‘Do you think we should tell him about Pike?’
‘Break our oaths?’ He rubbed at his forehead. ‘Dear God, I wish I had more courage, but I do not want to die by the rope, my name loathed by all decent men. If we tell him, it will be treason and we will both be ruined. Besides, if we lead Carlston to the journal, he will take it to the Comte — he thinks it is his only way to a cure.’
‘You do not sound certain of the Comte’s cure.’
‘He is a Deceiver. I do not trust him on principle.’
‘Perhaps we could persuade his lordship just to take the relevant pages for the Comte and give the rest to Pike.’
Even as she said it, she knew Pike would see that as an even greater treason. Not only to break their oath, but to allow part of a Ligatus to fall into the hands of a Deceiver.
‘Do you really think his lordship would agree to that?’ Hammond asked. ‘He will not let Pike have that journal.’
True. And if his lordship knew it was a Ligatus as well, he would be even more set upon keeping it from Pike.
‘Even worse,’ Hammond added, ‘I do not think his lordship would ever be able to forgive us for such a betrayal, especially in his present state. Right now I am not even sure he would not kill us himself.’
‘No! He would never do that.’
Hammond regarded her gravely. ‘I saw Benchley’s deterioration, and his lordship’s decline is happening a great deal faster.’
Helen turned her face away from the brutal assessment. His lordship had thought the speed of his deterioration had not been marked. He was clearly wrong.
The intensity of their conversation was drawing attention from a gentleman on the other side of the room. ‘Laugh,’ she ordered and waved her fan coquettishly, sending warm air across them both. ‘We are under scrutiny.’
Hammond obeyed, dredging up a reasonable facsimile of mirth. ‘What should we do? What is our plan?’
She heard the shift of responsibility in his voice. Sweet heaven, he was looking to her for answers.
‘Why do you think I have a plan?’ she hissed. ‘I have only just found this out myself.’
‘You are the Reclaimer, Lady Helen,’ he said through his ghastly smile. ‘You are Lord Carlston’s equal. You can face Lowry with his extra Terrene strength, and you have the leverage of being one of only seven protectors in this land.’ He stared at her, desperation in his eyes. ‘In the end, Pike may not be able to cast you aside, but I am entirely expendable.’
He was right. Yet she was hardly Lord Carlston’s equal — in courage or experience — nor did she have any leverage other than her current usefulness to Pike. She stared at the floor, trying to calm the frantic darting of her thoughts and review their very limited options. She could see no other viable path than the one they were on.
‘We must go ahead as before,’ she said. ‘Lord Carlston does not know Lowry is from Brighton. While he discovers that fact, it will give us time to find the journal. When we do, the two of us will offer the Comte the pages that he wants. Perhaps we can obtain the information about his lordship’s malady and the Grand Deceiver and still deliver the journal to Pike.’
‘Will the Comte deal with us?’
‘I am not sure, but I hope so. He wants to be sure the information is expunged from the journal. I expect it does not matter who hands it to him.’
Hopefully she would be able to destroy the pages once the Comte had seen them and provided the information about Lord Carlston. Helen nodded, more to fix the feasibility of the plan within herself than with Mr Hammond.
‘When his lordship finds you, can you give him the names of some London associates that will send him in that direction?’ she asked.
Hammond smiled again and nodded, his eyes pained. ‘All this lying to him grieves me more than anything else.’
‘It grieves me too, but it must be done.’
She felt the shame of it sliding like a Thames eel beneath the surface of her fear, waiting to rise as soon as she had a moment of reflection. But she could not let it overcome her now.
Hammond leaned in, as if to share an amusing story. ‘I am a very good liar, Lady Helen. My life has depended upon it many times. Even so, his lordship is a Reclaimer. What if he reads me and sees that I am lying?’
‘It is my fear too. But this illness is creating doubt within him. We must use that.’ She saw the shock widen Hammond’s eyes. ‘I know it is not honourable to use his misfortune, but none of this business has much honour, does it?’
