To Helen’s relief, Darby did not hesitate. ‘Yes. We are agreed.’
A little later, as Helen descended the stairs to breakfast in the morning room, a sharp voice rose from the foyer — ‘You are both going to London?’ — the protest quickly dropping into a vicious whisper. Helen stopped, hand on banister. She should not listen, of course; had she not admonished Delia for eavesdropping? Yet this was clearly about Lord Carlston and Lowry. Shaking off a creep of shame across her shoulders, she concentrated her Reclaimer hearing down the two flights.
‘But why does he insist on going as well?’ Lady Margaret’s lowered voice demanded. ‘He is needed here, to train Lady Helen.’
‘I have argued the point over and over with him, Margaret,’ Mr Hammond said.
Helen tightened her grip on the polished wood. That was a lie; she could hear it in the fast rhythm of Hammond’s heart. He must have persuaded Lord Carlston that London held the key to Lowry’s whereabouts. Thank heavens his sister could not hear the quick beat of his deception.
‘He is adamant that his contacts in London will prove more fruitful than my own,’ Hammond added.
‘I suppose they might,’ Margaret conceded, ‘but you are more than capable of tracking down Lowry. His lordship has said himself that Lady Helen’s training must be our focus, and yet here he is leaving us for at least another two or three days. You have seen yourself how far she is from being ready for any real field experience.’
Helen drew in a sharp breath. Yet could she really argue with that assessment?
‘He has told Quinn to stay here and continue Lady Helen’s combat training,’ Mr Hammond said.
‘What?’ Lady Margaret’s dismay cut through the air. ‘He is going to leave his Terrene behind?’
‘I know.’
Helen heard the floorboards creak: Lady Margaret pacing a few steps.
‘These are not sound decisions, Michael.’ The floorboards creaked again. ‘Do you think …’ Her voice hesitated. ‘Is this the vestige clouding his judgment?’
‘No, I think his judgment is right in this matter. We must find Lowry if we are to find the journal. The Comte has made it his price, or at least the information within it, and he is his lordship’s best hope for a cure.’
Silently, Helen agreed.
Lady Margaret made a low sound of distrust. ‘The Comte … I would rather pin our hope on a snake.’
‘Do you see any other way?’
A few heavy moments passed, then Lady Margaret released a frustrated breath. ‘Only Pike, and I know that is exchanging one snake for another.’ An echo of his lordship’s view. ‘When do you leave?’
‘Within the hour.’
‘Be careful then.’ Helen heard Margaret kiss her brother’s cheek; a soft benediction. ‘Keep him safe.’
Helen crept back up the stairs. She and Mr Hammond were trying to keep Lord Carlston safe. Trying to keep them all safe. Surely such a noble purpose would cancel out the wickedness of so many lies?
Chapter Sixteen
MONDAY, 13 JULY 1812
Training with Quinn proved to be a dour affair. The usually stolid Islander was furious at his master’s decision to go to London without him, and channelled all of his anger into teaching Helen how to punch and kick with deadly effect. His sessions were long and hard, and his fighting mantra — A still body is an easy target — kept Helen constantly moving, so that by Monday evening, when Andrew was to arrive in Brighton, she felt both bone-tired and certain she had mastered the basics of canne chausson.
They had not received any letter of progress from Lord Carlston or Mr Hammond; nor had Helen had a message from Martha Gunn regarding Lowry. It was perhaps too early to be so concerned — only three days had passed since she had spoken to the dipper — yet Helen could not shake a sense that disaster was snapping at their heels.
It was a feeling that dogged her as she strolled along the Steine’s gravel path arm in arm with Delia and scanned the throng for the Duke of Selburn and Andrew. The gentle walk was lifting her exhaustion, but beneath it lay a nervous energy at the prospect of meeting her brother.
The day had been warm, but the evening was proving less conducive for the evening promenade, the sun slowly descending into a bank of thick cloud and the cooling night breeze prone to gathering itself into capricious salty gusts. Many of the ladies had refused to bow to the weather’s dictates and wore extravagant bonnets and thin silk spencers, the wind catching at straw brims and wrapping muslin skirts around white-stockinged legs. The gentlemen in their heavier evening jackets were faring better, and Helen had a moment of regret that she was once again in her impractical female clothing, even if that included a pretty purple short coat over an olive silk gown, topped by a matching olive beret. Still, the gentlemen were not escaping completely unscathed. A few beaver hats had already left their pomaded moorings and landed on the path, to the hilarity of those around.
