The Dark Days Pact

by Alison Goodman

  ‘Surely it can still be done without the full moon?’ Helen persisted.

  ‘It can, but the exchange of strength is not as complete,’ Carlston said. ‘I want Darby to have the best chance of a complete bond.’

  ‘Aye,’ Mr Quinn agreed. ‘And Miss Darby still has a way to go. She’ll need to have me down and tied before I let her go out into the world as your Terrene.’

  Helen bit down on her disappointment. There would be no gain in arguing the point; she did not want them to mark her desperation.

  ‘Is that a usual method for subduing a Reclaimer, Mr Quinn?’ she asked instead, only half teasing. After all, she had seen him stab Lord Carlston.

  The big man’s slow smile appeared. ‘No, my lady. Just between me and Miss Darby.’

  ‘Nathaniel!’ Darby’s fair skin flushed. ‘Don’t mind him, my lady. His blood’s up is all.’

  ‘Quite,’ Carlston said. ‘I think it is time for both of you to take some air.’

  Quinn ducked his head, smile still in place. ‘As you wish, my lord.’

  ‘Were you able to complete your errand?’ Helen asked Darby as she prepared to leave.

  ‘Yes, my lady. Two days hence.’ She met Helen’s eyes for an eloquent moment, then curtseyed and took Quinn’s offered arm.

  Helen nodded. Martha Gunn had agreed to see her on Friday. The first part of her plan was in motion.

  His lordship watched the door close behind the two servants, the nail of his forefinger flicking hard against his thumb. He had clearly not realised the extent of Quinn’s and Darby’s affection for one another and it troubled him. Well, it troubled her too. Perhaps here was the opportunity to use Delia’s ill-gotten information.

  ‘I believe Mr Quinn and Darby are well on their way to a deep attachment,’ she said carefully.

  ‘I had not realised it had gone so far.’ He picked up the paper, looked at it distractedly for a moment, then tossed it back onto the table. ‘Fool. He should know better.’

  ‘Know better?’

  ‘He saw what I went through after my wife disappeared. I should have thought that by itself would have been an adequate deterrent.’ He glanced at her, the jut of his chin a challenge. ‘No doubt you have heard some version of the story.’

  ‘I have heard a number of versions.’

  ‘None to my advantage, I would wager,’ he said bitterly. ‘I did not kill my wife, Lady Helen, if that is what you are wondering. She disappeared, and from that day onwards I have been under suspicion. Do you know how that feels?’

  ‘My parents disappeared too, Lord Carlston. I know, at least, how that feels.’ She paused, remembering the overwhelming pain of those childhood days and the never-ending echo of it still tolling through her. ‘The helpless agony of not knowing what happened.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, helpless agony. You do understand.’

  For a moment they were both silent.

  ‘Elise and I were at my seat in Carlston for Michaelmas,’ he said abruptly. ‘I had gone to visit a neighbour about a trifling matter. On my return home I found …’ He stopped, lower teeth clamping for a moment upon his upper lip. ‘A large amount of blood in Elise’s dressing room. Even then I had seen enough death to know the volume would have been almost the full complement of a human body. It was also still warm. Whatever had happened had occurred only minutes before. If I had returned just a little earlier, I would have …’ He stopped and flexed his shoulders, as if pushing past the guilt. ‘To this day I do not know what actually happened in that room. Foolishly, I picked up the knife lying in the blood and raised the alarm. I had everyone searching the estate, but we found nothing — neither Elise nor a perpetrator. Eventually, as the investigation fruitlessly continued, all eyes inevitably turned to me. That suspicion was compounded by one of the maids who claimed she saw me coming from the room with the knife. Which, of course, she did. I never found Elise or any trace of the other person involved. I searched England, and then, when the rumours turned into accusations, I was ordered to go the Continent. So I took my search there, just in case she had somehow survived.’

  Helen realised her hand was pressed over her mouth. She pulled it away. ‘You thought she might still be alive?’

  ‘No, I don’t think I did, but it is hard to give up hope, isn’t it? Almost as hard as having it.’ He rubbed his forehead as if the pain of that hope still lingered. ‘I suppose I knew even then she could not be alive. Not with all that blood.’

