‘I guarantee there will be information about myself in it. And probably about you and the other Reclaimers as well.’
He paused, waiting for her response. Belatedly, she nodded. He did not know. Or if he did, she could not see the lie. Holy heaven, she would go mad too with all this second-guessing.
‘We must find Lowry and determine whether it exists or not,’ he added. ‘If it does, I want it safe in my hands. Lowry must either give it to me or be forced to do so. I must have d’Antraigues’s information.’
His hands were fists on his lap, the knuckles outlined under the thin silk of his gloves. She could almost feel his desperation.
‘What then?’ she asked. ‘Will you take the journal to Mr Pike?’
Perhaps his lordship would acknowledge that it belonged with the Dark Days Club and this nightmare would be over.
‘Pike?’ Carlston gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘I would rather hand it over to the Comte. Ignatious Pike has a vendetta against me, Lady Helen, and I must admit, I return the dislike with equal violence. He may not have been directly involved in my wife’s disappearance, but I am sure he is complicit, if only by his silence. I would not place something in his hands that could be used to compromise or compel. Surely you have seen he is without honour.’
Yes, she certainly had seen Pike’s lack of honour. Still, that did not mean his dislike was not based upon a true injury.
‘What is the cause of his animosity, Lord Carlston?’
The question was dismissed with a wave of his hand. ‘It does not matter.’
It mattered to her, a great deal.
‘Do you say that because he has good reason?’
‘Good reason?’ Carlston drew back and crossed his arms. ‘Exactly how low is your opinion of me?’
‘What else am I to think?’
He regarded her for a narrowed-eyed moment. ‘He was a Terrene; did you know?’ She nodded. ‘Four or so years ago, his Reclaimer, Sir Dennis Calloway, came to me for assistance in reclaiming a mad woman. Calloway knew she was an Unreclaimable but for some reason he wanted to attempt it. I refused; told him to do his duty and put an end to her misery. Instead, he went ahead. The woman got hold of a weapon and killed him, then absconded. In Pike’s mind, it is my fault that he lost his Reclaimer and his Terrene powers.’
‘That does not seem fair.’
She felt absurdly indignant on his behalf, and more than a little relieved. There was no good reason.
‘If you expect fairness, Lady Helen, you had best abandon normal society and join Mr Owen’s Utopian experiment.’ He turned his attention to the milling groups of people in the ballroom. ‘We must find Hammond. I think he may have a way of locating Lowry.’
‘Mr Hammond?’ Helen echoed, her body tensing.
‘Yes, he pointed out Lowry as Benchley’s new Terrene in Vauxhall Gardens. Named him as a low sort, if you recall. Perhaps he has some knowledge of the man’s associates that will lead us in the right direction.’
‘A good thought,’ she managed. Sweet heaven, she had to get to Hammond and warn him. ‘Well,’ she said, feigning a thoughtful tone, ‘we cannot do more here, and people will start to talk if I am much more in your company.’
‘You are right.’ He fixed upon a group of laughing officers. ‘Miss Cransdon is over there, amidst a horde of redcoats. Allow me to take you to her.’
Helen rose from her chair with alacrity and was duly delivered to Delia’s side, his lordship quickly making his bow to both ladies.
‘I shall leave you in the tender care of the Army,’ he said dryly.
Helen watched him walk away, clearly searching for Hammond, then unfurled her fan and gathered Delia behind its cover.
‘Do you know the whereabouts of Mr Hammond?’ she whispered.
‘I believe he escorted Lady Margaret to the card room. Is something wrong?’
‘I have a message for him.’ She clasped Delia’s arm in farewell. ‘I shall see you soon, in the supper room.’
‘Wait, I will come with you,’ Delia said.
Before Helen could demur, her friend had curtseyed to the officers, laughing at the men’s exuberant protests, and started towards the salon doors, linking Helen’s arm within her own.
‘I thought I would never get away,’ she whispered. ‘Their conversation was becoming a little … outré.’
Helen gave a tight smile. The last thing she wanted was company, but at least they were ahead of Lord Carlston.
The card room, usually a gentleman’s study by the very masculine oak and burgundy walls, was almost as noisy as the salon. Most of the chatter, however, issued from the groups of people who watched the five card tables, not from the intent players.
Helen scanned the faces around the brightly lit room. Mrs Carrington-Hurst was not in evidence, and hopefully no other Deceivers had arrived in the interim. She did not want this conversation to be overheard.
‘There he is,’ Delia said, pointing to the compact form of Mr Hammond. He stood behind his sister, who was seated at the far table with cards in hand.
‘Wait here,’ Helen said to Delia, and began to thread her way through the spectators.
Mr Hammond saw her approaching and gave a small wave of welcome. ‘Margaret is, as ever, making a tidy sum,’ he whispered as she stepped in beside him.
His sister glanced up, acknowledged Helen’s arrival with a tilt of her glossy black head, then turned back to her cards.
‘We need to speak privately,’ Helen murmured.
Hammond nodded, immediately alert, and followed her as she edged to the marble hearth. It was one of the few clear spaces, being too far away from the action of the card tables and overheated by the fire in the grate.
‘Keep smiling,’ she warned, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘The Comte knows about Lowry’s journal. He has made it his price.’
She briefly recounted the deal that had been struck and her subsequent conversation with his lordship, watching the full horror of it register in Hammond’s eyes.
‘God’s blood,’ he swore through his teeth, although he kept his face valiantly fixed into a smile. ‘So his lordship is after the journal too?’
Helen nodded. Dear Lord, how she longed to tell him it was a Ligatus. Share the burden. Yet she could not. She must sit with the knowledge of it like a burning coal in her mind, alight with malevolence.
‘Not only that, but his lordship is looking for you now, to speak to you about your knowledge of Lowry. You named him at Vauxhall Gardens and his lordship thinks you may know his associates.’
‘And so now we must act directly against his lordship.’ Hammond pulled at the side of his cravat as if its folds had tightened, his eyes finding the doorway. ‘This is too much.’
‘Do you think we should tell him about Pike?’
‘Break our oaths?’ He rubbed at his forehead. ‘Dear God, I wish I had more courage, but I do not want to die by the rope, my name loathed by all decent men. If we tell him, it will be treason and we will both be ruined. Besides, if we lead Carlston to the journal, he will take it to the Comte — he thinks it is his only way to a cure.’
‘You do not sound certain of the Comte’s cure.’