He stopped by the two large Chinoiserie urns set against the wall and crossed his arms. ‘It is not my decision.’
Helen paused. Of course, he had a hierarchy to consider. ‘You mean the Home Office must agree?’
He shook his head. ‘She has been cleared by the Tracers. It is now your decision.’
Her decision? Helen frowned. ‘But I have only just joined. I have barely begun my training.’
‘Nevertheless, you have created a breach that may threaten the organisation. Miss Cransdon must either be brought into the fold or her silence guaranteed. If she is to stay, you must take her as one of your aides.’
‘Yes,’ Helen said promptly. ‘Of course I want her to stay. She cannot go home to —’
He held up his hand, stopping her mid-sentence. ‘Do not base your decision upon pity or friendship, Lady Helen. You are a Reclaimer now; you must think strategically. If you take Miss Cransdon as an aide, you will be responsible for her from that moment onwards: for her safety, her training and, because of her circumstances, her upkeep. You will be placing her in mortal peril for the rest of her life, and you will be held accountable by the Dark Days Club for her actions. Do you understand?’ His voice was implacable. ‘Do you even know if Miss Cransdon would want to take on such a dangerous role? Is she strong enough in both mind and body for such service? Can you be assured that she will be committed and useful to you and the Dark Days Club?’
Helen hesitated. How could she guarantee any of those things? Moreover, could she really ask Delia to shoulder such responsibility and danger?
‘What if I decided she was not suitable?’
The severity in his face softened a little. Almost sympathy, Helen thought, but not quite.
‘You and I are here to protect mankind from the Deceivers, Lady Helen. That is what you swore to do in the presence of Mr Pike, Mr Stokes and Mr Hammond. Sometimes we must make hard decisions for the good of mankind rather than the good of just one man or woman.’
‘But what would happen to Delia? Surely you would not dispatch her. An innocent girl.’
He frowned. ‘Of course not. She would be sent back to her parents. I suspect that their decision to incarcerate her would be expedited by the Home Office. Pike is very good at managing the concealment of the Dark Days Club.’
‘They would have her labelled a madwoman and locked away? That is despicable.’
‘So you would rather she was killed?’
She bristled at his sarcasm. ‘The high-handedness of it is reprehensible. This is a young woman’s life.’
‘It is, and you must take responsibility for your part in Miss Cransdon’s unfortunate situation.’ His face was stern again. ‘It is your own foolish actions that have caused it.’
‘My foolish actions?’
‘Your womanish need to comfort and pacify.’
In four outraged strides she was across the room and standing a step too close to him. Courtesy be hanged! ‘Womanish need? All I did was write a letter to reassure a friend that she was not mad.’
‘No, you wrote a letter that acknowledged the existence of the Deceivers.’ He jabbed the air with his forefinger. ‘You did it knowing full well that it was a stupid thing to do.’
Deep down she knew he was right. But his manner was obnoxious.
‘How can I know anything full well when you keep so much important information to yourself? I must always be guessing!’
He leaned forward, his face hard. ‘Perhaps if you used the intelligence that God gave you instead of relying upon sentimental impulses, I would trust you with more information.’
She drew in a furious breath. ‘It was my sentimental impulses that saved your life. By your logic I should have left you to die!’
Their angry eyes locked. The raw connection was no more than a second, but it blazed with pulsing heat. Helen felt herself sway forward. Dear heaven, it was as if a force were driving her towards him.
She saw the shock in his face too. Heard the sharp intake of breath as if he had been struck. He reached for her, his hand so close to cupping her cheek. But no; he turned on his heel and strode to the door.
‘Make your decision,’ he snapped over his shoulder.
Before she could gather breath to answer him, he was gone.
She stared at the closed door, hand pressed to her chest. Now she understood. He had not been circling her at all. He had been keeping his distance.
He left the house at once, not even stopping to take his leave from Lady Margaret and Mr Hammond. Helen, left alone in the drawing room, listened to his progress out of the front door and as far along the street as her Reclaimer hearing could reach. Even then, she stood for a few minutes more, trying to calm the pulse that drummed through her body to the ends of her fingers and toes.
