Lady Helen and the Dark Days Pact

by Alison Goodman

  ‘But surely the man should just hand it over to you,’ she said. ‘He is a member of the Dark Days Club.’

  Pike’s wintry smile appeared again. ‘Mr Lowry’s sense of duty towards the Dark Days Club and, indeed mankind, extends only to offering us the journal first, before he puts it on the open market. Now that Benchley is dead, Lowry’s powers will diminish; in less than six months he will be a normal man again. Perhaps even less than he was before.’ Pike looked down at his own hand, closing his fingers into a fist. ‘He is taking the opportunity to make his fortune while he still has the alchemical strength to bargain with Reclaimers or Deceivers.’

  ‘Still, a Terrene cannot overcome two or more Reclaimers,’ Mr Hammond said. ‘Why not just take it from him? He has betrayed us, after all.’

  ‘Why use an axe when a scalpel will do the job?’ Pike said. ‘Lowry has already offered the journal to us. We will buy it. The fact of his betrayal will be dealt with later.’

  Mr Hammond crossed his arms. ‘No, there is something else that is stopping you from forcing him to hand over the journal.’ He contemplated Pike, the quick turn of his mind mirrored in the tap of his fingers on his arm. ‘You want to keep this quiet. An old fox like Benchley wouldn’t just make notes about the Deceivers, would he? I’ll wager that journal has information about the other Reclaimers as well, particularly Lord Carlston — he was Benchley’s protégé. You don’t want to send any of the other Reclaimers because they will get their hands on the information first. You certainly wouldn’t want to lose that advantage.’

  Pike stared at him.

  ‘Is Mr Hammond correct?’ Helen asked.

  Pike turned and walked to the window, the silence making his answer.

  ‘What is it supposed to contain?’ Helen demanded, forcing back a flare of pique. Pike clearly did not care that she would see the journal; he must think her a malleable nonentity, no threat to himself or his plans. She clasped her hands in her lap. Perhaps he was right. What would she do with such information?

  Pike’s eyes were fixed on the street below. ‘According to Lowry, Benchley knew what really happened to Lord Carlston’s wife — the man would hint at it when he was in his cups — and also about his lordship’s activities on the Continent. All of this, by Lowry’s account, is detailed in the journal, along with information about a number of Deceivers that Benchley had unearthed. He also made a dossier on each of his fellow Reclaimers, including you, Lady Helen.’ He turned to face them at last, his expression forbidding. ‘The Home Office does not want that information in anyone’s hands other than our own.’

  Helen shook her head. ‘I think you just want to incriminate Lord Carlston.’

  ‘You seem to think this is entirely about Carlston,’ Pike said. ‘I assure you it is not. Lord Sidmouth wants to make sure the Dark Days Club is not compromised. It is just as feasible that the journal exonerates Lord Carlston.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘You do believe in his innocence, don’t you, Lady Helen?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Helen said stoutly, ignoring the flutter of doubt that always accompanied her thoughts about his lordship’s past.

  ‘Then you have every reason to believe that Benchley’s journal will be to his benefit. It may be to your benefit too. Lowry claims there is information about your parents’ death in it.’

  Helen felt her body lock. ‘But my parents drowned. It was an accident. Are you saying it was not?’

  ‘Perhaps. We will not know until we have the journal in hand, will we?’

  Hammond made a soft sound of disgust. ‘Do not believe him, Lady Helen. He has just thrown that in to season the pot.’

  ‘No,’ Pike said. ‘I am merely reporting what Lowry’s letter claimed.’

  Helen stared unseeingly at the carpet, trying to comprehend the possibility that her parents had been murdered. By whom? Benchley? Perhaps Mr Hammond was right and it was just a lie to give her more incentive to retrieve the journal. If it was, it was a cruel invention.

  ‘Lady Helen, you are not listening.’

  She jerked her head up to meet Pike’s rebuke. ‘I beg your pardon. What did you say?’

  ‘I said Lowry has made it clear that he will deal only with you.’

  It was a startling caveat. ‘Why me?’

  ‘No doubt he thinks that your sex and inexperience will give him an advantage.’

  Helen frowned. ‘Is that what you think?’

