more than enough of an excuse for a visit. Though she wouldn't put it past one of the family to try and lead her out into the mountains for more malevolent reasons. Placing the note in a drawer in her desk, she tucked her book under her arm and left the office.

She didn't see a sign of anyone who might have left the note as she walked through the hallways. The house was chilly and dark as she made her way through it, but the servants were already in evidence, lighting the gas-lamps, preparing breakfast for the staff and clothes for the family members. Shirts and trousers were being pressed, collars and cuffs starched, dresses hung up, make-up and accessories set out, shoes polished. The cleaning had already started too—a small army of maids and footmen dusting, polishing, shining; everything from the silver cutlery to glass in the cupboard doors of the trophy cabinets. For every surface, its own specific treatment, for every item, its proper place. Drawbreaths wandered the rooms and hallways, sucking dirt from the carpets. Spin-feathers hovered around the corners of ceilings, eating cobwebs.

As Daisy found her way outside, the sun's watery light was starting to soak across the grey sky. She saw the gardeners were leading the lawn-cutters from their pens—the creatures' spinning metal jaws whirred as they prepared to mow the grass. Some of the grooms were already walking horses. In the nearest paddock, she saw Hennessy, the head groom, out riding a grey mare, and waved to him. He tipped his flat cap in salute. On the lane running level with the nearside of the paddock, a man was pushing a barrel of water in a wheelbarrow out to the engimal stables. Kept in a separate building to the horses, the velocycles could be heard growling and chugging, eager for some exercise.

Striding through the gardens, she avoided the road leading out the gate and went across the grass to the fence that ran along the edge of the trees. Her feet were already wet in their shoes from the morning dew as she climbed through the narrow gap with the stile in the fence—no easy task in the dress she was wearing. But from there, it was only a few yards to a path that led her into the family's graveyard. Beyond the cemetery, off down the slope to her left, near the base of the hill, were the train tracks on which the Wildensterns ran their private train. Through the graveyard to the right, the path led to the church, hidden behind the copse of yew trees.

Work on the building was almost complete. The roof was already tiled; they would be taking down the scaffolding once the last of the carved stonework was in place. Stone angels hid the ends of the gutters, the water running between their wings and out of their mouths. The stained-glass windows had been fitted, as had the oak doors. Daisy was not a fan of ostentatious places of worship—for her, God could as easily be found in the humblest turf cabin as any majestic cathedral. But she was proud of the church she had helped build. Its footprint was in the shape of a cross, its pews able to seat a hundred people—though it would be restricted to members of the family and their friends most of the time. This exclusivity, insisted on by Elvira and other women in the family, made Daisy sick, but she was confident that she could wear them down over time, and allow greater access to people living around the estate. She envisioned a day when Protestants and Catholics might even sit in the same church. They were all Christians, after all.

Taking the key from her reticule, she let herself in through the front door and took a lantern from the hook inside the door. She lit it with a match and walked through the inner door, under the balcony where the organ stood and into the nave, the central hall of the church where the congregation would sit. Wandering back and forth across the floor, she savored the craftsmanship, enjoying her time alone with the place.

The warm light from the lamp picked out the marble pillars that ran down either side, just in from the marble-lined walls, creating aisles either side of where the pews would be. The pillars stretched up to arches that helped support the stone beams of the pitched roof. The floor was paved in a diamond pattern of black, white and peach mosaic. The markings for the aisle in the center were incorporated into the design. For an absurd moment, Daisy felt as if she were a bride who had, in a surreal nightmare, shown up at her wedding to find the church empty and shrouded in the darkness of storm-clouds. But she did not feel uncomfortable in this building. She had helped design it, had watched it grow, built by honest, hardworking men who enjoyed their work and took pride in it. She would not allow Gerald or the Wildensterns to spoil this place.

The building was still cold, with a clammy feel to it, but that would change over time as it was heated regularly and life began to pass through it. Daisy walked as far as the chancel, the platform on which the altar stood. She turned to look up at the pipe organ on the balcony. The morning light was starting to break in through the stained-glass windows on the left-hand side, sending sprayed fragments of color across the space. Still the organ was in shadow, light glinting off the lines of columns formed by its brass-colored alloy pipes and the intricately carved façade that loomed over the keyboards. The casing, like much of the church's woodwork, was oak. The organist's chair was a swivel seat which was bolted to the floor, a feature she thought a trifle odd. There, were four keyboards, or manuals, climbing like steps, with the rows of handles for the stops—which controlled the air flow—on either side.