At last composed, she ventured downstairs to find Delia and end her friend’s agonising wait. To Helen’s mind, there was no decision to be made. Delia could not be sent back to her parents or exposed to the malignant intentions of the Home Office; such ruthlessness was inconceivable. That left only one path: to tell her about the Deceivers and persuade her to join the Dark Days Club.
It was this last part that caused Helen some anxiety as she made her way to the morning room where her friend, Lady Margaret and Mr Hammond had retreated. What if Delia quailed at the idea of such a dangerous life?
She need not have worried. Although shocked, Delia neither flinched at the revelation that her suitor had been an otherwordly creature living in a stolen body, nor did she shrink from the invitation to step into a life that held as much peril as it did purpose.
‘You wish me to be your aide?’ Delia sat forward in her chair, both hands grasping the edge of the table that held one of Mr Wedgwood’s new fine china tea sets and an untouched fruit cake. ‘You want me?’
Helen stopped pacing and caught sight of herself in the large mirror that graced the gaily painted yellow wall behind her friend. She looked almost as pale as Delia, the shock of her encounter with Lord Carlston still etched into her face. She averted her eyes from her pinched reflection and returned to her seat.
‘Yes. Just as Mr Hammond and Lady Margaret are aides to Lord Carlston.’
Across the table, Mr Hammond put down his delicately gilded teacup. Both he and Lady Margaret were frowning; clearly they had not expected this outcome.
‘You must think very carefully upon this, Miss Cransdon,’ he said. ‘It is a decision that will affect your entire life.’
‘I will, sir. I think I —’
‘Lady Helen,’ Lady Margaret interrupted. ‘Are you certain Lord Carlston approves of this … addition?’ A sideways glance at Delia punctuated her disapproval.
Helen clenched her teeth over a sharp retort. She had already twice confirmed his lordship’s knowledge of the matter. Still, she should not snap at Lady Margaret. The woman was providing her with a home and all earthly comforts until Helen’s brother made good on his promise of an allowance. Such largesse at least deserved gratitude and civility.
Gathering all the pleasantness she could muster, Helen said, ‘His lordship made it very clear it was my decision, Lady Margaret.’
‘It stands to reason, my dear,’ Mr Hammond said to his sister. ‘Lady Helen is now a sworn Reclaimer. She must have her own aides.’
‘She has had little more than a month’s training. How can she be responsible for an aide when she is barely responsible for herself? She is not ready.’
Although it had been her own concern, Helen bristled. ‘On the contrary, since his lordship has placed this in my hands, he must feel I am ready.’
‘Really?’ Lady Margaret picked up the elegantly curved teapot and poured herself another cup, the precise action full of disdain. ‘More likely he is testing you to see which way you go.’ She replaced the pot with a sharp click on the polished tabletop. ‘And you are patently going the wrong way.’
‘Is that so?’ Helen said. Gratitude could only stretch so far. ‘Am I to gather that you know h
is lordship’s mind better than he does?’
‘Well, I certainly know that he —’
‘Mr Hammond, please tell me your duties,’ Delia said, the force and volume of her interruption swinging all attention to her. ‘So that I may make a proper decision. Do you and your sister fight the creatures too?’
Her eyes cut to Helen in a moment of solidarity. It seemed her friend was already in the business of peacemaking.
‘No,’ Mr Hammond said, regarding Delia with new respect. ‘We help Lord Carlston in other matters, but we do not fight the Deceivers. When that is required, it is the duty of a Reclaimer. Most Deceivers live according to the Compact. It is only those who break the pact that are hunted.’
Delia frowned. ‘The Compact?’
‘Perhaps you will answer this for Miss Cransdon, Margaret?’ Mr Hammond smiled coaxingly at his sister.
She crossed her arms. ‘We should not be sharing information like this with someone who is not yet sworn to keep her silence.’
‘Delia needs to know what she will be facing,’ Helen said, abandoning all attempt to keep the sharpness from her tone. ‘Surely you were told about the Deceivers before you took your oath.’