  He paused. Plainly, he did. ‘This is a simple agreement of terms and exchange of goods, Lady Helen. A fool could do it. Mr Hammond will be there to assist you. Since he shares the man’s perversions, he will help you navigate the Lewes stews where we believe Lowry is taking refuge.’

  ‘God’s blood, Pike, I have nothing in common with that man,’ Mr Hammond said, his face bright with anger again. ‘He finds his pleasure in others’ pain, especially young women who do not consent to such treatment.’

  Helen sat back in her chair. ‘That is monstrous.’

  ‘It is,’ Mr Hammond said. ‘And it is nothing to do with me.’

  Pike shrugged. ‘Nevertheless, your assignment is to help Lady Helen meet Lowry so that she can secure the journal.’ He turned to Helen. ‘We expect him to demand somewhere between five and ten thousand pounds for it.’

  Helen drew in a surprised breath: a small fortune. Yet it was clear that Lowry was an opportunistic man. ‘What if he asks for more than that?’

  ‘You have the authority to offer up to fifteen thousand pounds in gold. If he pushes for more, make it clear to him that it is our final offer before the scalpel turns into an axe.’

  Mr Hammond sat forward. ‘Fifteen thousand in gold! There must be something highly incriminating in the journal to warrant such an amount. What are you not telling us?’

  Pike’s brows lifted. ‘Obviously the government would prefer not to pay that much, but it may come to it. We must have that journal.’ He walked to the table and picked up the wrapped Bible and the writing box. ‘You are both bound by oath to the Dark Days Club. You are also bound by the express written order from His Royal Highness the Prince Regent to obey my instructions. You now have those instructions, and I leave you with one more. This assignment must not be discussed with anyone else. That includes your sister, Mr Hammond. Am I clear?’

  Mr Hammond nodded, his hands clenched on his thighs.

  ‘Say it,’ Pike ordered.

  ‘Yes, it is clear,’ Mr Hammond said, each word viciously distinct.

  ‘Good, because if either of you decides to inform Lady Margaret or Lord Carlston, or anyone else for that matter, you will be in violation of your oath. High treason.’ Pike drew back his stooped shoulders. ‘Allow me to elaborate. Not only treason, but treason in a time of war. They would hang you, Mr Hammond, and it would be our duty to add the black charge of sodomy to your name.’ His cold gaze turned to Helen. ‘And beheading is still the method of execution for a treasonous noble, Lady Helen. It would be rather ironic, don’t you think, if you had the end that was going to be your mother’s?’

  Helen jammed her fingers together, forcing her fear and fury into the tight weave of her flesh. ‘I have given my oath, Mr Pike,’ she said, glad that her voice did not quaver. ‘I am the daughter of an Earl. My word is my bond. It is a matter of honour and conscience; things you clearly know nothing about. You do not need to threaten me or Mr Hammond for us to do our duty.’

  He regarded them both, his thin top lip curled in disgust. ‘A young noblewoman and a molly — you are the very essence of moral weakness. There could be no one in this world more in need of the impetus of fear.’

  He gave her a small, ironic bow and walked to the door. ‘Send a messenger to me when you have struck the deal,’ he said. ‘I will arrange your access to the gold.’

  And then he was gone, the door closing behind him. The sound of his footsteps receded down the staircase. Helen strained her Reclaimer hearing, picking through the sound of Lady Margaret pacing across the morning room floor, a maid singing off-key, a
nd the scrape of pots in the kitchen, to finally find Garner murmuring ‘Good day’ and the front door closing.

  ‘He has left,’ she said.

  Mr Hammond drew in a long breath. ‘Whoreson bag of shit!’

  Helen flinched.

  He glanced at her, his lips pressed together in contrition. ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘I understand your sentiment, Mr Hammond.’ She smoothed out the skirt of her gown, trying to cover her own rage. How dare Pike call her morally weak. She had never broken her word, and she never would. ‘Perhaps I should learn such language for my male persona.’

  He gave a mirthless smile. ‘It is probably the one thing I can teach you with more authority than his lordship.’

  Helen returned his smile, but a new problem was taking hold. ‘What should we say to Lord Carlston and your sister? She will certainly tell him that Pike came to visit.’

  Mr Hammond hunched over, his hands pressed to his face.

  ‘Mr Hammond?’ He made no move. ‘Mr Hammond!’

