‘Currently in the custody of Mr Stokes on the charge of treason.’
He said it with such mildness. Helen pressed her hand to her chest. Custody. Treason.
‘Well?’ he prompted. ‘Is it true?’
‘We did not tell him.’
‘How did he know about it then?’ Pike’s voice was still deceptively mild.
There was no place to go now. Mr Hammond was in custody. She had to tell the truth. God help them.
‘He believes the Comte d’Antraigues knows the way to cure him of his …’ She paused, still not wanting to say ‘madness’ to Pike. ‘Malady. The Comte made some of the journal pages — those about himself and his family — the price for the information. He also has information about the Grand Deceiver.’
‘And both of you chose not to tell me this?’ The mildness had snapped into a tight snarl.
‘We thought we could get the journal before Lord Carlston.’
Pike drew in a deep breath. ‘He has made a deal with a Deceiver, a deal that promises a cure for something that cannot be cured and information about a myth, and you still think his judgment is unimpaired?’ His voice rose. ‘You are blinded — you and Hammond — by your feelings, by your carnal desires.’ He spat out the word. ‘Your misguided loyalty has lost us the journal. I should have you in chains as well.’
Mr Hammond was in chains?
Pike stalked across the space between them and stood a bare foot from her, the fury in his face drying up any defence on her tongue. She fought the impulse to step back. She must not give up her ground.
‘Carlston is trying to retrieve his Ligatus,’ he said, his voice pitched low but still fierce.
‘No!’ Pike may think her blinded by desire, but he was blinded by hate. ‘I assure you he did not know it existed until the Comte told him about it. He does not know it is a Ligatus.’
‘How can you believe he would not know such a thing existed?’
‘He has been out of the country for three years. You said yourself you did not know it existed until recently.’
‘Yes, but then I did not make it, did I? I think Lord Carlston is almost as good at deception as our foes.’
He paced a few steps away. Helen gulped a breath as if his absence had suddenly allowed air into her vicinity again. How could she fight such wilful pig-headedness?
He rounded on her again. ‘You let Lowry get away with the Ligatus.’
This time she did step back. ‘I had no choice. Either Lowry got it or the Deceiver.’ She crossed her arms. ‘Would you rather the Deceiver had it now?’
‘Of course not. Even so, your actions — and Hammond’s — are treasonous. You have disobeyed orders. You have withheld vital information from me.’
‘It was all my fault,’ she said. ‘I decided to try to take the journal. I told Mr Hammond to keep quiet. He was following my orders.’ She swallowed; her mouth felt so dry. ‘All is not lost, I assure you. Lowry will still want to make a deal. Nothing has changed.’
‘Don’t be naive. He will not trust you now. For God’s sake, I don’t trust you. He will sell it elsewhere, perhaps even to the Deceivers.’
Helen felt herself sway as if she stood on the edge of a very deep chasm. A lie would buy her more time to retrieve the journal; and the truth … Well, the truth would bring a cruel brute into her mind and soul. There would be no bond with dear Darby, no safety, no trust. Yet Mr Hammond was charged with treason, and the Ligatus had to be retrieved.
She wet her lips. ‘Lowry does not want money.’
‘What does he want then?’ Pike studied her, a glimmer of comprehension dawning in his face. ‘What does he want, Lady Helen?’
It felt as if someone else was saying the irretrievable words. ‘He wants to be my Terrene. He wants his powers back.’
‘Ah.’ Pike gave a dry laugh. ‘Now it makes sense. Why you have not made the exchange.’ He shook his head. ‘A woman’s mind. You would endanger the whole world because you are too fine to take Lowry as your Terrene.’
‘You know what he is.’ She touched the bruise on her mouth.
Pike’s stare did not falter. ‘He is an experienced Terrene, and he has the Ligatus. I know he is a foul man, but then this is a foul world and you have chosen to serve it. Make the deal, Lady Helen. Redeem yourself as a Reclaimer. Save yourself and Hammond.’ He leaned in, his face so close that she could see the red tracing of vessels in his narrowed eyes. ‘Make no mistake: a Reclaimer who cannot be trusted to carry out his or her duties, who has no loyalty to King and country, is worth nothing to the Dark Days Club. Less than nothing. They are a liability.’