Helen could not yet see two tall, fair men amongst the crowd. She had a strong notion that Andrew was going to insist she accompany him back to London the next day, with the sweetener that they could set up house together as she had once proposed. That all felt so long ago now: another life and another Helen. She could not help thinking that Andrew was not going to like this new unbiddable sister and her adamant refusal to accompany him back to that old life.
‘I read in the Advertiser that the Prince Regent is going to keep his birthday in London, but may honour Brighton with a visit later in the Season,’ Delia said. ‘Apparently he is most aggrieved that the troubles with America will keep him from most of his summer sojourn.’
‘It does not seem to have stopped anyone else coming here,’ Helen replied, rising for a moment onto her toes to see over the sea of heads. Still no sign of Andrew or the Duke.
‘Oh, no, it is that Dunwick woman,’ Lady Margaret said from behind them.
Indeed, progressing somewhat gingerly towards them along the centre path were Lady Dunwick, her scandalmonger friend Mrs Albridge and Pug. All three ladies were heavy-eyed, pale and somewhat peevish in expression. It would seem that Brighton’s relentless schedule of delights was already wearing upon them.
Lady Margaret leaned in between Helen and Delia. ‘Have they seen us? Can we cross the road and —’
‘Lady Helen!’ Pug called, her usual volume somewhat subdued.
‘Too late,’ Delia said behind her gloved hand.
The ladies, on meeting, all curtseyed.
‘Foul wind, is it not,’ Pug said. ‘I swear it has something particular against my bonnet.’
If it did, Helen thought, she would not be surprised. The bonnet was a dreadful concoction of pink pearl silk and vibrant blue feathers.
‘Will you walk with me for a while, Lady Helen?’ Pug asked. ‘I have something particular to discuss.’
‘Of course.’ Helen cast an apologetic glance at Delia, who gracefully ceded her position and dropped back to walk with Pug’s mother, Mrs Albridge and Lady Margaret.
Pug linked her arm through Helen’s and pulled her into a brisk walk. ‘I’ve got a head full of wool,’ she declared. She looked up at the wheeling, diving seagulls, their raucous cries piercing the chatter around them and the grinding rumble of carriages along South Parade. ‘I do wish those devilish birds would stop that racket. Mother and I attended the Billings rout last night and ’pon my soul their punch was as rough as Vauxhall’s.’ She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Guess where I have been invited? I shall give you a clue. Dominoes.’
Helen shook her head, only half attending, her attention caught by a fracas ahead. A large brown poodle had issued a challenge to a spotted spaniel, and both dogs, along with their owners, were loudly voicing their opinions.
‘Dominoes and masks,’ Pug urged. A gust of wind bent back the brim of her bonnet. She clapped her hand on it and grabbed at the streaming ribbons.
‘A masquerade?’ Helen ventured.
‘Yes!’ Pug exclaimed. ‘Lady Oliver is holding a costumed masq
uerade ball Tuesday next, the twenty-first. I know you are not well-acquainted with the family, but I wrote to Lady Oliver — she is my cousin, you know — and asked if she would allow me to include you and your friends in the invitation. She has written back and said that she would be delighted to further her acquaintance with you. Mother is grumbling, of course, for she says the Olivers’ estate is halfway back to London and it will not be quite a full moon for the journey, but it will be such fun and I thought we could all go together in one carriage.’
Helen smiled, even though the last thing she needed was a masquerade ball. ‘That is kind of you, but I do not think Lady Ridgewell would agree, particularly since she is not acquainted with the family.’
‘Let Mama talk to her,’ Pug said. ‘She is very persuasive, and besides … oh!’ She wrenched Helen’s arm. ‘Look who is ahead.’
Walking towards them was the elegant figure of the Duke of Selburn, dressed in shades of buff and tobacco and, it seemed, very much alone. Where was Andrew?