  ‘But why would someone murder a woman and carry her body away so that there was no trace?’

  ‘Indeed. I could think of only one organisation that could do that so efficiently. Which has done so in many cases before, and continues to do so.’

  Helen stared at him. ‘Are you saying the Dark Days Club killed your wife?’

  ‘No. After the events at your ball, I now think Benchley killed my wife and the Home Office cleaned up after him, as they did the Ratcliffe Highway murders. I will never know if that was truly the case, but it is my belief.’

  ‘Why would he kill your wife?’

  ‘I did not know it at the time, but his paranoia was extreme even then. Six years had passed since he had dumped his darkness into your mother and I believe he had tipped once again into vestige madness. I think he believed Elise was a Deceiver. Sir Jonathan, our Tracer, has told me that Benchley had in fact requested a Trace upon Elise.’

  ‘If you believe the Home Office cleaned up after him, how can you bear to work within that organisation?’

  ‘I gave my oath, Lady Helen. Besides, I have no proof, and if I abandon the Dark Days Club, I will never have a chance to find out the truth.’

  Would that proof be in the journal, alongside her own answers about the death of her parents? Yet she could not even hint at that possibility.

  ‘This oath expects a lot from us,’ she said.

  ‘It does, and one of those expectations is that we do not become attached. Quinn knows it is against the rules, as I am sure Darby does too. They must put an end to it.’

  Helen stared at him. Had she heard right? ‘What do you mean, against the rules? Are you saying the oath actually forbids them to fall in love?’

  ‘Surely you are aware of the oath that you swore? Attachments in the Dark Days Club are forbidden, Lady Helen. We are an army, albeit a very small one. We cannot afford to be compromised by tender emotions.’

  Helen crossed her arms. ‘My mother and father loved each other, and they were both members of the Dark Days Club.’

  ‘Indeed, it was their tragedy, and my own, that forced the rule against attachments into existence. Pike instituted the ban, and it is not his worst decision.’

  ‘Does it apply to everyone?’

  ‘Not everyone. Just Reclaimers and Terrenes.’

  She had a horrifying sense of a trap closing; one that she had stepped into willingly. ‘Even with someone outside the order?’

  ‘Even outside.’ He looked at her sideways. ‘Even Dukes.’

  She ignored the jibe. ‘Banning love and marriage is absurd,’ she said hotly. ‘How does the Home Office plan to enforce such a rule?’

  ‘It is not up to the Home Office to enforce it. We must control ourselves.’

  ‘You may find it easy to expel all emotion, but I do not want to live like that, and I am sure Darby —’

  She stopped. He was looking at her with such an odd expression upon his face.

  ‘Easy? You think that I do not feel anything?’ For just a second the guard within his dark eyes dropped away and she saw what lay behind: a silent howl of pain and guilt and, clawing through it all, desire for her. Savage and intense.

  He turned from her shock and took a few steps away, placing some space between them. ‘There is nothing easy about putting one’s duty above all else, in any way, but we have sworn to protect our country. Self-gratification is not part of our oath.’

  She drew in a shaking breath. He still felt it too, that wild pull towards each other. Yet he was sayin
g they must control it.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I do not think Darby knew she was swearing to forgo love and a husband and children.’

  ‘I acknowledge that I am subject to its rule,’ he recited, turning to face her again. ‘That I serve at the King’s pleasure, and that I will never, by deed or word, place the Dark Days Club in jeopardy.’

  ‘I see.’ Helen looked down at her hands. She had laced her fingers without even knowing, the knuckles aching and white. ‘Deed or word. It is a very wide definition.’

  ‘It is in the regulations as well.’

  Ah, yes, the rules and regulations. She had tried to read through them all, but had been defeated by the endless paragraphs of tortuous legal language. Clearly she had missed some very important clauses. And poor Darby, who had her letters but did not read with any ease, would have had little chance of understanding the ramifications.

