‘Helen! My dear! There you are.’ Delia crossed the stone flags, her hands held out. ‘I am sorry to arrive without any warning. It is unpardonable, I know, but I could not stay with my parents a minute longer.’
Helen received Delia’s gloved hands in her own and stared at her friend. Suffering, it seemed, had whittled her back to her bones: her features had sharpened into a somewhat haggard elegance, and a figure that had once been pronounced shapeless by whispering matrons now curved in a very fashionable way under her blue velvet spencer. Beneath her plain straw bonnet, her fair hair clustered in natural ringlets around her face — far more suited to her new angles than the coiffures forced upon her by her mother — and her skin, usually prone to ruddiness, was as pale as Caroline Lamb’s.
‘Upon my soul, Delia, I hardly recognise you.’
She nodded. ‘I have not eaten or slept in weeks, Helen, and I have endured so many blood-lets. Papa thinks he can have the madness drained from me.’
‘Delia, you are not mad. Do not even think it.’ She could at least assure her friend of that, couldn’t she?
The messenger cleared his throat. Helen dragged her eyes from her friend’s transformation, practicalities overtaking the shock of her appearance. She read the expectant look in the man’s dirt-streaked face: he was waiting for his payment.
‘Delia, how exactly did you get here?’ she asked, a dreadful thought dawning. ‘You did not ride behind this young man, did you?’
‘Of course not,’ Delia said. ‘I rode, and your man walked.’
No point telling her that the messenger was not a private servant, but a hired man. ‘You walked?’ Helen said to him. ‘All that way?’
‘Yes, my lady.’ He bobbed his head. ‘Miss Cransdon insisted on coming back with me, so I put her up on Polly-girl and walked her back. Didna take more than five hours.’
Helen shot a glance at Delia, who nodded.
‘That was very gallant of you …?’
‘Leonard, my lady.’ He cast a wary look at Delia. ‘I couldna do much else. Miss Cransdon was ad-a-mant.’ He sounded out the word, obviously newly learned.
‘I see.’ Helen smiled inwardly. Delia had always been known for her tenacity. ‘Thank you, Leonard. Darby, give him an extra crown for his quick thinking and courtesy.’
‘My lady, thank you,’ he said breathlessly, bowing.
‘It is for your discretion too, Leonard,’ Helen said. ‘And before you go, you may feed your horse and take your dinner with the servants.’
Darby drew Helen’s purse from her apron pocket and counted out the money. ‘Mind what her ladyship says,’ she warned, her eyes fierce as she passed over the coins. ‘No breath of this around the taverns.’
Leonard shook his head. ‘I’d not get much in the way of work if I blabbed everyone’s business now, would I?’ He bobbed another bow to Helen and Delia, then with a click of his tongue led his horse towards the mews.
‘You must think me very forward,’ Delia said. ‘But when he arrived with your letter and was so secretive in passing it to me, I saw my chance.’ She gathered Helen’s hands again, holding them as if they were the only anchors that held her from a wild sea. ‘Helen, my father has decided to send me to a sanatorium. I overheard him telling Mother.’
‘Oh, no. That is awful, Delia.’
‘You said you would tell me the truth about Mr Trent’s demise. Whatever it is, can you tell my parents too?’ Delia’s grey eyes were fixed upon her own, the plea in them sending a jab of guilt through Helen. How could she refuse such desperation? ‘I know you wrote that you could not, but perhaps if they knew —’
‘Delia, this is not the place.’ She softened the interruption with a squeeze of her friend’s hands.
She had to get Delia inside as discreetly as possible; she needed time to think through this complication. The explanation she had promised was now impossible to deliver under the mandate of her oath, yet she could not abandon her friend to self-doubt and incarceration. She saw no clear way through: either she broke her word to her friend or to the Palace. And either way, lives were at stake: Delia’s, or Mr Hammond’s and her own. Still, even with such a dilemma on her hands, she could not leave Delia in the yard. Somehow they had to get past the beady attentions of Mrs Kent, the housekeeper, and Garner, and delay the advent of Lady Margaret.
‘Come inside,’ she said. ‘I hope you do not mind that we pass through the kitchens; it is the quickest way. Did you not bring any luggage?’
‘No, I just got on the horse and came.’
Helen heard the slur of fatigue in Delia’s voice. Whatever difficulties her arrival had caused, her well-being must come first.
‘I can see you are exhausted. You need to eat and rest, and then we will talk. Wait here for a moment.’ With a reassuring pat upon her friend’s shoulder, Helen stepped away and motioned Darby to her side. ‘Is Garner in his pantry?’ she asked softly.
‘No, my lady. He and the footmen are preparing the dining room for luncheon.’
‘Even better. Make sure Mrs Kent does not see us on our way up the back stairs. I want to keep this quiet for as long as possible.’
Darby nodded, but her brow furrowed. ‘It will not be very long — someone will tell her ladyship.’
‘I know.’
Darby gave another nod and hurried to the kitchen door.
With an eye to her maid’s progress, Helen asked Delia, ‘To be clear, am I to understand that your parents do not know where you are? You did not leave a note?’
‘No.’ Delia bit her lip. ‘I am afraid they will see this as yet more evidence of an unsound mind. What sane young woman would abandon her parents and a safe home?’
Helen gave a sympathetic nod as she concentrated upon her Reclaimer hearing and reached into the house. Under the clang of pots and orders from Cook, she found Darby’s voice: ah, she was telling the housekeeper about a cleaning mishap in the vestibule. And they were already moving towards the front of the house. Good girl.
She brought her attention back to Delia. ‘You know we must send a messenger to your parents to tell them of your whereabouts. They will be greatly disturbed by your disappearance.’
‘Must we?’
‘Yes, but I think we may delay a little longer until we decide what is to be done.’
Delia clutched at her hand again. ‘Thank you.’
Darby should have Mrs Kent in the vestibule by now; it was time to move. Helen steered Delia down the steps into the kitchen, past the cook and her staff intent upon taking the pies from the ovens, and around to the back staircase. It was blessedly deserted.
‘Oh, my, those pies do smell good,’ Delia said.
Helen touched her finger to her lips. Delia ducked her head in apology.
‘It is just that we need some time before Lady Margaret knows you are here,’ Helen whispered. ‘She will insist a message be sent to your parents immediately.’
Or more likely, Helen thought, she would pack Delia into a carriage and send her back to her parents immediately, but her friend need not know that.