Merciless Reason

by Oisin McGann

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Gerald said to her, staring at the ceiling. “I have no reason to wish you any harm … do I?”

  “I see your paranoia is in full flower,” she retorted. “Are you still trying to sleep with your eyes clipped open?”

  “That was merely a theory I was testing,” he told her in a petulant voice. “I am convinced that sleep was originally an evolutionary mistake that accidentally kept animals out of trouble. I see no reason why we shouldn’t be able to do away with the habit, given sufficient training.”

  “I believe lack of sleep can lead to insanity,” she said, staring into his face.

  “You believe all sorts of nonsense,” he sniffed. “Your church is proof of that. Ah, here we are!”

  The boy brought the elevator to a stop and its bell chimed. The ornate brass doors opened and Gerald stepped out, taking Daisy by the hand. They were on the top floor, most of which was occupied by a massive study where Edgar Wildenstern had once held court. Her father-in-law had been the unopposed ruler of the family for decades, until some even older relatives had murdered him at the dinner table.

  “Let’s take a stroll outside,” Gerald suggested, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

  Daisy thought again of Ainsley, and she tried not to pull back from Gerald’s grip. The corridor off the lift was not a welcoming place. It was dimly lit, and she always found the décor disturbing; the walls were hung with gloomy oil paintings of savage Biblical scenes, particularly those of the Old Testament, while the patterns of the carpets and the wallpaper suggested raw flesh opened by sharp edges. She told herself this was all in her imagination. She told herself this any time she came up here.

  But she would not allow Gerald to see her fear. He was headed for the stairs that led up to the roof, so she walked in front of him, striding up the steps and opening the door. The wind caught her hair and skirts as she did so, giving her the wild appearance of a banshee. They were thirty stories up and the gusts were cold and violent. She was not wearing a coat and her green silk dress was heavy in the skirts but thin round the shoulders and waist. The chill wind cut her to the bone.

  They walked out onto the section of flat roof that sat between the tiled turrets at the top of the tower. The Wicklow mountains framed the view to the south, the sea was visible to the east, the fields of Kildare out to the west and the city of Dublin to the north.

  Daisy was becoming wise to Gerald’s ways. Since taking over the family, he had become far more interested in human nature and how to manipulate it. He had studied Edgar Wildensterns journals, learning how to wield power. She knew that leading her out here into the cold was intended to make her tense up, increase her unease. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, turning to face him.

  “Make this quick, Gerald. I haven’t got time for pneumonia.”

  He put his hands into his pockets, drew out a slim silver case and a box of matches and lit one of his favorite French cigarettes, cupping the flame against the wind. Sucking smoke into his lungs, he held the gasper inside his hand and gave her a friendly smile.

  “How goes your search for Nate?” he asked.

  “Clancy perseveres, but without success—as I suspect you know already,” she snapped.

  She had given up trying to keep the search a secret, since Gerald could monitor all the correspondence coming into the house. But she knew he was listening to how she answered, not the answer itself. She glared at him for a moment and then lost patience with him.

  “Gerald, what the bloody hell are you building in the church? It’s not another bomb, is it?”

  “Daisy, Daisy, Daisy,” he chided her. “You have such a suspicious mind. And your language is positively foul at times.”

  “Don’t patronize me. What are you up to?”

  “I have been studying the work of Isambard Kingdom Brunel,” Gerald replied. “It has been quite enlightening. You probably don’t know of him. He is an engineer—”

  “Builder of the Great Western Railway in Britain and much of the track in Ireland,” Daisy cut in, rubbing her arms, her hair whipping across her scowling face. “Yes, I’ve heard of him. Studied Euclidean geometry before the age of eight. He is the designer of various wondrous bridges and pioneer of propeller-driven iron ships, as well as being largely responsible for laying the latest bloody transatlantic telegraph cable. What about him? What’s he got to do with our church?”