She paused; should she tell him, at least, about Pike’s discovery of Lord Carlston’s illness? No, even that would be too much for him to hold back — it was almost too much for her as well. He would insist on warning Lord Carlston, and that would set disaster into motion: for him, for her, and possibly for the whole Dark Days Club.
She lifted her fan again, hiding the urgency of her next question. ‘Do you agree? Can you do this?’
‘There is no choice, is there?’
‘I must go before he finds you and sees us together.’ She snapped the fan shut and curtseyed, ready to rejoin Delia.
‘Lady Helen.’
She turned back.
‘We will finish this soon,’ Hammond said. It was half statement, half entreaty.
‘We will,’ she said. ‘We must.’
Chapter Fifteen
SATURDAY, 11 JULY 1812
Helen and her companions did not depart the rout until three in the morning. Lady Margaret was on a winning streak and firmly refused to abandon her chair until her opponents were played out and their IOUs collected.
By four o’clock, all of the German Place household had found their beds, but Helen could not sleep. Her mind churned over the horror that was the Ligatus, Pike’s threat against Lord Carlston, and the Comte’s deal, until she felt almost suffocated by her fear, guilt and fraught imaginings. She rose before dawn and sat at the gilt-edged writing desk wrapped in her bedcover, watching the sky turn from inky black into the torrid oranges and pinks of a summer dawn.
Two months ago, her biggest decisions had been about what gown to wear to which assembly or rout, and even those decisions had been moderated by her aunt. Now, her every word and deed had deadly ramifications; and even more frightening, Mr Hammond had begun to look to her for leadership. Every moment of every day she was having to pick her way through lies and secrets to find a pathway over a deadly and muddied morality. And it was never going to end. This was her life now. Right then, in the chill of the morning, she wondered if she might be crushed by so much doubt and responsibility.
She drew the soft edges of the silk cover around her shoulders. Two months ago, if she had been asked where her duty lay, she would have said to her family, to God and country. Now it was not so simple. Her family had abandoned her as much as she had them; and while she had taken the Dark Days Club oath in the name of King and God, she seriously doubted that their representative, Mr Pike, worked on the side of the angels.
Then there was Lord Carlston. Ostensibly he served the same masters, but he was showing himself to be more … unilateral in his actions. Helen nodded at the word; she had read its meaning of singular action in one of her uncle’s journals. Moreover, it was quite possible that his lordship’s actions were coming from a place of … instability. She would not concede it was madness. Not yet. Even so, why did she feel more inclined to offer him her loyalty above all the other claims upon it?
She pressed the back of her hand to her flushed cheek. She had a fair idea of the reason and it was not to her credit. Still, that was not the only reason she felt so guilty. Lord Carlston had finally trusted her enough to tell her the truth about Lady Elise and the extent of the darkness within him, and she was repaying that trust with monumental betrayal.
She arched back her head, stretching out the tense muscles in her neck. Betrayal versus treason: it was a wretched, sickening choice, and she had somehow landed in the middle of the two — on the one hand, lying to Lord Carlston; and on the othe
r, not quite following Pike’s orders. Even so, the slippery path that she and Mr Hammond were treading was the only way forward. At least, the only way she could see that would not end in their execution or Lord Carlston’s assassination.
Helen sighed. And now she must do something else wretched: break Darby’s heart. It was her duty to explain the Dark Days Club’s ban on love. The thought of it made her feel sick with fury — not just on Darby’s behalf, but on her own. It felt as if they had been tricked, which of course was patently untrue. They had both been given the regulations and both taken the oath of their own free will. Nevertheless, the prospect of never having a husband or family was insupportable. Surely she could make a case for their exception.
That, however, would have to wait. Far more urgent was her bond with Darby. She must hasten the preparations for the Reclaimer/Terrene ritual. Only then could she count herself and Darby safe from the doubts of Pike and Lord Sidmouth, and the disgusting ambitions of Lowry.
All too soon Helen heard her maid enter the dressing room from the hallway door, click her tongue in exasperation and murmur under her breath, ‘No fire! Where is that girl?’
