narrow beds with lumpy straw-filled mattresses. This end was always damp, which was why the other, dry end was used for storing the straw and feed. The stables had been built for the benefit of the family's horses; the boys who tended them had to fit in wherever they could.
Working his way across the creaking floorboards in the musty gloom, he kept one hand up ahead of him at head height. That way he would feel out the low roof beams before he hit his head off them. This was not the first time he'd had to make his way to his rickety-framed bed in complete darkness, so finding it was easy. The boys had to sleep two to a bed and his usual bed-mate, Patrick, was fast asleep, dreamily mumbling to himself and licking his lips.
Wrinkling his nose at the rank smell of mouldy feet, Francie shucked off his muddy clothes and climbed into bed, pulling some of the thin woollen blanket over himself. Patrick snorted and rolled after it, but didn't wake up. Francie sighed as he tugged to get more of the blanket, but was glad of Patrick's warmth. They were getting too big to be sharing a bed, and he could feel the wooden frame digging into his side. He lay awake, waiting for sleep to take him away. Below the floorboards, the bass engine sounds of the velocycle soothed his nerves.
He dreamed of owning his own engimal. Not even in his wildest imaginings would he have believed that he would ever have something like the creature downstairs; but maybe something small, like the lawncutter he had tried to catch, or one of the other machines he saw around the grounds of the estate.
Maybe when he was rich. His father was always telling him he could be rich if he tried hard enough. It didn't seem to be working for his da, though, and he was
Francie was proud of himself. He couldn't make up plans; he didn't know how to do things like his da. But he'd come up with the idea, and that was what they really needed. Da would look after all the planning. He'd already said they'd need Francie's help. And he said that if they pulled this job off, Francie would be able to buy a whole stable-full of engimals all for himself. That's how rich they were going to be.
He lay there, picturing all the creatures he'd collect, and tried not to listen to the scratching of the rats in the roof Some day, he thought. Some day soon.
Nathaniel woke late and lay huddled in the warm blankets for some time, savouring the comfort of a real mattress after more than a year of ship bunks and camp-beds. He had woken during the night, undressed, and crawled under the covers. His whole body ached from the struggle with the velocycle. His tongue was painfully swollen.
In the drawer by his bed was a small purse of gold sovereigns. Lying back in the bed, he laid three of the coins under his nightshirt, down along the bare flesh of each leg, and three more on either side of his ribcage. His arms would be all right after some stretching. He slipped another of the gold coins under the hem of his underpants, gasping as the cold metal touched his skin. He took one more sovereign from the purse and put it in his mouth, sucking on it to ease the pain in his tongue.
Before long the pain was forgotten, replaced by the excitement of what he'd achieved. He had tamed a wild engimal. Not some would-be tool or piece of furniture, but a true beast. He couldn't wait to go and see it in the daylight, but first he would have to traipse downstairs and greet the family. And the sooner he got that over and done with, the better.
When he was satisfied that the gold had suppressed the worst of the aching, he gathered the coins up and put them back in their purse. Reaching out for the cord that hung by the side of the bed, he rang the bell, and a minute later Clancy knocked and came in.
'Good morning, sir.'
'Morning. I suppose they're all downstairs?' Nate asked.
'Actually, most of the family are out by the stables, sir,' the manservant replied as he took a shirt and trousers from one of the wardrobes. 'Word has got round about your velocycle; it's been up half the night, scaring the wits out of the horses.'
Nate grinned and threw the covers off, sitting up on the side of the bed.
'If you think they're prattling now, Clancy, wait till they see it run!'
'I have no doubt its running will be the subject of prattle for days to come, sir. But I'd suggest some breakfast first. Your father is in his study with Master Roberto; he has asked to see you when they are done.'
Nathaniel's face dropped. So it had already started. His life as he knew it was over.
'Would you like me to run a bath for you, sir?'
Nathaniel had already taken off his nightshirt and was standing, waiting for his trousers. He frowned.
'Is that a hint?'
'I'd venture to say, sir, that the velocycle wasn't the only thing you brought down from the mountains.'
Nate smelled his armpits. 'Yes, of course.' He grimaced. 'Of course. What was I thinking…?'
'Are you all right, sir?'
'I'm fine!' he snapped, scowling.
Clancy had become far too comfortable in his position, but Nate never had the stomach to pull him up for it. Servants were not even supposed to speak in their master's presence unless they were asked a question or were delivering a message. They were supposed to be invisible. But Clancy's extra duties as tutor and bodyguard had made him more familiar than a typical footman. It was particularly irritating when the servant pointed out his master's mistakes.
It was strange how quickly Nate found himself returning to his old habits now that he was home. He had done his own shaving while he was away, but after his bath he let his manservant scrape the stubble from his cheeks. And then he was assisted in dressing. As Clancy helped him into his shirt and started to do up the studs, Nate's mind came back to his impending meeting with his father. He swallowed a lump in his throat and found that his palms were sweaty.
'Clancy…'
'I shall make sure that the toast is freshly made, sir.'
'Thank you.'
Nate swallowed nervously as he regarded his reflection in the full-length mirror. The freshly starched collar felt like a blade against his neck.
The dining room where the Wildensterns took breakfast faced east, its French windows looking out over the misted blue and purple hills to the cool grey of the sea beyond. The breakfast room was big and airy, warmed by a hearty coal fire in the huge marble fireplace. The five tables, with their crisp, white linen tablecloths, could comfortably seat six people each, but it was rare for the entire family who lived in the house – more than thirty in all – to eat breakfast together. There were only two other people there when Nate came down: Tatiana and their sister-in-law – Roberto's wife, Melancholy. Or 'Daisy', as she preferred to be known.
Nathaniel would never have suspected Roberto of harming Marcus. But he wasn't so sure about Melancholy. He didn't trust her at all.
Breakfast was over, and she and Tatiana were sitting together, discussing something over tea.
'Good morning, Tatiana,' he greeted his sister, and in a frostier tone he added, 'And to you, Melancholy'
Tatiana rolled her eyes and sighed. Nate insisted on calling Daisy by her formal name whenever he could get away with it, because he knew she hated it. He was not taken in by her innocent doe eyes or charmed by her delicate, dark-haired beauty. Nate knew a gold-digger when he saw one. And she didn't like him any more than he liked her.
'Welcome home, Nathaniel,' Daisy said politely, her voice tinged with ice. 'It's good to have you back.'
I'm sure, Nate thought to himself.
'Is Berto down yet?' he enquired.
'He's still with Father,' Tatiana told him. 'When can I see the monster, Nate? Nobody will let me near it. I'm fourteen now, you know. I'm not a little girl any more.'
'After Father has finished with me,' Nate told her as he made for the sideboard. 'Not until then. We need time to introduce you properly!'
Surveying the empty dishes on the sideboard, he was about to mutter a string of curses when a parlourmaid came in with covered platters of eggs, bacon, crumpets and kippers. But it was the thick slabs of fresh toast that he'd really been waiting for. In a manor house, everybody served themselves at breakfast, and he took ample portions of the bacon and eggs from the heated silver serving dishes, as well as plenty of toast – done on one side only, as all civilized toast should be. Nate could face any morning as long as he could have his hot buttered