‘Naturally we were,’ Mr Hammond said, sending a stern glance at his sister. ‘Margaret, please!’
With a sniff of reluctance, Lady Margaret turned to Delia. ‘The Compact is our agreement with the Deceivers. It allows the creatures to feed upon human energy by skimming a tiny amount from many people. It is not their preferred way of feeding, of course; they would much rather glut upon the energy of one person at a time. That, however, is forbidden. Glutting, you see, almost always kills the victim, and the influx of their life force allows the creatures to build the energy whips that they use as weapons.’
‘Oh, my,’ Delia breathed. ‘Stolen bodies, energy whips, feeding upon human energy. It is all so,’ her shoulders twitched, ‘Gothic.’
Helen shifted on her seat. ‘It is not like a novel, Delia. Real people get hurt and killed.’
‘Of course,’ Delia said. ‘I did not mean to sound flippant.’
‘The creatures are not visible to our eye, so it is hard to believe at first,’ Mr Hammond said kindly. ‘Part of the Compact requires them to maintain their anonymity. There are too many of them to destroy and so we must live alongside them. We cannot, however, have their existence known to the general populace. The panic would rip apart society. We must maintain stability, especially in a time of war. Our country cannot fight both the French and the Deceivers.’
Delia nodded gravely. ‘How many of them are there?’
Helen glanced at Mr Hammond. This was the number that had shocked her so thoroughly.
‘At least ten thousand in England alone,’ he said.
Helen watched her friend’s face. Delia had always been phlegmatic, but her calm acceptance of the Deceivers so far seemed remarkable. Perhaps she did not truly understand the magnitude of what they faced.
‘That is one Deceiver in every one thousand people,’ Helen added. ‘And probably as many in every other country.’
Delia’s mouth formed a soundless oh. ‘That many,’ she said faintly.
There it was: the horrible realisation. Helen still felt it herself.
‘Most of them congregate in the towns and cities,’ she said, ‘places with the highest concentrations of human energy. Many will follow the beau monde here for the summer Season. Some will even be people with whom you converse and dance.’
Delia flinched. ‘Yes, of course, like Mr Trent,’ she said, her attention suddenly fixed upon her teacup.
Helen felt a flick of guilt. It was perhaps unkind to drive home the idea that anyone could be a Deceiver, particularly after Delia’s experience with her false suitor. Still, it was better that she should know the full extent of the matter.
Mr Hammond broke the uncomfortable silence. ‘There are some that have even worked their way into high positions. It seems Deceivers cannot breed with their own kind to create Deceiver offspring. Instead, the creatures breed with humans to produce human offspring. At the time of conception, a spark of the parent Deceiver’s own energy, called a vestige, is planted within the human child. When the parent Deceiver’s inhabited human body eventually dies — as all human bodies must die — it uses that vestige as a pathway to colonise the body of one of its human children, thus surviving from generation to generation. Some have used those centuries to build large fortunes and strongholds of power in the upper echelons of society.’
That brought Delia’s eyes up from her cup. ‘Who do you mean? How high up in society? The Royal family?’
‘The Royal family are as human as you and I,’ Lady Margaret said. She bent a fierce frown towards her brother. ‘Really, Michael. These are secret matters.’
Delia turned to Helen. ‘What happens to the offspring child already inhabiting the body?’
‘The Deceiver destroys the child. Mind and soul.’
‘Heaven forfend.’ Delia closed her eyes for a horrified moment. ‘Where did these creatures come from?’
‘No one is certain. Some of the old writings say they are from Hell itself. Others say they are made from the yearnings of humanity, or are the angry spirits of the dearly departed.’
‘What do you think they are?’ Delia asked.
Helen shook her head. ‘I cannot rightly say. We do know there are at least four kinds of Deceiver.’ She counted each off on a finger. ‘The Hedons who seek out the energy of creativity, the Pavors who thrive on pain and anguish, the Cruors who follow bloodlust and battle, and the Luxures who seek …’
She paused, feeling her skin heat. What was she doing dragging her friend into such a sordid, dangerous world?
