‘I watched the Comte die,’ he said. ‘It was a Mors Ultima. Strange, since I was sure he had living offspring.’
‘He does, the Comte Julien, but he did not want to destroy him,’ Helen said. ‘He told the truth about that, and about Carlston’s cure.’ She drew out the Comte’s fob from her pocket and inspected it again. The etching on it was of Bacchus, the Roman god of wine and pleasure. Did that mean something? She held it up. ‘It would follow, then, that the Comte also told the truth about an informer in Bath.’
Pike glanced at the gold disc. ‘Looking at it over and over will not make it any more useful. There are more than forty thousand people in Bath and you only have a title, the Bath Deceiver.’
‘Even so, it is a start.’ She pushed the fob back into her pocket. ‘Would it not also follow that the Comte told the truth about the Grand Deceiver? Surely you must now admit it exists?’
The question brought a worrying thought. Where was Philip in all of this? He may have disappeared from view, but Helen had no doubt he was still working against them. Somewhere.
‘It would seem I must allow the possibility of the Grand Deceiver, now that we know what you and Lord Carlston are.’ Pike squinted at her, his bony face even more haggard than usual. ‘You are sure Lord Carlston is restored?’
‘I am certain. All the vestige darkness in him is gone.’ She paused. ‘He does not remember killing Stokes.’
‘That does not make him any less guilty.’
Helen heard a promise of retribution in his voice. She leaned closer, meeting his eyes with her own guarantee. ‘He and I are the Grand Reclaimer, Mr Pike. There has been nothing like us before in living memory. You would be a fool to do anything that would harm your greatest asset.’
He gave a dry smile. ‘Not to mention my wife’s sanity.’
Helen drew back. ‘I gave you my word on that. It will be done.’
He crossed his arms. ‘You should be more circumspect about giving your word, Lady Helen. You have no idea how this new power manifests or even what it involves.’ He shook his head. ‘It is hard to understand how you could absorb a written book.’
‘Do you need more proof?’
She had already told him three facts about himself — facts only Benchley could have known — that the whispers in her head had supplied. Along with the devastating news she had yet to tell Carlston.
‘No,’ he said curtly. ‘This development, however, must stay contained. No one else beyond Lord Carlston and Miss Darby must know. Do you agree?’
She glanced at him. Here was a turn-up: Pike asking for agreement not ordering obedience. ‘When Mr Quinn recovers, I suspect he will know through his Terrene bond.’
Pike nodded. ‘Yes, you are right. Mr Quinn too. But that is all. We must somehow work a way for you and Carlston to explore this new level of power between you.’
‘Yes.’
She glanced across at Lady Margaret’s carriage. Selburn stood beside it in conversation with Mr Hammond and Delia. She felt a fleeting moment of regret — more secrets — but she had vowed to keep the Duke and Delia safe, and this new situation was perhaps the most dangerous yet.
Pike followed her gaze. ‘His Grace apprised me of your unfortunate meeting with Lady Dunwick and her friends on the road. He tells me you are betrothed.’
‘He should not have done that. I have told him Reclaimers are not allowed to marry.’
‘As you noted, Lady Helen, there has been nothing like you before. And a man of his rank generally gets what he wants.’
Was Pike saying the Dark Days Club would not stand in the way? She looked back at the Duke: to have the regard of such a man was no small matter.
Across the road, the last of the corpse bearers entered the inn.
Pike turned to regard the huddle of servants waiting in the yard. ‘Now I must make sure the Comte’s household recollect the same series of events.’ He allowed his wintry smile to touch his lips. ‘Memory can be so unreliable.’ He took out his fob watch. ‘One of the tavern men went to fetch the local magistrate. He will arrive soon. It is time for all of you to leave. Will you be so kind as to pass the word?’
He waited for her nod, then gestured to Elizabeth, the maid. ‘Miss Ashton, is it not? Will you please come this way.’
Leaving him to his machinations, Helen crossed the road to the carriage. She could no longer ignore the whisper in her mind. Besides, Carlston would want to know the truth. He deserved the truth. She must put aside her own wretchedness and deliver it.
Selburn smiled cautiously as she approached. A large blue bruise had formed on his forehead, and more bruises marked out Carlston’s handspan around his throat. They had not yet spoken about the events in the attic. Helen was not sure she was quite ready to discuss with any kind of equilibrium his attempt to shoot Carlston. Particularly since he had twice promised to stand back from the battle.
‘Mr Pike wants us to leave,’ she said. ‘Do you know where his lordship has gone?’
‘By the river,’ Hammond said. ‘We are all set to go on to London and give Quinn some time to heal properly at Caroline Street. Will you travel with us?’
‘Yes, do so, Helen, please,’ Delia said, touching her arm in concern. ‘You look burned to the socket. You could sleep in the carriage.’
Selburn shifted, as if to refuse on her behalf, then caught her eye. She was tempted to say yes to Delia, but saw the impulse for what it was: childish punishment. In truth, Selburn had only acted according to his nature; he had made it clear all along that his aim was to protect her from harm. She had to remember that he had only joined the Dark Days Club little more than a day ago. She could not expect him to change a lifetime of command in a matter of hours.
‘I will drive with the Duke,’ she said, but she did not return Selburn’s smile. They would need to come to an understanding.
She stepped up onto the carriage steps and, hooking her hands around the open window frames, peered into the cabin’s interior. Mr Quinn had regained his senses and sat propped against Darby’s shoulder. Lady Margaret sat opposite, her forefinger tapping an anxious beat upon the worn leather seat.
‘I am glad to see you are recovering, Mr Quinn,’ Helen said.
‘Thank you, my lady.’ He sat close enough to the window for her to see the pallor of his skin and deep lines of pain carved from nose to mouth.
Beside him, Darby clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap. She offered a smile, but her mouth had a new tightness around it and she had an air of bracing herself, as if the world had tipped and she was struggling to keep balance. It would take some time, Helen thought, before her maid — no, her Terrene — fully came to terms with what had happened in the attic. Indeed, it would take her quite some time too.
‘You are going to find his lordship?’ Lady Margaret asked.
Helen nodded. ‘He is by the river. I am going there now.’
‘He would not allow me to accompany him,’ Lady Margaret said. She crossed her arms, her finger taking up its beat against her ribs. ‘Are you sure he is recovered?’