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:
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 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
'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