  “He had a stroke in eighteen fifty-nine,” Gerald said. “It was only his knowledge of engimals that saved him from paralysis, possibly even death. He has since become a master of engimal reconstruction. Some joke that he is almost half engimal now, he has transplanted so many of their parts into his own body. His theories on engimals are very mechanical, but fascinating. Funny … Nate took the opposite view—he always thought of them as animals. A zoologist by nature. The truth is that they are neither animal nor machine, but something in between.”

  “Gerald … it’s freezing up here. Will you be getting to the point any time soon?”

  “The point is this. Brunel used engimal parts in some of his engineering designs with varying degrees of success. But his ideas have opened up a host of new possibilities. I have decided to try something along those lines myself. I shall be making occasional use of the organ in the church, so I chose to have it built to my own specifications.”

  Daisy regarded him for as long as she could stand.

  “Are you telling me that the church organ is made up of engimal parts? That’s barbaric, Gerald.”

  “No more than having your chair upholstered with leather,” he replied. “Or burning a tallow candle, or using a hairbrush with a bone or ivory handle. Even your late father-in-law had his missing hand replaced with an engimal claw. We use animal parts every day, in every part of our lives.”

  “But … engimals, Gerald. Each one is unique. They don’t breed—every time you kill one, it cannot be replaced. They’re thousands of years old! Think of what they’ve seen! I really thought you believed that of all God’s creations they were among the most fascinating, the most precious.”

  “God? Are you still making decisions based on that old mythology? That way lies insanity, Daisy. Remember in ’fifty-seven, how those Sepoy soldiers in India were so outraged about the beef grease in their bullet cartridges that they started a bloody mutiny? Because it was against their religion. The British nearly lost control of India because of beef grease. It is absurd. These kinds of beliefs are religious poppycock that has no place in a rational world. And don’t you pretend to be squeamish about such things, Daisy. It doesn’t suit you.”

  He gestured towards a circular window set into the wall of one of the turrets. It had an unusual steel frame and could not be opened. Daisy glanced towards it, but then averted her eyes.

  “Edgar Wildenstern kept his wife trapped in that room for years, did you know that?” Gerald said to her.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I’ve read Edgar’s journals. Dear Aunt Miriam defied his will. As punishment, he had her committed to an asylum not long after Tatiana was born. For some reason, he brought Miriam back home after little more than a year, but kept her imprisoned up here. No one knew she was here, but there were times—when the house was quiet and the wind was right—that you could hear distant screams. If she wasn’t deranged when he had her committed, she was well and truly insane by the end of her life.”

  Gerald turned to Daisy.

  “He loved her, you know. And yet he was prepared to do that to her—to maintain control of the family. I admire his strength of will. I know you and Tatiana—perhaps even Cathal—have been making moves against me. Obviously you are more subtle than some of the troglodytes in the house, but I am not fooled. I tolerate Tatiana out of some soft-hearted affection—and because she amuses me. Cathal is valuable to me, and his defiant character is also entertaining. I put up wit
h you because, bizarrely, you have a better head for business than most of the men in the house. But you must be aware that there are costs for interfering with my plans, Daisy. Don’t push me too far.”

  Looking down at his cigarette, he saw that it had gone out. He flicked it into the wind and it was whisked off into the vast space beyond the roof. Then he turned away and strolled towards the door to the stairs. Daisy stood there, trembling in the cold for a while longer, preferring to walk back downstairs alone.

  No matter what happened, she refused to let him see how terrified she was of him.

  There was a letter waiting for Daisy on her desk when she returned to her office and her heart lifted when she recognized the handwriting on the envelope. She could tell that the letter had been opened and resealed, but she had grown used to that. Gerald allowed her little privacy.

  Daisy did not open it immediately. Her hopes for the future hung on these letters, sent to her at regular intervals by Nate’s man, Clancy. Or, at least, the man who had once served Nate so devotedly, and who now searched for him with equal diligence. Ever since Nate’s disappearance, Daisy and Tatiana had waited impatiently for each letter from Clancy, hoping each time that it would announce that he had found his master and was bringing him home.

