'This won't take long, sir,' he said. 'Once their houses have been tumbled, they'll get the message.'
He looked over and waved to McHugh, who turned the engimal off the road and urged it up the hill. The bull- razer pushed through a dry-stone wall as if it wasn't there, crushing the stones into the earth. Its treads churned up the soil as it climbed the sloping field towards the small group of houses. Slattery shook his head in disdain as people appeared from inside, shouting frantically to others, their voices high with shock and fear.
'There's always a few as'll put up a fight,' the bailiff told his young master, an eager smile flashing his gold teeth. 'We used to burn the roofs off the hovels. But we find this makes more of an impression. Everyone gets out sharpish when they see Trom coming.'
The stone cabins looked like tiny, fragile constructions before the might of the huge engimal. It would be on them in seconds. It was absurd – this behemoth could smash through the legs of a railway bridge and here they were, sending it to demolish a few tiny cottages. Daisy could see some men standing in its path, waving at it to stop. McHugh paid them no attention. Slattery chuckled, shaking his head dismissively.
'I'll thank you not to laugh, Mr Slattery' Berto said curtly.
'Yes, sir.' Slattery's face immediately adopted an expression of utmost solemnity, which only made his men grin more widely.
Daisy watched them sourly. Her husband rarely chose to exercise his authority and, as a result, he had not earned the respect of these hard men.
'Roberto, somebody could be hurt,' she whispered. 'There must be another way of doing this.'
She saw Nathaniel glance at her, but he said nothing. Berto did not take his eyes off the bull-razer. She knew he was horrified by what he was seeing. His hand was clutching hers so tightly her fingers were going numb.
'Bugger this,' he hissed. 'They can keep the bloody houses. What do we care? We have a thousand more like them. What does it matter if we give away a few hovels and a patch of land? They can keep 'em! That'll give the old man the hump.'
'No!' said Daisy. 'Your father's given you power, so
Two men dived out of the engimal's way moments before its shovel slammed into the first house, driving through it as if it were a pile of leaves, tossing roofbeams and straw thatch into the air and crushing stones and furniture underfoot. Daisy caught her breath. There might have been people still in there. A woman was running down the road towards them.
'Please!' she cried. 'Please, my mother is in our house. She can't be moved. She has the fever and she can't be moved. For the love of God, please call off your animal!'
The woman was dressed in a worn skirt and blouse; a tattered headscarf hung down her back, where it had fallen as she ran. She made it as far as the door of the carriage, seizing Roberto's hand before Slattery dragged her away.
'Don't mind her, sir,' he said as he pulled her back. 'If the woman's old, she's dead anyway. We'd be doing her a mercy. The fever'll finish her off whether she's outside or in.'
'Take your hands off that woman!' Roberto snapped at the bailiff. 'Let her speak!'
With a barely concealed scowl, Slattery released the woman, who darted back to the side of the carriage. She was about to speak when Trom swivelled and lunged out of the ruins of the first cabin, crashing straight into the second one. The woman let out a whimper.
'My mother, sir.' She addressed Roberto. 'She's in bed with the fever in the middle house there. If we move her, it could kill her. No one else will take her in – not in the state she's in! They'd be puttin' their own at risk and I wouldn't ask it of 'em. Please, sir. Don't take our home!'
She pressed her cheek, wet with tears, against Berto's hand.
'Don't take our home! It's all we've got! We'll work harder for yeh. We'll make more than ever for yeh next year… just don't take our home!'
Berto withdrew his hand, self-consciously wiping it against his jacket. He looked sickened, but Daisy could see the resolve setting on his face. McHugh was steering the bull-razer across the yard towards the middle house.
'Slattery!' Berto said in a clear voice. 'Call off your man.'
'That's not a good idea, sir,' the bailiff told him. Roberto started to interrupt, but Slattery talked over him. The Patriarch had warned the bailiff about his errant son. 'It'll set a bad example. Take it from me, sir. They've all got sob stories if you stop to listen to 'em. Give them half a chance and they'll have the bloody parish priest out here screamin' blue murder. Don't go givin' them the idea they can-'
'My brother gave you an order, Mr Slattery!' Nate barked. 'Now do as you're bloody told!'
They all turned to look at him. His command hung there for a moment, and for that instant Daisy saw a look of his father about him. The air of a man who would not be defied. And Slattery saw it too. He pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew hard on it. McHugh did not hear it and Slattery blew again, twice more. Trom's driver glanced over to see his boss waving him back. He hauled in on the engimals reins just before it ploughed into the third house. McHugh looked at them in confusion and then pulled the engimal round and headed back down the field towards them.
Daisy leaned over and whispered something in Berto's ear. He nodded and beckoned to the peasant woman.
'This is not an act of charity, madam-' he began.
'I wouldn't ask for your charity, sir,' she cut in hurriedly. 'Just a fair chance to earn our keep – and for you not to send great big beasts tramplin' through our house.'
'Yes… yes, exactly.' Berto nodded, still a little unsure of himself. 'We'll send someone to, eh… to renegotiate the… the terms of your rent. We'll work this out…'
As he spoke to the woman, Daisy turned to watch Slattery walk away. The bailiff was shaking his head and she was sure she could hear him cursing to himself. He threw a glance back at her and she shuddered, putting a hand to her breast. She had never had anyone glare at her with such a expression of hatred. Not even Nathaniel.
'He's an animal, that man,' Berto said softly from behind her, and she could tell he was watching Slattery too. 'And he's really only loyal to Father. He despises the rest of us. Marcus had to hit him once, to pull him into line. You should have seen the look in Slattery's eyes then – I'd say there are few men who could strike Patrick Slattery and live to tell about it. I think Marcus would have fired the brute if he could, but Father wouldn't have it.'
'Marcus hit him?' Nate asked. 'Why? When did that happen?'
'It was a few years ago, when Marcus ran the Irish estates,' Berto told him. 'They had an argument while they were watching an eviction. Slattery said something about me being a soft-hearted wastrel – Heaven knows why. Marcus lost his temper and lashed out. You should have seen the look Slattery gave him after he was hit. It turned me cold.'
The peasant woman was hurrying back to her cabin. Slattery was climbing onto Trom's back. Taking the reins, he steered for home without waiting for further instructions. Neither he nor his men looked back at the carriage.
'I don't think Mr Slattery likes people who get in his way' Nate observed.
He didn't say any more, but Daisy knew what he was thinking. He was wondering if Marcus had been one of those people.
Nathaniel stood in front of his father's desk, his eyes lowered towards the old man's favourite pen, which sat on the blotter. The afternoon's outing with Trom was still fresh in his mind and it occurred to him that despite all his family's fears of armed rebels and stealthy assassins, that pen could affect the lives of more people in a stroke than any act of violence. Edgar picked up the pen, dipped it in a bottle of ink and scrawled his signature on a contract, changing some more lives. The Patriarch closed the ledger he had been reading and put it and the new contract to one side, wiping the powerful pen clean again.
'What news is there of Hugo's recumbent brother?' he asked, finally looking up at his son.
'Still no sign of Brutus recovering, sir,' Nate replied. 'Gerald is concerned about him. He says the wounds the man suffered before his… death are still open and some have become infected. He has found the beginnings of gangrene in some of them, and thinks he may need to operate.'
'Hmph,' Edgar grunted. 'Does Hugo know this?'