  Was he sinking into despair? He must not; they had to stand firm together. She touched his shoulder. ‘Michael!’

  He lifted his head and she saw that it was not despair in his face. It was fear.

  ‘I think we should stay with the truth as much as possible,’ she said, hoping her quick words would draw him back. ‘We will say that Pike came here to swear me into the Dark Days Club. No other reason. Will that serve, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know. Possibly.’

  ‘Then that is what we will say.’ She smiled encouragingly, forcing back her own fear. ‘It will be as Pike says: a straightforward exchange. Then we will be done with it.’

  ‘Yes, done with it.’ He stood, hands clenched. ‘Lady Helen, I ask you … no, I beg you, please do not say anything to his lordship.’

  ‘Of course I will not say anything.’ She rose as well, alarmed by the anguish in his voice. ‘Pike has my oath on the matter, just as he has yours. Besides, I believe him when he says he would bring us both to ruin.’

  ‘No, not about the journal,’ he said. ‘About the other …’

  Helen flushed at her own stupidity. ‘I will not say a thing; I swear it. But do you truly think his lordship does not know? He is a Reclaimer: he would have seen your devotion in your face.’

  Mr Hammond bowed his head. ‘Of course he knows. How could he not? But there is a chasm between what is known and what is said.’

  Helen nodded. There surely was, particularly when it came to Lord Carlston and Ignatious Pike.

  Chapter Four

  Lady Margaret walked across the morning room yet again, the tips of her fingers pressed into a ruminative steeple. ‘No, there must be more to Pike’s visit,’ she said, pacing back to the small tiled hearth. ‘He would not come all the way to Brighton to swear in a new Reclaimer. He would expect the Reclaimer to go to him in London.’

  ‘Not this time,’ Mr Hammond said from the armchair.

  Helen, seated on the opposite chair, met Lady Margaret’s searching gaze with as much nonchalance as she could muster. ‘He does not have much faith in a female Reclaimer and Terrene partnership. He intends to test Darby before she is bound to my power.’

  ‘Test her?’ Lady Margaret sent a questioning glance to her brother.

  Mr Hammond nodded. ‘Some new thing he and Sidmouth have concocted between them. A test to be given by himself and a Reclaimer when Lady Helen and Darby are fully trained. Most irregular. A slap in the face if you ask me.’

  ‘Is that why Stokes is here?’ Lady Margaret asked. ‘It seems odd that he has been pulled from Norwich with all the Luddite riots up there, especially since Lady Helen and Darby are not yet close to being fully trained. It does not make sense. None of it makes sense.’

  ‘What kind of man is Stokes?’ Helen asked quickly. ‘Is he Pike’s creature?’

  ‘Good heavens, no,’ Lady Margaret said. ‘Stokes is his own man, and a fair one by all accounts. He was in the Army until quite late. His abilities didn’t come to the notice of the Home Office until five or so years ago. I know Lord Carlston considers him both trustworthy and a friend.’

  ‘He seems very obedient to Pike,’ Helen said.

  Lady Margaret shook her head. ‘I doubt it is from any particular devotion. Stokes was a soldier; he follows orders. And Pike has the authority of the Home Secretary to give those orders. He does what Pike says because he must.’

  At the corner of her eye, Helen saw Mr Hammond flinch. As they all must.

  ‘You are right,’ he told his sister. ‘I don’t know if Stokes is here for the test or not, but all in all I think it is a slap in the face for Lady Helen.’

  He was repeating himself, his words over-fast — the sure sign of a guilty conscience. Helen aimed a slanted look at him: End the conversation.

  ‘Pike has probably created the test to irritate his lordship,’ he added abruptly, rising from his chair.

  Lady Margaret tilted her head as she considered the notion, her fingers twirling a long black ringlet arranged over her shoulder. ‘Maybe … he is a vindictive man. Still I am uneasy.’

  ‘I am too,’ Helen said. That, at least, was the truth.

  ‘We are all uneasy,’ Mr Hammond said. ‘That is Pike’s raison d’être: he likes nothing better than to create anxiety.’

  ‘But why did he exclude me from witnessing the oath?’ Lady Margaret asked. ‘I have taken my own vow, and I was present when you took yours.’