  It was unfair to leave Tatty out of this, but after a week of frustration over the church and her ordeal with Gerald on the roof, Daisy wanted this moment to herself. Closing the glass and wood door of her office, she sat down at the desk and laid the envelope in front of her, flattening the already-flat fold of ivory-colored paper with her fingers. Clancy had lovely handwriting—masculine, but elegant—and he insisted on using a high quality nib, always carrying his own ink.

  Daisy took a breath and let it out. It seemed a pity to spoil the glow of anticipation, but she supposed it was best to get the disappointment over with. She broke the wax seal, opened the envelope and drew out the single sheet of paper. The first few fines made her next breath catch in her throat:

  My Ladies,

  I have reached Boston, where I believe his Grace boarded a whaling ship several months previously. The vessel was set for a three- to four-year voyage depending on its catch. Having spoken to an officer of Her Majesty’s Navy, I have learned that the ship, the Odin, was sunk in stormy seas off the coast of New England, with all hands lost but one. This man was questioned, and claimed to have no knowledge of his Grace, or anyone matching his description.

  I have not given up hope that either the reports of his Grace boarding this ship were mistaken, or that he somehow survived unseen. I will endeavor to resolve the matter either way. At this point, however, I must confess that the trail has grown cold.

  My search continues, my ladies. As ever, I will keep you informed of my progress.

  Yours faithfully,

  Clancy

  Typical of the man, he never used his first name. Daisy bit her hand. Glancing towards the door of her office, she rose from her upholstered, walnut swivel chair and crossed the carpeted floor to the door, opening it and peering out into the corridor. There was no one about. She closed the door and clutched the letter to her breast.

  “YES!” she cried, jumping a couple of times on the spot.

  Composing herself, she waved the letter in front of her face to cool her flushed cheeks and then read it again. There could be no mistake. The report of Nate’s possible death had shaken her for a moment, but then there came that fine: ‘At this point, however, I must confess that the trail has grown cold.” Before he had left, Clancy had counseled against speaking openly in their correspondence, in case it should be read. Instead, they had agreed a series of sentences to transmit confidential signals. The sentence he had just used was one of these. Put simply, it meant: ‘I have found him, and we are coming home.”

  There was no telling how soon they would be here. They could well have come on the same ship as the letter, but Clancy would be too cautious to travel on a scheduled vessel. They would have to employ a great deal of stealth.

  Daisy bit her knuckle again, resisting the urge to let out another yell. She could play mind games with Gerald until the cows came home, but as women in the Wildenstern house there was nothing she or Tatty could do about going on the offensive against him. And their trusted cousin, Cathal, had no real power in the family. However, being offensive was Nathaniel’s area of expertise. With him, they had a chance of knocking Gerald from his position of power … with physical force, if necessary.

  And as time had numbed her grief for her murdered husband, Daisy’s feelings for Nate had changed too. Their relationship had never been easy, but his disappearance had cut her deeply, making her wonder if her feelings for him had always been more … complicated than she had imagined.

  Dear God, she thought, clutching the letter to her breast, but can I tell Tatty? Her sister-in-law was her best friend and an unshakeable ally, but the girl was something of a flibbertigibbet. Cathal could possibly be told, but Daisy was not entirely sure Tatty could keep a secret of this magnitude. Daisy groaned. How could she not tell her? How could she tell Cathal and keep Tatty ignorant of it? Tatty idolized her big brother; when they were together, they were as thick as thieves. But if Gerald found out that Nate was coming back, he would do everything in his power to have him killed. And he had almost limitless resources with which to do it.

  “What’s got you all up to high doe?” Tatty asked from behind her.

  Daisy’s heart thumped the front of her ribcage in fright. She turned to find her sister-in-law standing behind her, having entered the office with uncharacteristic silence. A small, bird-like engimal perched on her shoulder.

