Merciless Reason (7 page)

“Perhaps, but by that time I rather suspect it will be too late to do anything about it.”

“Are you two fighting again?” Gerald's voice interrupted them. He was standing in a doorway that led to the room where a bank of large refrigerators had been installed. Like so many other things, Gerald would tell no one their purpose. “Honestly, you're like ferrets in a sack, the pair of you. And don't think I'm fooled by the civil tone—I felt the temperature drop when Daisy walked into the room.”

He strolled over to the table where Elizabeth was reading the notes. He had a cigarette in his hand and he blew a few smoke rings in a playful way that Daisy had not seen in some time. Considering his foul mood at dinner, he seemed positively cheerful now.

“I have been concerned with your shortcomings for a while now,” he said to her. “I think I have been unfair to you. It's high time I did something about it.”

“Shortcomings?” Daisy said in a clipped tone.

“Your gender,” he explained. “It is a handicap in the world of business—though I know you have worked incredibly hard to overcome it. I commend you for that, but the family is right; there are some things you simply cannot do.”

Daisy drew in a breath, but said nothing. She hated this; no matter what she did, or how many times she proved herself, the world would not allow her to succeed. Despite Gerald's increasingly cold nature, she had thought that he was beginning to respect her abilities.

“You will still handle the day-to-day affairs for now,” he told her, “but I'm bringing someone in who is better suited to man the helm, so to speak. An individual who can help you manage the business, while keeping the family under control. I think you will find his commanding presence of great benefit.”

“What are you talking about?” Daisy snapped at him, resenting the fact that he had succeeded in sparking her temper. “It can't be any of the buffoons you silenced at dinner. You're bringing someone in from the outside? Who? What outsider could hope to get to grips with this family?”

“Oh, he's not an outsider,” Gerald said, stubbing his cigarette, out on one of the worktops. “Quite the opposite, in fact. He has a deep knowledge of this family, born of a long acquaintance. An
exceedingly
long acquaintance.”

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, ignoring Daisy's protests to know more. Elizabeth lifted Leopold off the table, set him on the ground and began to lead him out of the room after Gerald. She stopped and turned round to face Daisy, taking the younger woman's hands in hers with a slight, but smug smile on her face.

“You haven't a clue, have you?” she sighed. “But I'll tell you this about your new superior, my dear. You'll never have come across anyone like him. He'll seem as if he's from another world.”

Then, turning to look down into Leopold's big, curious blue eyes, Elizabeth held out her hand, linking fingers with him. She led her son out the door, leaving Daisy standing among the dusty remnants of the laboratory, wondering what was coming next.

VII

BRAHMS'S LULLABY

NATE WOKE FROM A FITFUL DREAM
of a dead and blackened landscape. He opened his eyes and looked at the plastered brick wall stretching up over his head to the wooden beams above. A sheet of canvas hung over the single window beside the front door. The dawn light was filtering in around its edges. If Nate had been asked to choose a safe place to hide from those hunting him, a formidable British fort on the coast of County Cork would not have been his first choice. And yet here he was, waking up in one of the small terraced houses that backed onto the inner wall of the huge, seaward ramparts of Charles Fort, a massive star-shaped stronghold that overlooked Kinsale Harbor.

This house belonged to a friend of Clancy's and it would be very difficult to trace back to him. The soldier who had provided this safe-house lived here with his wife and two children. It doubled as a storeroom for the barracks, and there was hardly room for the residents, let alone Nate and Clancy as well. But the family had made their secret guests feel as welcome as they could.

Nate sat up and rolled his head around on his neck. No matter how many times the nightmares came, it always felt as stark and as horrifying as the first time. The stiffness in his neck and shoulders told him that his body had been knotted with tension in his sleep. There were times when it came as a surprise to wake up and find the world had survived his night's slumbers.

He had long ago grown accustomed to rising early, and yet there was Clancy, sitting by the stove on a short, three-legged stool, making porridge in a black iron pot. Duke, the basset hound, was curled up beside his master, snoring through his floppy ears.

“Don't you ever sleep?” Nate asked his manservant quietly, as he threw off the threadbare blankets that covered him.

“Everyone else is up and out, sir,” his traveling companion informed him. “We chose to let you rest. The lady of the house rouses the two children at the same time as their father rises for duty. Life starts early in an army barracks.”

“Mm,” Nate mumbled, pulling on his jacket. Even with the stove going in the small room, there was a damp chill in the air. The occupants would normally have shared this house with two other families, but the army was using it as an extra storeroom, so they had the place to themselves—along with several large crates, whose contents were unknown to them. Nate dragged one of the crates out to sit on. “So, when do we leave?”