The thought of bonding with Lowry, joined by alchemy, made Helen ill to her very core. Her mind would be polluted by his violent depravity, her body molested at her most vulnerable moments. She pushed away a sudden vision of poor Lizzie.
‘If I take Lowry, I want something in return,’ she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. ‘I want Mr Hammond’s release.’ Pike’s hard expression gave no indication of agreement or refusal. ‘I also want those pages for the Comte d’Antraigues. Even if there is only a chance that the Comte knows how to cure Lord Carlston —’
‘No.’ He sliced the air with a flat hand. ‘I cannot let a Deceiver have any part of the Ligatus. You are a fool to think one of those creatures would know such a thing anyway.’
‘I believe he knows that I am the cause of Carlston’s madness.’
There, she had said it.
Pike frowned. ‘You are causing it?’
‘I think that something in me is quickening his deterioration.’ Pike drew back, his scepticism palpable, but Helen forged on. ‘I am sure the Duke told you about the charge of strange energy that passed between me and Carlston last night.’
‘He did, but by his account it did not come solely from you, but from both you and Carlston. Nor did it make Carlston mad. He was already in some kind of berserk state, and the charge merely stopped him from destroying even more of the lane.’
‘Listen to me! When I touch Lord Carlston, skin to skin,’ she flushed at the admission of such intimate contact, ‘it brings on fits of violence. And when he is not near me, he improves.’
‘Improves?’ Pike shook his head. ‘You are mistaken. When he went up to London to see Lord Sidmouth — far from your presence — he was in no way improved, Lady Helen. On the contrary, Mr Ryder saw the signs of the madness in him immediately. You are overwrought and imagining things. You are not responsible for his deterioration.’
‘I am; I am certain of it.’ She clasped her hands together to stop herself from shaking the man. ‘The Comte may have a cure. You cannot be certain he does not. I will take Lowry as my Terrene if you release Hammond and give me the chance to find a way to help Lord Carlston.’
‘We are not striking a bargain, Lady Helen. I am ordering you to obey your King’s command.’
‘Please, Mr Pike. Grant me these two things. Please. I will do everything as you say.’
‘You will do everything as I say anyway. It is your duty.’ He regarded her from under hooded eyes. ‘I suppose I should not be surprised that you have allowed your emotions to rule your actions. I will release Hammond, but be assured I will not be so forgiving if it should happen again. As to the other, bring me the Ligatus and I will consider it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘This is still between us, however,’ he added. ‘None of the others may know it is a Ligatus —’
They both heard the smash of an upstairs door slamming hard against a wall.
Pike looked up at the ceiling. ‘What is that?’
A second later, a voice shouted, ‘Carlston, what —’ The Duke’s voice, cut off.
He was awake.
A scream rang out. Lady Margaret. Then Delia shrieked, ‘Let him go!’ and Darby yelled, ‘No, Miss Cransdon, you will be hurt!’
A yelp of pain followed — Delia again.
Helen ran to the morning room doors, wrenched them open and took the stairs thre
e at a time, her hem bunched high in her hands. She heard Quinn’s voice yell, ‘My lord, no!’ and then she shouldered her way through the drawing room doors.
It took a moment for the scene to make sense. The armchair had toppled backward with Selburn in it. Carlston, clad only in buckskins and shirt, had his knee braced against the Duke’s chest, pinning him down, both hands around his throat. The Earl’s teeth were bared, the mad savagery in his face making him almost unrecognisable. The Duke’s hands were locked against Carlston’s chest, straining against the deadly force, his face red, eyes bulging from the choking hold.
Quinn leaped forward and wrapped his arm around Carlston’s throat, trying to heave him off the Duke.
‘Help Quinn, my lady!’ Darby yelled. She and Lady Margaret were holding up a dazed Delia.
Behind her, Helen heard Pike order, ‘For Christ’s sake, Lady Helen, get him off Selburn!’
She ran forward. Carlston had to be pulled off the Duke, but if she touched him … The Duke’s desperate bloodshot eyes rolled to her, his blue lips mouthing her name. She grabbed Carlston’s shoulder. There was no charge of energy between them like last time, but it was like taking hold of a brick wall. Immovable.