Helen closed her eyes, hearing some early morning congestion in Darby’s breath, and the rustle of her gown. She concentrated more closely. It was a stiff brush of new cotton against the carpet, which could only be the hem of her maid’s navy round-gown, made from a dress length last week.
Lord Carlston had told her to practise building a mind-picture of the world through sound and smell and taste in preparation for when she must fight a Deceiver’s invisible energy whips. She had seen him use only those three senses to intercept and sever the deadly whips from a Deceiver’s back, and it had been a marvel to watch. Now that she was trying to do it herself, she understood just how hard it was to put those sensory pieces together into a whole without any reliance upon sight.
She followed the sounds in the dressing room — the weight of Darby’s tread upon the carpet, the swish of her gown, the direction of her soft breath — and built a sense of size and mass in motion. She smelled the air, working her way through old hearth smoke and powder to find the newer scent of soap on warm skin. Slowly in her mind the smell resolved into the rounded planes of Darby’s arms, throat and face as she opened a drawer.
Now taste. Helen licked her lips. Nothing. She stuck out her tongue. No, not a thing. What on earth did Lord Carlston mean by taste?
She opened her eyes, the simulacrum slipping away. It was time to face the real woman and break her heart.
‘Darby,’ she called.
Her maid appeared at the doorway, in the navy gown. Helen allowed herself a moment of congratulation.
‘My lady, I did not know you were awake.’ She took in Helen’s wrapped figure. ‘Are you chilled? Sally should have set the fires by now. If you get back into bed, I shall bring you a warming pan and tell her to do your room first.’
‘No, I am perfectly comfortable, thank you.’ She waved Darby into the room. ‘There is something we must discuss.’
Obediently, her maid approached.
‘So …’ Helen cleared her throat. ‘I cannot help but notice … I mean, it is rather obvious … that you and Mr Quinn have become quite close.’
Darby regarded her steadily. ‘Yes, my lady.’
‘May I inquire how close?’
Darby drew back her shoulders. ‘Mr Quinn has spoken of love, my lady, and I return his regard.’
Quinn had spoken of love — it was tantamount to a promise of marriage. It was worse than she had imagined. Helen pressed her lips together, wishing she did not have to say the next. This, however, was her duty as a Reclaimer.
‘Darby, are you aware that the oath we took does not allow such an attachment?’
Darby’s gaze did not waver. ‘Of course, my lady.’
‘Oh …’ Helen floundered. ‘You know?’
‘Mr Quinn made sure I was well aware of the meaning of the oath before I swore to it.’
‘I see.’ Helen nodded. More than Lord Carlston had done. ‘Very comprehensive of him.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Darby smiled, and it was heart-achingly tender. ‘He is a very good man.’
‘Quite.’ Helen rubbed her forehead. ‘So, although you know you cannot be together, you have still declared your love for one another?’
‘The oath does not change the fact of our love, my lady. But we both know we cannot wed or truly be together, not if we wish to do our duty.’
‘And you still wish to do that duty?’ Helen asked quickly. ‘With me?’
‘Yes, of course, my lady. Nothing has changed there.’
Although she knew it must pain Darby, Helen could not help feeling relieved.
‘In the end,’ Darby continued, ‘my situation with Mr Quinn is not so different from any other servant’s. Except our duty lies not with just one mistress or master, but with all mankind.’
‘But what are you going to do with your love for one another?’ Helen asked. ‘How will you exist knowing that he is there, but you cannot be with him?’
‘That, I do not know.’ Darby bit her lip. ‘I would ask you the same question, my lady.’
Helen stared at her maid. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Lord Carlston,’ Darby said bluntly. ‘Forgive me, but you are in the same situation, are you not?’
Helen opened her mouth to deny the statement, then shut it again. Darby was right. Well, not exactly right, but close enough to the truth.
‘You love him,’ Darby pressed. ‘I have seen it as plain as you have seen my regard for Mr Quinn. What will you do with your love, my lady?’