  Carlston frowned. ‘In truth, I had not expected Pike to come to Brighton to swear you in — I had thought to give you more time to consider the gravity of that final step. Even so, Pike should have asked if you fully comprehended what you were undertaking before you took the oath. Did he not?’

  Helen closed her eyes. Yes, he had asked, and she had reassured him — no, she had coldly told him — that she knew exactly what she was doing. Pike’s manner had brought out all her prideful contrariness. Darby too had been asked the same question by Lady Margaret, and had given all reassurances that she understood. This time she could not lay the fault of her ignorance at his lordship’s feet. This had been her own failing.

  ‘Pike did his duty.’ She opened her eyes, rallying. ‘Nevertheless, it is a ridiculous and unfair rule. You are saying that we must live without the consolation of creating our own families. Without love and intimacy. Without tenderness.’

  ‘I am not saying it is fair. Plainly, it is not. But you must understand that the rule was writ for men, not women. Reclaimers and Terrenes are men. Usually.’ He rubbed at his temple. ‘Forgive me for being blunt, but there are ways for men to assuage their needs without emotional attachment.’

  What was he saying … assuage their needs? An instant later, his meaning burst upon her. He meant lovers. Or worse, harlots.

  ‘That is hardly an avenue that Darby or I can take!’ she said.

  ‘I am aware —’ He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut, his fist clenching. It was not in reaction to her words; something was wrong with him.

  ‘Lord Carlston, are you unwell?’

  He opened his eyes, clearly trying to focus. ‘No, I am perfectly well.’ Drawing a careful breath, he added, ‘Perhaps you should consider that you are no longer living a woman’s life. That those ties that bind normal women no longer apply. You are young; it would indeed be cruel to sentence you to a life without intimacy. Perhaps your needs … I mean your …’ He cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps they could be met in a less formal manner.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ She felt her skin heat. ‘Are you advising me to take a lov—’ She stumbled over the idea. ‘To follow Lady Caroline Lamb’s example?’

  ‘Perhaps not so indiscreetly as Caro.’ His voice hardened. ‘And I advise you do not go in Selburn’s direction.’

  She held up her hands; the subject had to stop. ‘I am not going in anyone’s direction.’

  He gave a short nod. ‘Perhaps that is for the best. Even such loveless attachments bring their problems.’

  ‘Lord Carlston, please stop!’

  ‘I have shocked you.’ He gave a small bow. ‘My apologies. Even so, the ban still stands. I will speak to Quinn. You must speak to Darby. Make it clear that it can go no further.’

  ‘No, I do not want to have such a conversation. This rule is unfair and cruel.’

  Admittedly the refusal was somewhat ironic, since she did not want Darby to abandon her for Quinn. Nevertheless, she could not break Darby’s heart.

  She braced for his lordship’s anger. It did not come. Instead, he sighed and dug his fingertips into his brow as if they could burrow right through to the bone.

  ‘I too am not looking forward to the conversation. Quinn deserves more happiness than he can find at my side.’ His mouth pinched into regret. ‘Regardless, you and I are the Reclaimers in this equation, Lady Helen. We must lead our Terrenes. That duty is never-ending and never easy.’

  Their duty. He was right, although she wanted to deny it and run away. As he had said, she had sworn an oath to God and King, and had claimed to have a full understanding of that undertaking. There could be no backing out of such a solemn and binding vow. Besides, Mr Hammond was relying upon her to help finish their task. She hated to admit it, but the love between two servants had to take second place to a man’s survival and an oath made in God’s name. Not to mention her own safety.

  ‘There have been many times when I have wanted to walk away,’ Carlston said softly, as if he had read her mind. ‘But you and I have been brought up with the same immutable knowledge: without adherence to our word, we are worth nothing.’

  There was such pain in his voice. Too much pain perhaps for merely an unwanted task. His skin had paled too, and he pressed his hand over his eyes as if the light had suddenly become too much.

  ‘I do not think you are well at all, Lord Carlston. Do you have the migraine?’

  He dropped his hand from his brow as if she had caught him in an illicit act. ‘Of course not.’ Turning from her scrutiny, he added, ‘Come, let us begin training.’