Beside her, Quinn released his necklock. ‘I can’t shift him.’
‘Together,’ Helen said. ‘Now!’
Quinn grabbed Carlston’s other shoulder and they hauled backward. He strained against them, muscles rigid under Helen’s grip, but his stranglehold on the Duke shifted for a second. The Duke gasped, drawing at the sudden pathway to air, but the Earl pressed in again.
‘William!’ she yelled in his ear. ‘Let go!’
Carlston lifted his head — a fleeting beat of recognition. It was enough. She and Quinn heaved Carlston back again, their momentum ripping his hands from the Duke’s throat and wrenching him abruptly into their bodies. An elbow slammed into Helen’s stomach as she crashed to the floor, punching out all her air.
Quinn rolled away, his hands to his face. She saw Darby run to Quinn and Delia stagger to the Duke, and then a blur of movement as Carlston hauled himself up again, his face even more savage. She must have touched his skin. He launched himself at Selburn again.
Gulping for air, Helen grabbed at his leg, her hands closing around his ankle. Bare skin did not matter now. She felt herself dragged across the carpet, his forward impetus slowing. His eyes turned upon her, no recognition in their fevered depths. Only fury. He was not going to stop.
Helen launched herself upward, all of her weight behind her fist. Her knuckles connected with his chin and mouth, the heavy blow knocking him sideways and sending searing pain jarring up her arm. She swung into a round-kick, hampered somewhat by her skirts but still with enough force to hit him hard in the temple. He staggered and dropped to his knees. For a moment he looked up at her, puzzled, the question clear in his face — Why did you kick me? — then he crumpled to the floor.
Helen clasped her aching, bleeding fist to her chest, rocking with the pain. The room was silent except for her jagged breathing and Selburn’s wheezing gasps. Quinn hauled himself onto his knees and crawled across to his inert master. Gently he pulled back one of Carlston’s eyelids, showing the white. Dear God, she had hit him so hard, Reclaimer-hard; his mouth was bleeding. Was everything in this world answered with violence?
‘Is he …?’ Helen whispered. She could not say it.
‘Breathing.’ Quinn smiled grimly through his own bloodied mouth. ‘Two well-placed, clean blows. He is not seriously hurt, but he will be out again for a while.’
‘My lady, let me look at your hand,’ Darby said softly.
Helen jumped; she had not heard her maid come to her side. She straightened her fingers, hissing at the sharp jab of pain, and offered the hand for inspection. Darby took it gently in her own, clicking her tongue.
‘Duke, are you injured?’ Delia asked. A nasty blue bruise was forming on her cheekbone.
Selburn shook his head, although he held his hand ringed around his reddened throat.
Pike leaned over Carlston’s unconscious body. ‘This seems to be the safest state for him — and everyone around him — at present.’ He turned to Lady Margaret. ‘What happened?’
‘He woke and went looking for Lady Helen. The three of us couldn’t stop him — Quinn, Darby or I.’ Her eyes darted to Helen as if it were her fault. It probably was, Helen thought. ‘When he arrived here, he attacked the Duke.’
‘I see.’ Pike straightened. ‘I think your theory is somewhat flawed, Lady Helen. This violence did not start with you touching him.’
‘Theory?’ Lady Margaret asked.
Helen shook her head; this was not the time.
Pike bowed to Selburn. ‘I think it would be best if you left with me now, Your Grace. Who knows how long Carlston will be insensible, and you seem to be his target.’
‘We cannot leave the ladies here alone with him,’ the Duke protested.
‘I am sure Mr Hammond will be here within the half-hour,’ Pike replied, sending a pointed glance in Helen’s direction. The deal was in play: Hammond for her obedience. He offered his hand to the Duke. ‘Besides, Lady Helen and Mr Quinn are the best equipped to control him.’
The Duke nodded reluctantly and gripped Pike’s hand, rising stiffly from the floor. He looked down at Carlston, his desire to kick the Earl’s prostrate body as clear to Helen as if he had declared it.
‘You should not let him regain his senses,’ he said to the company at large. ‘Dose him with laudanum.’
‘We are not going to drug him,’ Lady Margaret said, stepping closer to Carlston.