“Not today, sir,” Clancy replied. “According to Sean, there is a party of dignitaries taking a tour of the fortress. The sentries will be especially diligent and might look twice at a pair of unfamiliar faces. Sean was able to sneak us in, but we will have to wait until the watch is relaxed before he can get us out again.”

“Surely there could have been somewhere else to stay—somewhere that did not involve allowing ourselves to be surrounded by heavily armed miscreants?”

“I should have thought it would make you feel at home, sir. But as I believe I have already explained, all of the more loyal of your relatives in Cork are being watched. The watchers would not think to look here, partly because of all the miscreants to which you allude. The proximity of the British soldiers, whom Gerald can call on to serve him if needs be, is proof that you could not possibly be hiding here.”

Nate grunted, pouring water from a jug into the canvas basin held up on a metal stand. It was a useful piece of military kit, given that it could be folded up and put away when not in use. When quarters were as tight as this, every spare inch counted. Splashing cold water on his face and neck, he rubbed some life into his bleary eyes. He wished he could shave his beard, but every bit of disguise helped.

He took the bowl of porridge Clancy handed to him. It was pretty basic stirabout, but it was warm and filling and gave him comfort. As Nate was eating, Clancy climbed the narrow steps to the room upstairs. There was some moving of boxes and other things, and then he descended again, holding a package wrapped in plain brown paper and bound with string.

“This was hidden here, in anticipation of your return, sir,” the manservant told his master. “Miss Daisy felt it wise to get it out of Dublin. You will remember that before your departure from the country, you and your brother discovered your fathers secret journals?”

“Yes,” Nate said, nodding. “We weren't the only ones either. I'm sure Gerald had found them before us. The way he played the family against each other certainly stank of Father's methods. Berto and I had them removed from the house and stored in a safety deposit room in a bank in Dublin.”

“Yes, sir,” Clancy acknowledged. “Unfortunately, Gerald found out where you had hidden them and took them for himself

“What? How did he get them off the bank? We do still have some semblance of law in this country, don't we?”

“When they wouldn't accept that he was representing your interests,” Clancy replied, “Gerald
bought
the bank and fired the managers. No one tried to stop him after that. When the journals were being transferred back to the house, your sister-in-law was able to remove these three volumes. Of all the records, she thought these would be of greatest interest to you.”

Nate took the package, pulled off the string and unwrapped the paper. The three hardback, leather-bound notebooks had a musty smell. He checked the dates and immediately understood why Daisy had kept them for him. They were for the years 1845, 1846 and 1847. It was during this period that his father, Edgar Wildenstern, had turned on his wife and had her imprisoned—first in an asylum and then in a room at the top of the tower in Wildenstern Hall. Nate took a deep breath and rubbed his hand over the cover of the top book. These journals might tell him the truth about his mother's incarceration.

He opened the first book and found a passage he had read before. It was dated November, 1845:

The peasant unrest grows as the water mold known as ‘potato blight' spreads, rotting the vegetables in the ground. Hardly a crop seems untouched. The lowest of humanity have been hit hardest; soon there will be no food for the winter. They know they will starve, and they aim their anger at the landed gentry. Harsh measures will have to be taken to maintain order. This is not the first time in our history that the rabble's food has become infected, and it won't be the last. It will change nothing in the long run.

“The beginning of the Great Famine.” Nate sniffed. “Father was typically unsympathetic. Interesting that Gerald should be so fascinated with the journals, though. I would have thought that once he'd taken control of the family he wouldn't need any more guidance from this blackguard.”

“He must still
control
the Wildensterns, sir,” Clancy pointed out. “And judging by Miss Daisy's letters, the family did not give in easily. It took three assassination attempts to convince them that he was committed to the position.”

“Only three in three years?” Nate gave a quizzical frown. He had avoided talking about the family on the voyage over. He had spent most of the time locked in his cabin alone, or walking the deck staring out to sea. Clancy had tried a number of times to engage his attention on the matter, but with no luck. Now, it was clear that the young Duke was ready to listen. “That's not much of an average. Are they losing their touch, do you think?”

“He was very convincing, sir. The first attempt was made by one of your cousins, Charles. Gerald was in his laboratory late one night when Charles entered quietly, under cover of darkness, armed with a claymore sword. A struggle ensued. When it was over, Charles was dead, his body cut into several pieces. Gerald had the body parts removed from his laboratory, then returned to what he was doing as if nothing had happened.