Helen shifted on the chair. How had this come to be about herself and Lord Carlston?
‘I have resolved to ignore my feelings for his lordship,’ she said. ‘He has made it clear that attachments are not possible for Reclaimers or Terrenes.’
Darby regarded her with a slight frown. Scepticism. ‘Do you think that will work?’
‘It must. He did offer me an alternative.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice, glad to finally unburden herself of the disquieting advice. ‘You will be shocked, as I was. His lordship said that I was no longer living a woman’s life and suggested I seek to “assuage my needs” as the male Reclaimers do.’
Darby’s eyes widened. ‘Did he really?’
‘He did.’
She shook her head. ‘Forgive me, my lady, but his lordship is wrong. You are a woman. You cannot live a man’s life.’
Helen nodded; she had known Darby would understand. ‘I think he would rather I did. I am sure he would prefer that I were a man. It would make things easier.’
‘May I speak plainly, my lady?’
‘Of course.’
‘I do not think his lordship, like most men, can look beyond his own idea of a woman’s life,’ Darby said carefully. ‘Indeed, I think that everyone is of the belief that a woman’s world is always lesser and smaller than a man’s. Perhaps they are right. It is what the Church teaches us, after all. But you, my lady, cannot abide by that belief. You must live the kind of woman’s life that has never been lived before. As must I.’
Helen frowned. Darby’s plain speaking was dangerously close to heretical. ‘Are you saying we should abandon the Church?’
Darby raised a hand, warding off the suggestion. ‘No, my lady, of course not. But it cannot be denied that you are twice as strong as most men and have been called on to police a demon world. When I bond with you, I will be stronger than most men too, and I will be your last line of defence. Every day we will be facing danger and death, and just by that fact we cannot be bound by the normal rules of womanhood. We cannot defer when we must act. We cannot follow when we must lead. We must make our own rules.’
‘But we cannot just make up our own rules,’ Helen protested. ‘We are not God, or Parliament.’
‘I know what the Reclaimer oath asks of you, my lady,’ Darby said softly. ‘I know what it asks of me. They are duties that do not s
it well with the expectations of us as women. Or indeed what is expected of us as mistress and servant.’
Helen gave an unsettled laugh. Her maid’s startling eloquence held a relentless logic and truth. Yet it felt as if Darby had placed another weight upon her shoulders that would make every step on that slippery, muddy path towards right even more treacherous and unsteady.
‘Have you been reading A Vindication of the Rights of Woman?’ she asked lightly, trying to shift the discussion to a less personal direction. ‘Is this a revolution?’
Darby smiled, but she was not diverted. ‘No, my lady. This comes from the fact that I may have to stab you through the hand to bring you back from the Deceiver thrall. And the fact that you may have to kill an offspring, a human, who cannot be reclaimed.’
Yes, Darby was right; it was always going to be personal. Helen looked down at her hands, an image of Mr Lowry’s fleshy veined face forcing its way into her mind.
‘There is no one else in this world that I would trust to bring me back from the thrall.’ She looked up, intent. ‘Do you trust me, Darby?’
‘Absolutely, my lady.’
‘I am glad you are so sure, because I am going to ask you to bond with me as soon as possible. In the next week, if we can.’
‘But his lordship and Mr Quinn said we are not ready.’
‘We must bond, Darby, even without their blessing. I cannot tell you why — I promise I will soon — but it is important that our bond is a fait accompli. Do you think you can learn the ritual from Mr Quinn without him suspecting that we plan to go ahead?’
Darby nodded, although Helen could see the reluctance in her eyes. ‘Mr Quinn says it should be done during a full moon. The next is just under two weeks away, on the twenty-fourth. Should we not wait until then?’
The date that Lowry had nominated.
‘No. We must bond as soon as we have the ritual prepared.’ She stood and threw off the bedcover, taking Darby’s warm hands in her own. ‘I know it is not what is expected, but you said we must make our own rules. Will you do this with me? Are we agreed?’
Lady Helen and the Dark Days Pact Page 22