Helen scanned the oncoming crowd: a bun-woman offering sweet wares from a basket, a black gentleman in clerical garb with a wide-brimmed hat that flapped in the wind, a sweet little family in a tight cluster, and the rotund owner of the poodle fussing over his outraged dog, but no sign of her brother. Had something happened?
The Duke had not yet seen her, but the long lines of his face held no tension, no bad news. Perhaps Andrew had stopped further back to speak to an acquaintance.
‘What do you want to do?’ Pug whispered. ‘Shall we turn around?’
‘No. I’d like to speak to him.’ Helen squeezed Pug’s arm. ‘I am being contrary, I know. If he should stop, will you make your excuses so that he and I may walk together?’
‘Of course I will, but you know it will set everyone’s tongue wagging again.’ Pug gestured to the assemblage of fashionables. ‘They will have the banns up before you get to the end of the path. Have you changed your mind? Is he renewing his efforts after our rout?’ She cast Helen a sly look. ‘Perhaps prompted by Lord Carlston’s attentions?’
‘Perhaps,’ Helen whispered as the Duke saw them and, smiling, threaded his way to their side of the path.
‘Lady Helen and Lady Elizabeth!’ He bowed. ‘How delightful to meet you again.’
Helen, still arm in arm with Pug, curtseyed alongside her friend.
‘Good evening, Duke,’ she said. ‘I see that you are walking alone this evening.’
He acknowledged the loaded word with a swift glance of reassurance. ‘I am, but if you and Lady Elizabeth will do me the honour of taking my arm, that sad state of affairs can be quickly rectified.’
‘Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace, but I am afraid I must return to my mother,’ Pug said. ‘If you will excuse me.’ She curtseyed again and, with one last widening of her eyes at Helen, left them.
‘A most amenable girl,’ the Duke said, offering his arm.
Helen placed her fingers lightly on his bent elbow, glancing back at her little party a hundred yards or so behind them. Lady Margaret and Delia were questioning Pug, but she was shaking her head. Dear Pug: not one to give up a friend’s secrets. Helen turned her back on them. She would not have much time alone with the Duke. Lady Margaret would soon rid herself of Lady Dunwick and Pug and come to her aid, whether she wanted it or not.
‘Has Andrew been delayed?’ she asked as she and the Duke started along the path.
‘You might say that,’ he replied.
‘What do you mean? Has something happened?’
‘No, I assure you all is well.’
He placed his hand over her own. A passing lady in a feathered turban raised her lorgnette upon its ribbon and observed the unexpected intimacy, whispering a comment to her companion. Helen caught the answering gasp. Old cats. Even so, she shifted her grip. The Duke took the hint and lifted his own hand.
‘So where is he, Your Grace?’
‘Andrew is still in London.’
A reprieve. Yet it was not like her brother to fail a friend.
‘London?’ she prompted.
‘Yes.’
Good Lord, it was like drawing teeth. ‘Why is he still in London?’
An elderly gentleman coming in the opposite direction lifted his cane in greeting. The Duke returned a gracious nod, then said, ‘After Lady Dunwick’s rout, I wrote to your brother and told him not to come to Brighton, after all.’
Helen stared at him. Had she heard that correctly? ‘You told him not to come? Why would you do that?’
‘Because I could see that you did not wish to be pressed into leaving Lady Margaret’s house. I flatter myself that I know you, Lady Helen. If Andrew had come and insisted that you return to London as he had intended, you would have refused. Is that not true?’
‘Yes, but —’
‘I know your brother too. Under normal circumstances, he is the most easygoing of men, but in this matter he is as stubborn as yourself. The two of you would have ended up at grievous loggerheads. So, to avoid any further estrangement between you, I sent a messenger to Andrew with the suggestion that he stay in London and allow you to have your summer in Brighton with Lady Margaret under my protective eye.’
Helen walked in silence, unable to form a coherent thought through the maelstrom of emotion: relief that she would not need to face Andrew, astonishment at what the Duke had done, and dread of Lord Carlston’s reaction if he ever found out. And beneath all that, her own growing sense of anger. Such interference went well beyond propriety. It proclaimed possession.
‘You seem to have a great deal of influence upon my brother,’ she finally managed to say.