“As you can imagine, this alone was not enough to shock your relatives. Three months later, your uncle, Gideon, launched another assault on Gerald. Your cousin had taken to walking in the gardens at night, and Gideon waited until he was far from any cover and then charged him on horseback, armed with a shotgun. He fired both barrels with reasonable accuracy. Gerald was wounded in the shoulder and leg. Gideon made to run him down with the horse, but Gerald avoided the charge and seized the horse's reins. With what can only be described as supernatural strength, he stopped the horse dead in its tracks, flipping the animal onto its side. Gideon was thrown off and broke several bones. Gerald let him live—Gideon himself told the story to everyone.”

“I'm sure he painted a very colorful picture of the event,” Nate commented. “Not like Gideon to try something like that on his own. The man's a complete poltroon. He's incapable of picking a fight unless the odds are overwhelmingly in his favor.”

“I suspect it was desperation,” Clancy replied. “Gerald hates him with a passion. Gideon is convinced that it is only a matter of time before he winds up dead anyway. And yet, he still lives.”

“More's the pity.”

“Indeed. But since Ainsley's death, sir, no one has dared to try their luck. That one put the wind up everyone.”

Clancy finished his porridge and put the bowl down.

“Miss Daisy described it in detail in one of her letters. The family was eating dinner, with Gerald at the top of the table as usual. Ainsley came in through the kitchens, entering the dining room via a side door. Gerald did not seem to notice him until Ainsley was standing by his side with a shotgun pointed at his head. Ainsley drew back the hammers on the weapon, ready to fire. And then Gerald started whistling. Brahms's
Lullaby,
apparently. Ainsley let the weapon drop to his side, holding it loosely in his hands. He appeared to be in some kind of trance.

“Gerald stopped whistling just long enough to tell everyone to go outside to the back garden. He was obeyed immediately—the family obviously knew they were watching some terrible power at work. Gerald did not follow. Instead, he walked towards the elevators and Ainsley walked with him like a lost child, a line of drool dripping from his mouth. Gerald did not even take the weapon off him.

“The family waited out in the cold breezy day in the back garden. They didn't spot the pair at once, but then someone pointed towards the top of the tower. The two figures could just be seen, silhouetted against the sky. They were a few feet apart, neither making any move towards the other.

“And then Ainsley fell. He fell thirty stories to the ground below. He must have regained his senses in time to realize his fate, for he let out a long shriek as he fell. His body burst across the gravel, and there was a loud bang as the shotgun hit the ground in the mess of his remains. As far as anyone can make out, the only thing Gerald did that entire time was whistle a lullaby. And Ainsley did not let go of the shotgun until he was falling from the roof. Since then, no one has made any further attempt on Gerald's life.”

Nate nodded. Gerald's powers had grown far greater over the years that Nate had been away. And yet, even now, it wasn't Gerald's strange abilities that he feared the most. It was what they could release if Gerald continued to use them.

“We need to leave as soon as possible,” he said to his manservant. “Your dog will have to stay here, I'm afraid, Clancy. I'd be the first to admit his charms, but we cannot be waylaid by his stunted legs. We have a hard walk ahead of us. We'll need horses at the earliest opportunity. And we need to arm ourselves properly. These pistols we have are not enough.”

“I anticipated that need also, sir,” Clancy said. “And my friend has already agreed to give Duke a home.” He pulled a leather case from behind one of the crates and unbuckled it. It unfolded out onto the floor, revealing a range of firearms, edged weapons and cudgels held neatly in straps.

Nate gave the contents the once-over and then nodded.

“Good. Oh, and I'll need a decent suit for when we reach Dublin.”

“That might be a bit more difficult, sir. I could have a telegram sent to one of our tailors there. But if your measurements were recognized, and the tailor was of a mind to tell the family … it could tip Gerald off that you were coming.”

“That's what I want,” Nate replied, picking up the first of his fathers journals. “I want the cur to know I'm on my way. Let him build up a head of steam for when I get there. Rattle him a bit. I'm the vengeful ghost, Clancy. And I'm coming for him.”

“Very good, sir. We can only hope that his abundance of steam does not improve his whistling, sir.”

Nate opened the notebook at the first page and sat back against the stack of boxes.

“If I know Gerald, he'll have something a little more dramatic lined up for us,” he said. “It's a pity about Ainsley. I quite liked him. Of all the Gideonettes, he was the least obnoxious. Had a certain sense of honor. But, unless I miss my guess, Gerald is setting the stage for some epic performance. With poor Ainsley, he was just clearing his throat.”