  He was taking refuge in practicalities, and right then she did not have the wherewithal to pursue the subject. Her mind was reeling from the ramifications of the ban for herself — could she live her life without love? — and the prospect of speaking to Darby on such a painful subject.

  His lordship walked to the long table set against the far wall and picked up two canes. ‘We will work on your defensive techniques first and then introduce some canne chausson. I want you to get over this squeamishness about hitting me. You must get used to making contact and withstanding blows.’

  ‘I am trying.’

  ‘I know.’ He waved at her garb. ‘The technique is based upon kicking, so keep your boots on, but remove your jacket for ease of movement.’

  Helen shifted her shoulders, the tight fit of the broadcloth bringing home an awkward problem. ‘I cannot take my coat off without aid.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Every fashionable man’s problem,’ he said, trying for lightness. ‘It seems I have sent away your maid prematurely.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘I will assist you, if you allow.’

  She wet her lips. To be undressed by him, even just the removal of a jacket, was, at the very least, untoward. For decency’s sake she should insist that Darby be called back, particularly since she had just seen what lay beneath his iron will. Not to mention the scandalous conversation they had just had about lovers and needs. But in truth, the real reason — the shameful reason — was because any time they touched, her body felt alight. For her sake — for both their sakes — she should say no. Yet … she nodded.

  ‘Yes,’ he said unnecessarily. Was he too looking for the chance to touch? Maybe they both wanted to play with fire.

  A few strides took him to the chair. He propped the canes against it and stood for a moment — watching her, she realised, for any hesitation.

  There was still time to change her mind. To say no, and send for Darby.

  She turned her back, every sense aware of his approach. One step, two, and then he was behind her, his body only inches from her own. She stared fiercely at the opposite wall, waiting for his touch. Her whole being was full of the sandalwood scent of his shaving soap, the draw of his breath, the heat of every exhalation upon the nape of her neck.

  What were they doing? Had she not just railed against him and his order? Had he not just told her that this attraction was forbidden? It was as if he were the sun and she Icarus, ignoring the bright, hot danger ahead.

  ‘May I begin?’ His voice was at its most formal.

 
; ‘Yes.’

  She braced herself. There, his hands upon her shoulders, fingertips working their way under the jacket collar. Knuckles brushed against the lobe of her ear. She curled her fingers at the sensation, hot energy coursing through her veins. His breath caught for second. Had he felt it too?

  He leaned in and firmly pulled back the shoulders of the jacket. The tightness of the fit drew her arms back too, as if he held her bound. She turned her head, his smooth shaven cheek so close to her lips. If she turned just a little more …

  But she did not shift. Nor did he. The only motion, their breathing; two quickening rhythms blending into one.

  ‘Step forward,’ he finally said, his voice ragged.

  She obeyed, her arms coming free of the sleeves.

  She turned, but he was already walking away, head bowed. He draped the jacket over the chair, picked up the canes and slowly straightened, rolling back his shoulders.

  ‘If you recall our last lesson,’ he said, facing her, voice still rough, ‘the canne de combat action is always circular.’ He passed her a cane. She stared at his hand; it was shaking. ‘Our stance is not that of a fencer, but more face-on, so that we may move in any direction with speed and use our feet to kick.’

  He walked towards the stuffed hessian sack, but stopped and hunched as if caught by sudden pain.

  ‘What is wrong?’ She stepped forward.

  ‘Nothing.’ He straightened. ‘Think of your hand as the turning point. The cane moves and the body follows.’

  ‘You are in pain.’

  He shook his head. ‘Watch carefully.’

  She heard him draw breath, then he pivoted across the wooden floor, the cane swinging above his head in a graceful arc. Yet there was something frenetic in his movements; a shivering tension within him like an overstrung bow. He lunged and brought the cane down in a fast low sweep that connected with a thud on the stuffed sack. It swung heavily on its chain, the force of the blow leaving an indentation across the rough cloth.

  ‘Recover on the front foot.’ He drew breath again, an awful rasp within it. And she could see blood seeping from his nose.