Gerald had told her once that large pipe organs such as this were considered the most complicated man-made devices in the world. He used the word ‘considered' because he maintained engimals were man-made, and the simplest engimal was far more complex than anything designed in modern times.

Most organs needed a
calcant
, someone to constantly work the bellows to provide wind for the organ as it was played. Some instruments were now being developed which had their wind provided by steam engine. This organ was entirely different. Gerald would not explain how, but the instrument provided its own air pressure. The architect who had built the church was still confounded as to how this air pressure was achieved. But Daisy had seen some of the engimals Gerald worked with: creatures that could lift enormous weights, turn wheels at amazing speed … or blow hot air continuously for hours.

She had noticed before that the organ was never completely silent. There was a bass hum, just at the edge of her hearing, which could be heard in any part of the church, but was most audible while standing on the balcony. It had a gentle swell to it, almost as if the thing was breathing.

Biting her lip, she stared up at the massive, ornate instrument. She walked back towards the door, out into the entrance hall and up the stairs to the balcony. Crossing over to the organ, she ran her fingers over one of the ivory keys of the lowest manual. Somewhere inside this thing lay the parts of dead engimals. But what was it all for? The organ was solidly built, and the door on the right side that led into its innards was securely locked. Only Gerald had a key.

It had occurred to her long ago, of course, that Gerald used music to control the will of other human beings. And if he could walk his cousin off a rooftop just by whistling a lullaby, God only knew what he could achieve with an instrument of this power and complexity. But even a pipe organ of this size could not be heard far beyond the confines of the church. She had heard Gerald testing it. And no member of the Wildenstern family in their right mind would come anywhere near this building if they knew Gerald was within reach of this organ.

The main structure of the building had been built along the same lines as the original church, which had stood for more than three hundred years before Gerald had destroyed it. Most of the granite came from the original stones recovered from the ruins. But Daisy had added some modern features and extra color. There was under-floor heating, based on a more efficient version of that used by the Romans. The interior was lined with sections of red and yellow sandstone, and tapestries would soon be hung, all to give the whole place a warmer, less austere feel than one found in so many churches. There were gas-lamps to bolster the light of the candles, but only to be used if necessary, for the staining and lead-work on the glass in the windows had been produced by the best craftsmen in Ireland. Daisy wanted this to be a warm, welcoming and beautiful place.

I won't let him ruin this, she promised herself. Whatever he intends to use this organ for, I swear that—on Sunday mornings, at least—it will be nothing but a maker of beautiful music. He can sit here all night long during the week, playing for the owls and the bats and the rats if that's what pleases him, but this is a house of God, and people must be able to come and worship in peace.

Daisy examined the lock on the organ door, wishing she had Tatty's lock-picking skills. Thinking of Tatty made her think of Cathal and she clenched her teeth, a hard flatness coming into her eyes.

“To hell with it,” she said in a voice that sounded louder than she intended in the empty church.

Setting the oil lamp and her engimal biology book on the floor, she strode to the far side of the balcony where the builders kept some of their tools. She searched through the line of wooden shafts leaning against the wall until she found a sledgehammer. Its weight surprised her, and she grunted as she lifted it free from the other tools and carried it back to the door. She hefted it in both hands, trying to figure out how best to swing the heavy steel head against the small door. The door opened inwards, so she settled on simply using the hammer as a battering ram.

Spreading her feet apart to give her a strong stance, she held the sledgehammer in a horizontal position and swung the head against the door, striking it just beside the door-handle. It wasn't a particularly powerful blow, though she heard the crack of wood. The door did not give. She swung again, but had stepped back too far and the second blow almost ran out of power before it hit the door, causing nothing more than a loud knock. Damn it all, this bloody thing was heavy—and with all the weight at one end, it was hard to keep hold of.

She let out a very unladylike growl. Stepping closer to the door, her left foot forward, she swung the hammer right back and drove it as hard as she could into the wooden panel. The solid lump of steel smashed the door open and her grip slipped, letting the hammer-head fly forward through the doorway. She caught the end of the handle with her left hand just as the hammer was falling to the floor. Something flashed down from the ceiling inside the organ, almost invisible as it swept past. Daisy felt something brush the fingertips of her leading hand and flinched back.