Oisín McGann - Ancient Appetites

At the other end of the table, furthest from the important elders, were the younger members of the family, including Tatiana. Responsibility for their good behaviour was entrusted to Aunt Elvira, an endearing old harridan with bad legs and worse hearing, who listened to everything with a horn extending from her ear and shouted 'What?' down the table at regular intervals.

'Moors?' Hugo muttered in disbelief as he gestured to the Duke's two black servants, who stood at the wall behind their master. 'You allow blackamoors inside your walls?'

'I judge my servants on their ability and their loyalty, not on their race,' Edgar retorted. 'They and their brothers provide the most expert service.'

'Just wait until they find out slavery's been abolished,' Daisy said under her breath.

Nate gave her a hard look, but he was the only one who heard.

Hugo and his sisters spent some time taking in the majestic dining hall with its magnificent stucco mouldings and the painting of a heavenly feast on the ceiling. Tapestries of hunts and battles hung on the walls and there were six doorways and numerous alcoves where the servants could conceal themselves from the family's view. The ancestors then turned their attention to the bewildering array of silver cutlery before them.

'Start on the outside and work your way in,' Daisy whispered to them. 'We'll explain the more complicated bits later.'

The first course was brought in, consisting of turtle soup, bread, chicken, plovers' eggs, various salads and numerous other delicacies. The gorging began. The three ancestors had still said very little about their previous lives, and some of the family tried to engage them in conversation by asking about meals in their times. Hugo and his sisters said little or nothing in response and soon the questions dried up. The ancients clearly did not want to be bothered while they ate. And eat they did, greedily sampling one dish after another with insatiable appetites.

Nate found Elizabeth staring at him as she ate. He fumbled with his knife and fork, suddenly nervous without knowing why. She looked no older than thirty-five or -six now, and while her face was beautiful in a cold, proud way, her eyes were so intense he couldn't meet her gaze. They fixed on him now as she bit into a small tomato and a single drop of juice ran down the side of her mouth. His knife skidded across his plate with a loud squeak.

The second course was served: steaming platters of venison, beef, pork, sturgeon, salmon, lobster and more, with heaps of vegetables, butter and more bread. MacDonald, the butler, was reaching across to carve slices from the breast of a roast goose, but Hugo couldn't wait. He lunged out and grabbed a drumstick. MacDonald pulled back, but not in time to avoid Hugo's impulsive lunge, and the razor-sharp edge of the carving knife caught the ancestor across the back of his hand.

'Aargh!' Hugo roared. 'You clumsy swine! Look what you've done!'

A hairline cut across his knuckles started to bead with blood.

'I'm dreadfully sorry, sir!' MacDonald exclaimed. 'It was an accident – I'll fetch a bandage for you imm-'

It was as far as he got. Hugo snatched the hand with the knife and wrenched it towards him. He pulled the knife from MacDonald's fingers and pressed the servant's hand flat on the table.

'Hugo!' Edgar barked. 'That's enough!'

Hugo raised the knife high and brought it down hard… slamming the point deep into the table between the butler's thumb and forefinger, just missing his flesh. MacDonald yelped in fright and then gave a gasp of relief as he realized he had not been hurt. Panting a little, he gave Hugo an ingratiating smile and tried to take his hand off the table.

And that was when Hugo grabbed the butler's middle finger with his free hand. In a vicious movement he bent it back – back at an awful, impossible angle until there was a snap and MacDonald screamed. Hugo released him and let him stumble backwards, clutching his broken finger.

'You'll be more careful in future, you dolt,' he hissed, pressing a napkin to his own wound.

A couple of the footmen rushed forward to help MacDonald, escorting him out of the room. Daisy had her napkin up to her mouth. Elizabeth let out a patient sigh and Brunhilde uttered a little giggle.

'That wasn't necessary-' Nate began, but Edgar cut in.

'Hugo,' he rumbled, 'we do not indulge in summary punishment of our servants in this house and we certainly do not tolerate it from our guests. There are protocols to follow for disciplining any member of staff. In future, you should direct any grievance to Nathaniel, who will deal with it in the appropriate manner.'

'I will discipline servants as I see fit!' Hugo snarled. 'And I will not be commanded by any man.'

'You will be commanded by me, while you are under my roof and eating at my table,' the Duke told him in a low voice like stone grating across stone. 'Have no doubt about it.'

They stared at each other for what seemed like the longest time… and then Hugo dropped his eyes. He nodded truculently and, taking the knife that he had snatched from MacDonald, he cut some meat off the goose. He did not look at the Patriarch again.

Nate found that he was gripping his own knife tightly and his hands were shaking. He took them off the table and pressed them against his thighs. For the briefest instant he had been sure that the two old men were about to have a go at each other. The idea thrilled him, but he knew it would not have been a fair contest. Hugo did not know how close he had come to being seriously hurt. Nate exhaled slowly and started eating again.

'Ha!' Brunhilde blurted out. Baring her teeth to those around her, she grinned and chewed with her mouth wide open. 'Fresh meat! Eat, everyone eat!'

Not knowing how else to react, they obeyed.

S hay Noonan burst into the damp, grotty room that he shared with his wife and slammed the door behind him. He didn't dare light a candle, but there was enough light from the night sky shining through the window for him to see. Cathy was already waking up, looking up from the mattress on the floor as he grabbed her and shook her shoulders.

'We have to get out of here, Cathy!' he whispered hoarsely to her. 'Up into the attic, quick!'

'What?' she asked dully. 'What're yeh talkin' about, Shay? What ungodly hour is this to be wakin' me up?'

'Forget the bloody hour, woman! Slattery's men are outside and they're lookin' for me. If they find either one of us, they'll have our guts for garters. Now get up out of that bed and get yer dressing gown on. We have to go out by the roof.'

'I'm not going out on any roof!' Cathy retorted. 'I'll catch me death o' cold!'

He seized her up roughly and shoved her threadbare dressing gown into her arms.

'You'll catch yer death of Patrick Slattery if he finds us here. Now come on!'

He pulled over a chair and stood on it, pushing open the trap door to the attic. Then he took hold of the rim and pulled himself up. Cathy stepped up onto the chair, wobbling slightly as she was still drowsy, and held up her hands for her husband to grasp. With a grunt of effort, he heaved her up through the opening. He lowered the hatch and stood up, taking a stub of a candle from his pocket. He lit it and held it up. There were no windows or doors out to the roof, but over by the corner he saw what he was looking for: the glow of the night sky through a hole in the gabled roof.

Guiding his wife across the rafters, he made his way towards the corner, stepping carefully from one board to the next. If either of them put a foot wrong, they could fall through the plaster ceiling into the room below. They ducked as the roof sloped down and finally reached the hole. It was small, but it was enough for Shay to reach through and push aside some of the slate roof tiles. It only took a minute for him to make it big enough to fit through.