  ‘Probably to drive you mad with the wondering of it,’ her brother said. ‘Think no more on it, Margaret. He swore Lady Helen into the club and that is that. Pike and God move in mysterious ways.’ He turned to Helen with a small bow. ‘His lordship wished me to instruct you further on your male gait. Shall we repair to the salon?’

  ‘Of course.’ Helen stood, using the upward motion to scrutinise Lady Margaret’s expression. She saw musing distance in the navy eyes and full lips pressed into a tight line. A mix of distrust and mystification. Had she sensed their lie, or was all her suspicion directed at Pike?

  ‘No, I cannot dismiss it,’ Lady Margaret said, her eyes snapping back to the moment. ‘I think we should send a message to his lordship. He questioned Pike’s presence in Brighton, and now we have an answer for him. Or some kind of answer. I am sure his lordship will make better sense of it than we can. He will want to know that Stokes is here too.’

  ‘By the time a message gets to London, his lordship will have started back,’ Mr Hammond said. ‘It will miss him.’

  ‘No, you are mistaken. If we send a man now, we should catch him.’ His sister gathered up the filmy skirt of her white cambric gown and sat at the secretaire beside the front window. She pulled open the two lacquered cabinet doors. ‘Are we out of paper?’

  ‘No, Margaret, we will not send a message. It is unnecessary.’

  She stopped rifling through the shelves. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Mr Hammond drew himself up to the extent of his small stature. ‘I believe his lordship placed me in charge. For once, Margaret, do as I say.’

  Helen held her breath; she had not heard that note of command in Mr Hammond’s voice before. The brother and sister stared at one another, their chins lifted at exactly the same angle.

  ‘I see,’ Lady Margaret finally said. She turned her back and shut the cabinet doors with a snap.

  ‘Good.’

  Mr Hammond widened his eyes at Helen, jerking his chin towards the door. Yes, it was definitely time to go. She edged past the armchair ready to make her own escape.

  ‘Lady Helen, wait.’ The coldness in Lady Margaret’s voice brought her to a standstill. ‘Do not forget what his lordship said this morning. Space and purpose. It is where your gait fails.’

  ‘Space and purpose,’ Helen repeated, managing to keep the edge from her voice. She nodded a brusque farewell and followed Mr Hammond from the room.

  By silent consensus, Helen and Mr Hammond did not speak until the door of the grand reception sa
lon was firmly shut behind them and they had walked to the far corner of the bare room. The salon was the reason the terrace house had been rented: it ran the length of the whole dwelling, front to back, with a line of side windows that faced a blank brick wall. With the front shutters closed privacy was assured, while the highset windows allowed enough natural light for them to dodge bullwhips and swing ceramic swords well into the summer evenings.

  Mr Hammond rubbed at his forehead. ‘That did not go so well.’

  ‘On the contrary, I think she believed us,’ Helen said. ‘Or at least I think she believes that we think Pike came to hear my oath and inform me of the test.’

  ‘Perhaps. I am not well-practised at keeping secrets from my sister. In fact, it sometimes feels as if we can read the other’s mind. It does not make for successful secret-keeping. The curse of a twin, I suppose.’

  Ah, she had guessed correctly. ‘Is Lady Margaret the elder?’

  He smiled. ‘By half an hour. It is why she thinks she must look after me.’

  ‘Does she know about …?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ He gave an odd, light laugh. ‘Perhaps even before I did.’ He turned his face away and dug his fingernail into a crack in the wall, picking at the plaster. ‘We were barely thirteen. She said it was how I was made. She was never disgusted.’

  Helen heard the query buried within the statement.

  ‘I think …’ she said, then stopped. In truth, she did not know what she thought, or felt. It was not disgust. All of that sentiment was reserved for Pike and his foul coercion, not for this young man who had only ever acted with honour and courage. No, she did not feel disgust. She felt fear. For his very life. ‘I think Lady Margaret is right.’

  He gave a slight nod, his eyes meeting hers in fleeting gratitude. ‘At present Margaret is angry at me, which will divert her from pursuing the Pike matter. But she will return to it. She is like a terrier.’

  ‘It is a good tactic.’

  ‘The fact that I need such a tactic makes me …’ He slammed his palm against the wall, sending a spray of plaster dust into the air. ‘Let us get this task done, Lady Helen.’