  “Daisy? Are you all right? You look quite piqued.”

  “Tatty!” Daisy exclaimed in a slightly shrill voice, hiding the letter behind her back. “I just came down from the roof—a charming chat with Gerald. That bracing cold air … you know.”

  “And fearing for your safety, no doubt. I was down the hall in the press office. I thought I heard a cry.”

  “I stubbed my toe.”

  “God, I hate it when I do that. I kicked the leg of my bed the other day, nearly split my bally pinkie right open. It was jolly sore. Do you want to go for a ride with me? I was thinking of taking the brougham out towards Enniskerry.”

  The bird opened its mouth and emitted a passable impression of a horse cantering along a gravel road to a chorus of joyful animals and birds. It looked pleadingly at Daisy, eager as it was to get out of the house. The creature’s name was Siren, and it was capable of generating almost any kind of sound, including peculiar, pulse-pounding pieces of music that Daisy was sure had no place in any civilized society. It was certainly unpopular in Wildenstern Hall, due to the near-demonic influence it had on Tatty’s taste in music, and the volume at which she liked it to be played. Tatty suspected more than one family member of plotting her pet’s untimely demise. Its fist-sized, blue and silver body was made of some kind of almost weightless metal and an even more mysterious feather-like material. The little engimal had a white breast, a copper-colored beak and bright, intelligent orange eyes. It chirped hopefully at Daisy.

  Daisy, in return, regarded her sister-in-law with suspicion. Over the last few years, Tatty had developed an obsession with a local criminal known as the “Highwayboy.” Some held that he was a Robin Hood figure, stealing from the rich to give to the poor. To most of the gentry, however, he was just another brigand. Tatty took frequent trips along the roads he was known to haunt, in the hope of happening across him. Daisy was unsure if it was in some romantic hope of capturing him, or if Tatty entertained thoughts of actually joining his gang. With Tatty, it could be hard to tell which way her mind was working.

  “I’m very busy here, Tatty. Besides, it’s a bit late to be setting out for Enniskerry, and it’s not a good road to be traveling after dark.”

  “It’s not fair!” the younger woman protested, flopping do
wn in the armchair Daisy kept near the south-facing window of her corner office. “You never do anything I want to do.”

  While Tatiana gazed out the window, Daisy slipped the letter under the blotter on her desk.

  “That’s not true at all, Tatty, and you know it. Only yesterday you had us both running like geese round the edge of the pond, trying to catch carp with those nets. One of the gamekeepers could have fished a couple out in an instant, but you insisted we do it ourselves.”

  “It was fun! And I wanted to have some for a bowl in my room. Now I can watch them swim around waving their marvelous little tails.”

  “That’s what the pond is for,” Daisy pointed out.

  “I can’t be lulled to sleep in my bed, looking into the pond,” Tatty pointed out back. “Anyway, if you won’t come for the ride, I’m not going to go either. I’ll just stay right here and contemplate life. I believe I’m getting awfully good at it. What fascinating subject did Gerald want to discuss? Mathematics? Microscopic biology? His complete moral turpitude?”

  Daisy sighed. It was unkind to think it, but sometimes it was like trying to hold a conversation with a springer spaniel.

  “No, he wanted to talk about us,” she said in a tired voice. She wished Tatty would be careful of what she said and where she said it, but was reluctant to pass on Gerald’s threat. “He thinks we’re interfering again.”

  “Well … we are, aren’t we? Only last week we were investigating what had happened to those steam-powered pressing machines—the ones that have gone missing from the factory on the North Wall. They weighed several tons each. I daresay they weren’t carried away by pickpockets. We know he’s taken them for some reason. He can’t go about removing industrial machinery from the family’s factories and expect us to turn a blind eye.”

  “That’s exactly what he expects,” Daisy said. “Nothing can get in the way of his research.”