‘I am acquainted with your husband,’ Helen said.
‘Oh, really?’ Mrs Pike smiled, the expression taking years from her worn face. She could be no more than five years older than Helen herself. ‘He is Second Secretary, you know,’ she added. ‘And a most ardent servant of the country.’
Clearly proud of her husband, but did she know of the Dark Days Club?
‘Are you well-acquainted with his duties?’ Helen asked.
‘Oh, no. I am afraid I am not interested in politics, and my husband does not want me bothered with his worries. He is such a good man. So careful of my health.’ Suddenly the smile upon her face deepened into delight. ‘Ignatious!’
Helen turned. Pike stood in the doorway, his face rigid. He forced himself to smile as he crossed the room to them. ‘Lady Helen.’ He bowed, his cold eyes wary.
Helen inclined her head. ‘Mr Pike. I am delighted to meet your wife.’
‘Lady Helen is here for her health as well, Ignatious.’
‘Indeed.’ He smiled at his wife; the first time Helen had seen anything approaching warmth in the man. ‘I fear that you have overtaxed your strength, Isabella. It is time we departed.’
She nodded. ‘You are quite right. I will get my shawl.’ She turned to Helen and made an elegant curtsey. ‘It has been an honour to make your acquaintance.’
Pike touched his wife’s shoulder; an unconscious, protective gesture. ‘I will join you directly, downstairs.’
‘Of course.’
They both watched her deposit her glass with the footman and depart the room.
‘Your wife is charming,’ Helen said.
Pike crossed his arms. ‘Have you made contact with Lowry?’
Helen closed her hand around her fan. ‘Yes.’
Pike watched an army man pause in the doorway, calling jovially to a comrade to come view the provisions.
‘We cannot talk in this room,’ he said. ‘There is a ladies’ parlour on the next floor, directly to the left of the staircase. Wait a minute and then make your way there. Unobtrusively.’
How did he know about such a room?
He bowed and headed for the impromptu rendezvous. Helen kept her eyes fixed upon the gold carriage clock on the mantel. All Pike wanted was a report about Lowry. Well, she had her story ready; as close to the truth as possible. Moreover, she had her own questions. She felt her heart quicken, each beat thudding with the shift of the clock’s gold hands.
The ladies’ parlour had a chill in the air that was older than just one night, and no lingering smell of fire in the hearth or the perfumes of female habitation. Plainly a secondary morning room, not often used. Pike had picked up a hall candelabrum on his way into the room and placed it on a sideboard. The three candles threw their shadows across the pink silk walls like huge silhouettes cut from grey paper.
‘He will take fifteen thousand pounds in gold,’ Helen said, glad to have her lies masked in the dim light. ‘We are to make the exchange on the twenty-fourth, at a place of his choosing.’
Pike regarded her for a long uncomfortable moment. ‘Why such a delay?’
For the full moon, Helen thought, quelling a shiver. ‘He did not explain his reasoning.’
‘You should have at least insisted upon the choice of place. He will have the advantage.’
‘He wants the gold. He will not jeopardise the exchange.’
‘Perhaps not.’ Pike drew a deep breath; a victorious gathering of air. ‘I will have the payment ready for you. Tell me the place he decides upon.’
‘I will.’ Helen clasped her fan more tightly. ‘Lowry showed me a line he had copied from the journal.’
Pike’s eyes narrowed, the flickering candlelight catching the flare of interest in his face. ‘Did he now?’
‘About my parents.’ She let that sit for a moment, but he did not react. ‘A scrap that mentioned them and someone with the initials VC. Do you know who that could be?’
‘VC?’ He shook his head. ‘I was not a member of the Dark Days Club when your parents were alive, Lady Helen. That was ten years ago. I joined six years ago, and the subject of your parents was never discussed.’
Was he lying? It was hard to tell. She decided to prod in another direction. ‘According to Lowry, the whole journal is written in blood.’
No response from Pike whatsoever; no moue of disgust or shiver of horror. So he already knew about its gruesome ink. Perhaps he also knew why it had been written in such a medium.
‘The journal has alchemical properties, doesn’t it? That is what you were keeping from us at my oath.’
‘Ah.’ He walked across to the sideboard and stared into the tiny candle flames for a moment. ‘You are as clever as Lord Carlston claims you are.’
Beneath her focus, she felt a fleeting satisfaction: Carlston thought her clever. ‘What is the real purpose of the journal?’
Pike turned to face her again. ‘I will tell you, but it will be under the purview of your oath and it goes no further than this room.’
‘You do not need to remind me of my oath.’ She could not resist driving home the fact of her word. ‘I have told no one about the journal, have I?’
He tilted his head, conceding her silence. ‘This time, not even Mr Hammond can be privy to the information. His devotion to Lord Carlston is too compromising.’ He waited for her nod of agreement, then said, ‘The journal is not only full of sensitive Reclaimer information. It is also a Ligatus. Do you know what I mean by that?’
Oh, yes, Helen knew what he meant. She felt the fear of it in her bowel. A Ligatus was one third of the Trinitas: the three-part alchemical weapon that included her own lost Colligat and another part called a Vis. It was a weapon that could destroy all the Reclaimers if the three parts were brought together. Sweet heaven, Pike had set her and Hammond on the path of a weapon that could destroy all her kind across the world.
‘I see that you understand the importance of it,’ Pike said. ‘I have to admit, I only came recently to the knowledge that the journal could be a Ligatus. It is the most difficult element of the Trinitas to create, almost impossible to do so by oneself. Both Deceiver and Reclaimer blood are worked together into an irrevocable binding alchemy. It takes a great deal of alchemical knowledge and blood sacrifice — and by that I mean the collection of the vital fluid on the cusp of violent death.’
‘Like the Ratcliffe Highway murders.’
‘Amongst others. It must be destroyed, Lady Helen, as soon as possible.’
Such a heinous thing must indeed be destroyed. Yet something did not make sense. Benchley had tried to steal her Colligat, and it seemed he had spent years building a Ligatus. The man had clearly been bent on creating a Trinitas.
‘Why would a Reclaimer create a weapon that could kill all Reclaimers?’ she asked.