‘Who seek sexual pleasure,’ Mr Hammond finished, his voice carefully flat. ‘And do not forget the fifth and worst kind: the Grand Deceiver.’
Delia sat up straighter. ‘That sounds rather ominous.’
Lady Margaret made a warning noise deep in her throat. ‘Does she really need to know about the Grand Deceiver at this point?’
‘I think she does,’ Helen said. ‘It is a rare, special kind of Deceiver, Delia. It has more power, more cunning and the ability to draw all of the other Deceivers into an army.’
At the corner of her eye, she saw Lady Margaret’s mouth purse.
‘If you are going to tell her about it, Lady Helen, you should at least give her some context. Usually Deceivers do not band together, Miss Cransdon; they are territorial. It is why we are able to police them with so few Reclaimers. A Grand Deceiver, however, has the power to bring them together.’
‘Is bringing them together,’ Mr Hammond said grimly. ‘It is possible that Napoleon is one, and now we believe there is one in England too. It has been proven that some of the Deceivers are working together, and Lord Carlston is convinced it is a sign that a Grand Deceiver is amongst us.’ He gestured to Helen. ‘Another sign is the emergence of a Reclaimer who is a direct inheritor.’
‘My mother was a Reclaimer too,’ Helen explained to her friend. ‘It is not supposed to be an inherited gift, and yet here I am, with Reclaimer powers.’
Delia gaped at her. ‘You have powers?’
‘As a direct inheritor, she has more powers than a normal Reclaimer,’ Mr Hammond said.
‘That remains to be seen,’ Helen said.
She felt a sudden need to downplay her abilities. Everyone was expecting so much from her heritage. What if she could not even control the powers she had?
‘Lady Helen has uncanny speed, sharpened senses and near twice the strength of a normal man,’ Mr Hammond supplied. ‘Not to mention the ability to heal at a great rate — a boon that the Deceivers do not have.’
‘She will need all that, and more, if we are to find and defeat the Grand Deceiver,’ Lady Margaret said.
‘We will find him,’ Mr Hammond said firmly. ‘And Lord Carlston is convinced Lady Helen will exhibit more powers.’
‘You aim to defeat this creat
ure, Helen?’ Delia shook her head as if trying to clear a way through so much wonder. ‘I cannot conceive of the kind of power that would do so. Will you show me?’
Helen hesitated. It was all well and good to talk of Reclaimers and Deceivers, but once Delia saw what she could do, she knew her friend would never look at her in the same way. She already felt like one of Sir Joseph Banks’s specimens under a magnifying glass. Yet Delia had to see the truth.
She rose from her chair and walked to the side bureau. It was small but made of heavy oak; at least eighty pounds or so in weight. Lifting it would probably suffice as a show of strength. She swung around to scan the rest of the furniture. Perhaps the striped silk armchair near the window would be a better demonstration. Not only heavy, but large as well.
Mr Hammond rose from his chair. ‘Why don’t you lift me?’
Lady Margaret placed her hand on his arm. ‘Do not be ridiculous, Michael.’
‘No, I cannot,’ Helen said, for once finding herself in agreement with her chaperone. ‘What if I were to harm you?’
‘I am sure you will take care. It will be good practice: if you are to fight the creatures, you must get used to such bodily contact. I insist. Come, let us move away from the table to be safe.’
He strode to the other end of the room and pushed one of the armchairs to one side.
Helen followed. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I am.’ He waved her closer. ‘Come, you cannot lift me from two feet away.’
She stepped in front of him, hands hovering, not quite sure exactly where to take hold.
He patted his chest. ‘Do take care with my cravat, it is one of my best efforts.’
She nodded earnestly, then saw the crinkles around his eyes. He was joking. With a smile, she grasped the front of his waistcoat and shirt. The action pulled him closer. As she gathered the layers of blue silk and snowy linen into one fist, he turned his head, his mouth almost against her ear, and murmured, ‘I found Lowry.’
Helen stiffened. So this was why he had wanted to go to the other side of the room: to deliver his message.
The Dark Days Pact Page 9