Quinn hauled himself up from the floor. ‘Laudanum doesn’t work on a Reclaimer, Your Grace. The workings of their bodies are too fast.’
The Duke glanced at Pike. ‘Is that true?’
Pike nodded.
‘Nevertheless you must find some way to restrain him,’ the Duke said. ‘Before he kills someone.’ He made a small bow to Helen, then made his way to the door.
‘His Grace has a point,’ Pike said, regarding Carlston with a look of satisfaction that chilled Helen to the bone. ‘Find a way to keep him under control until it is decided what can be done with a man who has lost his mind and has the strength to tear apart entire streets.’
He turned and stalked from the room.
Pike was true to his word: half an hour later, Mr Hammond arrived back at German Place. Apart from a slight dishevelment of his usual neat attire, he seemed composed as he helped himself to a glass of claret in the drawing room. Yet Helen could smell the sharp stink of fear on him, and his hand shook as he poured, spilling some of the ruby wine down the side of the glass.
‘… and now Pike has ordered us to keep his lordship insensible,’ his sister said, concluding her account. ‘It is unthinkable. Why did you take so long in town, Michael?’
Her fingers plucked at the fringed ends of her royal blue turban. She had abandoned her usual elaborate coiffure, confining her hair instead beneath the makeshift headdress, the blue silk accentuating the dark shadows under her eyes. After Pike and the Duke had departed, Quinn had carried his lordship back up to the bedchamber and was now watching over him alone, but only because Delia had insisted Lady Margaret take some respite from her vigil. Even so, she sat on the edge of the sofa next to Delia as if ready to fly up the stairs at any sign of consciousness from the Earl.
‘I am sorry, Margaret,’ Hammond said. He placed his hand for a moment upon her shoulder, then walked to the window where Helen stood, the late sun warming her back. ‘I was delayed in Donaldson’s.’
He took a sip of wine, his eyes meeting Helen’s for a moment over the rim of the glass, the flash of raw fear in his face hidden from his twin and Delia.
‘Continuing to batter him into an unconscious state is unthinkable,’ Lady Margaret repeated, her defiance aimed at Helen.
‘I agree.’ Helen closed her hand and felt the painful pull upon her scabbed and bruised knuckles. She had already come to
the necessity of another solution. Whatever that might be.
‘You do?’ Lady Margaret’s fingers stopped their agitated picking at the fringe. ‘Good.’
‘What did you find out in town, Mr Hammond?’ Delia asked, breaking the strained silence.
He tipped back his glass and finished the wine in one gulp. ‘Last night is being explained by a case of St Anthony’s fire — a bakery in the lane selling bad rye bread, and the flour contaminating the air, causing hallucinations. People seem to be believing it. A few are even leaving town. The Comte and Comtesse d’Antraigues are returning to London.’
‘London?’ Helen repeated.
‘Yes,’ Hammond said, walking across to the wine jug again. ‘It would seem the Comte has given up on his lordship obtaining the journal.’
‘I’ve had word that Philip has left for London too,’ Helen said. ‘Perhaps they think Lowry is now heading to the city.’
Did the Comte and Philip know something about Lowry that they did not? Or was their defection to London for another reason entirely? After all, Philip had left Brighton before the events at the bawdy house. Perhaps his departure had been mere coincidence.
‘It is possible Lowry is on his way to London,’ Mr Hammond replied, ‘but it is just as possible he is still in Brighton. I could find no confirmation either way.’ He addressed his sister. ‘I have some other information that is for Lady Helen only. Would you and Miss Cransdon leave us, please?’
Delia immediately rose from the sofa, but Lady Margaret frowned at her brother’s tone, which had been more command than request.
‘If this is to do with Lord Carlston’s well-being, I shall stay,’ she said, and crossed her arms.
‘Margaret, please go,’ Hammond said. He lifted the jug and poured another generous measure. Hand still shaking, Helen noted.
‘Do not order me about, Michael. If this is —’
Mr Hammond slammed the jug down onto the silver tray in a ringing clang of glass against metal. ‘Devil’s sake, Margaret. Just do as I ask.’
She flinched upright in her seat, back straight and face rigid. Hammond turned and walked back to the window. Helen watched him drain the glass again; two full glasses in a matter of five minutes.