‘Of course.’ Helen stood, using the upward motion to scrutinise Lady Margaret’s expression. She saw musing distance in the navy eyes and full lips pressed into a tight line. A mix of distrust and mystification. Had she sensed their lie, or was all her suspicion directed at Pike?
‘No, I cannot dismiss it,’ Lady Margaret said, her eyes snapping back to the moment. ‘I think we should send a message to his lordship. He questioned Pike’s presence in Brighton, and now we have an answer for him. Or some kind of answer. I am sure his lordship will make better sense of it than we can. He will want to know that Stokes is here too.’
‘By the time a message gets to London, his lordship will have started back,’ Mr Hammond said. ‘It will miss him.’
‘No, you are mistaken. If we send a man now, we should catch him.’ His sister gathered up the filmy skirt of her white cambric gown and sat at the secretaire beside the front window. She pulled open the two lacquered cabinet doors. ‘Are we out of paper?’
‘No, Margaret, we will not send a message. It is unnecessary.’
She stopped rifling through the shelves. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Mr Hammond drew himself up to the extent of his small stature. ‘I believe his lordship placed me in charge. For once, Margaret, do as I say.’
Helen held her breath; she had not heard that note of command in Mr Hammond’s voice before. The brother and sister stared at one another, their chins lifted at exactly the same angle.
‘I see,’ Lady Margaret finally said. She turned her back and shut the cabinet doors with a snap.
‘Good.’
Mr Hammond widened his eyes at Helen, jerking his chin towards the door. Yes, it was definitely time to go. She edged past the armchair ready to make her own escape.
‘Lady Helen, wait.’ The coldness in Lady Margaret’s voice brought her to a standstill. ‘Do not forget what his lordship said this morning. Space and purpose. It is where your gait fails.’
‘Space and purpose,’ Helen repeated, managing to keep the edge from her voice. She nodded a brusque farewell and followed Mr Hammond from the room.
By silent consensus, Helen and Mr Hammond did not speak until the door of the grand reception salon was firmly shut behind them and they had walked to the far corner of the bare room. The salon was the reason the terrace house had been rented: it ran the length of the whole dwelling, front to back, with a line of side windows that faced a blank brick wall. With the front shutters closed privacy was assured, while the highset windows allowed enough natural light for them to dodge bullwhips and swing ceramic swords well into the summer evenings.
Mr Hammond rubbed at his forehead. ‘That did not go so well.’
‘On the contrary, I think she believed us,’ Helen said. ‘Or at least I think she believes that we think Pike came to hear my oath and inform me of the test.’
‘Perhaps. I am not well-practised at keeping secrets from my sister. In fact, it sometimes feels as if we can read the other’s mind. It does not make for successful secret-keeping. The curse of a twin, I suppose.’
Ah, she had guessed correctly. ‘Is Lady Margaret the elder?’
He smiled. ‘By half an hour. It is why she thinks she must look after me.’
‘Does she know about …?’
‘Oh, yes.’ He gave an odd, light laugh. ‘Perhaps even before I did.’ He turned his face away and dug his fingernail into a crack in the wall, picking at the plaster. ‘We were barely thirteen. She said it was how I was made. She was never disgusted.’
Helen heard the query buried within the statement.
‘I think …’ she said, then stopped. In truth, she did not know what she thought, or felt. It was not disgust. All of that sentiment was reserved for Pike and his foul coercion, not for this young man who had only ever acted with honour and courage. No, she did not feel disgust. She felt fear. For his very life. ‘I think Lady Margaret is right.’
He gave a slight nod, his eyes meeting hers in fleeting gratitude. ‘At present Margaret is angry at me, which will divert her from pursuing the Pike matter. But she will return to it. She is like a terrier.’
‘It is a good tactic.’
‘The fact that I need such a tactic makes me …’ He slammed his palm against the wall, sending a spray of plaster dust into the air. ‘Let us get this task done, Lady Helen.’
‘Yes.’ She nodded fervently. ‘As quickly as possible.’
He dusted off his hands. ‘I will go to Lewes tomorrow and hunt out Lowry to arrange a meeting. It will be best, I think, if you were to meet him as a young man rather than a woman, especially if he nominates a tavern or inn for the assignation.’
Helen wrapped her arms around her body, trying to contain a spidery crawl of doubt along her spine. ‘Your sister does not think I am ready to go out into the world as a young man.’
His mouth twisted in mute apology. ‘Margaret is too hard upon you; it is her own pique talking. You may not be quite ready yet, but with some hard work you soon will be.’
‘I was not even asked,’ Helen said.
‘Asked?’
‘Whether or not I wanted to masquerade as a man. Or even if I thought I could. It was just expected that I would do so.’
‘That is Lord Carlston’s way,’ Mr Hammond said. ‘I doubt that it even enters his mind that any of us would refuse to do whatever it takes to fulfil our duty. We have, after all, taken our own oaths.’ He cocked his head. ‘Does it upset you to masquerade as a man? I am sure it will be only on occasion. It will be just as valuable for you to police the Deceivers as a woman; probably more so since you are the only Reclaimer who can move in female society.’
Helen waved away the question. ‘No, I am more than willing to take on the male guise. It is just …’
‘You would have preferred to have had the decision of it.’ He shrugged, not from indifference but in sympathy. ‘Like Stokes, we are all soldiers now, and Lord Carlston is our general, leading us against an enemy that outnumbers us five hundred to one. He believes you are a sign that the Grand Deceiver is amongst us — the creature’s opposite, if you will — and he is trying to make you a general too, before it strikes.’
‘A general? I am barely even a Reclaimer. How am I to lead men?’
‘You doubt yourself?’
‘Of course I do. Men will not follow a woman.’
‘They followed Queen Elizabeth,’ Mr Hammond said.
True, although the Virgin Queen had forgone marriage and called herself a Prince. Perhaps pretending to be a man was the only way for a woman to lead.
‘If Lord Carlston thinks you can do it, trust him,’ Mr Hammond advised. He gestured to the centre of the room with a small bow. ‘Come, let us work on your gait.’
Shaking off her unease, Helen turned her mind to the task. Her breeches had not yet been delivered; somehow she would have to raise her skirts to allow free movement. She lifted the scalloped hem of her pale green gown a few inches and felt heat suffuse her face. Less than a month ago she would never have stood unchaperoned in a room with a man, let alone shown her legs to him.
‘I shall have to tie up my skirts, Mr Hammond, in order to take a proper stride.’