‘Yes, I believe Andrew does hold my opinion in high esteem.’ The Duke smiled at her, the expression in his eyes far too tender. ‘And very soon, I intend to offer him my advice as his brother as well as his friend.’
Lud, he was renewing his attentions with alacrity. Helen withdrew her hand from his arm.
‘Your Grace, you have already received my answer to that particular question.’ She stared fiercely at the bank of clouds across the horizon, trying to find the words that would make him abandon his hopes and retreat back into the safety of his own world. ‘We do not have an understanding. I did not ask you to do this. Forgive me, but I cannot thank you for such high-handed intervention. You are not my guardian, and nor is my brother. My uncle is my guardian, and he has offered no objection to my sojourn with Lady Margaret and Mr Hammond.’
He regarded her gravely. ‘As I understand it, your uncle no longer concerns himself in your affairs at all. I merely wanted to be of service to you. To show you that I will always protect you and your interests.’
She shook her head, trying to ignore the hurt that had settled deep in his kind blue eyes. She must stand firm. ‘You take too much upon yourself, Duke. I am in no need of a protector.’
‘You know my thoughts on that matter, and your brother trusts my instincts. He has asked me to watch over you while you are in Brighton and I have given my word to do so.’
Helen drew a frustrated breath. Andrew had, more or less, handed her over to the Duke. It was just like him to duck out of any responsibility.
Selburn reached inside his tan linen coat and drew out a packet tied with a blue ribbon. ‘Andrew sent this back with my messenger: a letter to you; and there is also one from your aunt. I am sure his missive will agree with what I have said.’
She took the offered bundle, seeing her brother’s scrawl across the front. Andrew did not know it, but he had asked his friend to stand against Lord Carlston and the Dark Days Club.
‘Your Grace, please listen to me. I do not want your protection.’
‘I have given my word, Lady Helen. But more than that, I know that you are in need of protection. Whatever you may think, you are not safe. My interest in your welfare and my continued presence will, I believe, be enough to hold Lord Carlston’s designs at bay, whatever they may be. He is not a fool; he will not make any move under such scrutiny.’
They had walked almost the whole length of the western path and were now opposite the Castle Tavern, the handsome dome of the Marine Pavilion just visible beyond. Helen focused on the promenading people ahead, desperate to find some other argument to persuade the Duke from his purpose. It was a useless exercise. She could find nothing that would convince him to break his word to her brother.
It was at that defeated moment that Philip, the Deceiver, walked into view, this time near the opposite corner of Pavilion Parade. Helen gasped. There could be no mistake: it was him. And he had seen her too, insolently tipping his grey beaver hat to her, a sly smile on his freckled face.
She stopped in the middle of the path, uncertain what to do. Run after him? But then the Duke, even now regarding her with concern, would surely follow and she could not place him in the path of a Deceiver. Not to mention the scandal that would rise at the sight of a young lady running through the Steine with the Duke of Selburn in pursuit.
She looked back at Lady Margaret and Delia, but they were caught in an exchange with the decrepit Lady Staves.
She found Philip again. He was heading towards the corner at some speed.
The Duke followed her gaze. ‘Is that an acquaintance?’
She could not let him just walk away. He was their only link to the Colligat and the Grand Deceiver.
She gathered up her skirts, crushing silk and letters into a tight grip, and ran into the oncoming crowd. Startled gasps met her headlong dash, gentlemen pulling ladies out of the way. Suddenly her path was obstructed by two couples who had stopped to converse. She darted to the right, but found no clear route; the rotund man and his hysterical poodle were blocking the way. She darted to the other side. No way there either. There was only one thing for it. Gathering her resolve, she pushed past the ladies.
‘I say, what do you think you are doing?’ one of their male companions called out.
Helen looked back. ‘My apologies!’
‘Lady Helen, wait!’ the Duke called, closing in behind.
She shook her head, waving him away for all the good that it would do. He was going to follow her, come what may. She threaded her way through a party of sober-clad gentlemen, all her attention on Pavilion Parade. Black top hats, Army tricorns and a variety of caps, but no shabby grey beaver. Where was he?
Lady Helen and the Dark Days Pact Page 23