Lady Margaret batted away the defence with a vicious hand. ‘You knew weeks ago that your membership in the Dark Days Club required secrecy. We cannot have the truth leaking out into the world, yet here you are blithely telling a school friend that you have sworn an oath to the Home Office.’
‘That is all I was going to say, I swear upon my soul. Even so, she saw one of the creatures, Lady Margaret. She knows they exist —’
Helen stopped. She had heard a sound; no more than a hardening of breath. She lunged for the door and jerked it open. Delia jumped back, her body hunched with guilt.
‘Good God, she is eavesdropping like some low servant,’ Lady Margaret said.
Delia lifted her chin. ‘I have had enough of people deciding my future behind closed doors.’
Helen shook her head. ‘That is no excuse for —’
‘What exactly is a Deceiver, Helen?’ Delia looked defiantly at Lady Margaret. ‘What is the Dark Days Club? I demand answers.’
‘You do not have the right to demand anything, Miss Cransdon,’ Lady Margaret said. She rounded on Helen. ‘This will not be discussed again until his lordship returns from London. Do you understand? Until that time, Miss Cransdon shall be our guest.’ The last word came through gritted teeth.
‘Yes. I understand.’ Helen hesitated, not sure she should add more fuel to Lady Margaret’s fire, but there was no getting away from the fact of Delia’s family. ‘I’m afraid her parents do not know she is here.’
Lady Margaret made a sound low in her throat, rather like a snarl. ‘She left their house without telling them?’ She shook her head and raised her palms to ward off the answer. ‘Do not even try. I shall write immediately and inform them of the whereabouts of their daughter and extend an invitation for her to stay with us for a few days. Let us hope that they do not arrive on our doorstep, outraged.’ On that, she departed the salon, sweeping past Delia without another glance.
Helen drew a steadying breath. ‘I cannot believe you listened through the door.’
Delia flushed. ‘It was reprehensible, I know, but it is the only way I learn anything at home. I am sorry.’
Helen gave her friend a wan smile. ‘At least you may stay.’
‘Until his lordship returns. Who does she mean? Her husband?’
‘No. She means Lord Carlston.’
‘The one who murdered his wife? What does he have to do with it?’
‘Everything,’ Helen said heavily. She was not looking forward to facing his lordship’s fury. ‘You heard Lady Margaret. I cannot discuss any of this until he returns.’
‘Surely you can tell me about Mr Trent?’ Delia pleaded. ‘I already know some of it. You said he was a Deceiver — what does that mean?’
Helen shook her head. The next two days were going to be very long indeed.
Chapter Five
SUNDAY, 5 JULY 1812
Helen jabbed her needle into the linen of her embroidery and forcibly quelled the desire to spring from her chair and run from the drawing room. Delia’s arrival two days ago had stopped any Reclaimer training or Dark Days business, and it felt excruciating to be thrust back into the slow rhythm of a lady’s life. The service that morning at the new Chapel Royal had been interminable, and now they were filling the afternoon with needlework and reading. It did not help that the ponderous turn of every minute also held the weight of Lord Carlston’s imminent return. Mr Hammond had gone to meet him at his lodgings and, no doubt, to inform him of the trouble that awaited at German Place.
Helen looked across at Lady Margaret who was seated at the small table beside the front window, her back straight and pen travelling across paper with fierce purpose. She must have felt Helen’s gaze for she raised her eyes and stared back, her message plain: This is your own fault.
The previous evening, Geoffrey had arrived back from the Cransdon estate with a note from Mrs Cransdon full of thanks and the intelligence that Delia could stay as long as her ladyship graciously allowed. The note was accompanied by two travelling trunks full of clothes; far more than a few days required. Delia’s parents, it seemed, were eager to be rid of their daughter, whether it was by dumping her upon another household or incarcerating her in a sanatorium. What must she be feeling, Helen wondered, to be so abandoned?
There was no clue upon Delia’s face. She sat on the opposite sofa, eyes on the open book in her hands, but her sight clearly inwards. Helen did not blame her retreat. Lady Margaret’s cold courtesy and swift check of any remark beyond the banal did not lend itself to vivacity. Lady Margaret was determined to give Helen and Delia no opportunity for private conversation. She had even posted Tulloch outside Delia’s bedchamber door at night.
Helen returned her attention to her embroidery. She had not been able to speak to Mr Hammond either. He had arrived back from his expedition to Lewes well after everyone had retired for the evening, and emerged late from his room for breakfast. There had been no opportunity for any communication under Lady Margaret’s eye other than a brief, meaningful nod from him across the silent breakfast table. He had found Lowry. The knowledge had settled heavily in her stomach and sat there still; a cold, hard knot of thwarted questions.
The sound of hooves on flags brought Helen’s head up again. No, what was she thinking? Camelford Street was but one road away; his lordship and Mr Hammond would walk, not ride or take a carriage. Surely it would not be long now before they arrived. While she did not look forward to meeting his lordship’s anger, the waiting for it was beyond endurance. Even with the arguments she had rehearsed on Delia’s behalf, she had little hope of affecting his lordship’s decision. Delia would be sent back to her parents and their plans of a sanatorium. The thought of it chilled Helen to her core.
It was another half an hour before Lady Margaret straightened in her chair, her regard on the street below. She patted her lips with a fingertip, her other hand finding the back of her coiffure to smooth the braided knot. Helen knew only one person could prompt such unconscious primping.
‘Is that his lordship?’ she asked, needing to break the silence as much as warn Delia of the impending arrival.
‘It would seem so.’ Lady Margaret bent her head back to her writing, but the high line of her shoulders betrayed her anticipation.
Delia glanced at Helen, her grey eyes dark with fear. Helen smiled back with as much reassurance as she could muster, and pointedly returned to her embroidery. It was important to remain calm. She drew in a deep breath. Holy heaven, she could barely place the next stitch. So much for calmness.
She listened, following the procession of footsteps up the staircase: Garner first, then his lordship and Mr Hammond. She threaded her needle through the linen in preparation to put it down.
A knock sounded.
Lady Margaret meticulously placed her pen back into its rest and rose from her chair. ‘Yes?’ she called as Helen and Delia stood and readied themselves.