Lady Helen and the Dark Days Pact

‘Still, if there is any chance of retrieving the Colligat, we must investigate,’ Mr Hammond said, urging them forward. ‘What does he look like?’

Helen gave a brief description of Philip as they crossed the road at an unseemly trot and took the pathway that cut through the green expanse of the Steine. Helen clasped her bonnet to her head, murmuring an apology to a startled elderly lady as the three of them hurried past. They reached the corner and peered down the road. A pair of giggling maidservants walked arm in arm, a brewer hauled a barrel from his cart, and a fashionable gentleman stood viewing a window display of books. No sign of a tall young man in a grey beaver, or his shorter dark-haired companion.

‘Are you sure you saw him come down here?’ Lady Margaret asked.

‘I am not sure it was him at all. It was just something about the way he walked that —’

‘Lady Helen! Upon my soul, it is you!’

They all turned.

‘Good Lord,’ Mr Hammond said, raising his quizzing glass to look at the figure waving exuberantly from the main promenade path. ‘Who is that?’

‘Lady Elizabeth Brompton,’ Helen said. ‘And that is her mother, Lady Dunwick, coming behind.’

It was inevitable that she would meet London acquaintances in Brighton; it was one of the most fashionable sea-bathing towns. But why did it have to be Pug and her mother? They were so cheerfully and relentlessly inquisitive. Moreover, they’d both been at her ball and would, without a doubt, have awkward questions about that fateful night.

‘We cannot pretend we have not seen them,’ Hammond said. He gave one last look down the road. ‘If that was indeed the Deceiver, he could be anywhere in that maze of lanes.’

Helen braced herself as Pug, resplendent in pink and green stripes, dragged her mother across the road and bobbed into a breathless curtsey. Her protuberant blue eyes — the reason for her nickname — popped even wider under the tall, luxuriously feathered crown of her bonnet.

‘How are you, Lady Helen? I’ve not seen you since the night of your ball. Are you recovered now?’ She caught Helen’s hands, squeezing them sympathetically. ‘It was such a shock to learn that you had fallen ill straight after dancing before His Royal Highness. Was the dancing too much for you after your fall? Is your darling mare all right? Are you here for your health?’

Helen aimed a curtsey at Lady Dunwick, trying unsuccessfully to extricate herself from Pug’s grip. ‘Yes, here for my health,’ she echoed, ignoring all the other questions. ‘Allow me to present my friends. This is Lady Margaret Ridgewell and her brother, Mr Hammond.’

Lady Dunwick, who had clearly passed on her bulbous eyes to her daughter, nodded graciously to the brother and sister. ‘How do you do.’ Her gaze turned back to Helen, the bulging expanse of white around each blue iris giving her an expression of perpetual urgency. ‘Is your aunt here with you, my dear? I had thought she and your uncle were set upon spending the summer at Lansdale Hall?’

‘Yes, they will be at Lansdale,’ Helen said, fixing a smile upon her face. In truth, she did not know what her guardians intended — not since her uncle had expelled her from his house. ‘Lady Margaret has been so kind as to invite me here for the summer.’

‘Then you must all come to supper next Friday,’ Lady Dunwick said, the abundance of orange feathers on her bonnet nodding vigorously as if to second the invitation. ‘A little announcement of our arrival in Brighton. It will be just those families who are already in town. It is such a shame that all this hoo-ha with the government and the American war is keeping the Prince Regent in London. It leaves us rather light for company. I see you are hesitating, my dear, but I insist. Let me tempt you with dancing. Some of the officers from the 10th Light Dragoons will be attending.’ She raised an emphatic finger and shook it. ‘Elizabeth has told me about your riding accident, so we will make sure you are not overtaxed. Only every second dance, and a rest in between.’

‘Oh, yes, you must come,’ Pug urged. ‘The Prince of Wales’s regiment always has the best dancers. Say you will. Please say you will.’

Under such kind pressure, Helen knew she could not demur. ‘Thank you.’

She saw Lady Margaret’s jaw tighten before she murmured her own thanks, along with Mr Hammond.

‘Wonderful!’ Pug beamed around the small circle. ‘Where are you heading now?’

‘Donaldson’s,’ Helen said.

‘To sign the book?’ Pug asked. ‘We are on our way too. Let us go together.’ She linked arms with Helen. ‘It is across the Steine and very well-placed for watching the street. Have you seen the bathing boxes with their little ponies — aren’t they divine? I’m so keen to bathe, although it is not yet warm enough. Surely you must be considering it too?’

Helen opened her mouth to reply, but was not quick enough.

‘Of course you are, what with your fall and everything. So beneficial to the health. Why, I was just telling Mother …’

And so Pug continued for the whole of the short walk to the library. Helen nodded and smiled and caught the appalled eye of Lady Margaret, who was enduring a similar one-sided conversation with Lady Dunwick.

‘Well, here we are,’ Pug announced unnecessarily as they drew up to the clearly signed frontage of the library. ‘We shall soon find out who else is in town. Everyone subscribes to Donaldson’s.’

A young footman clad in neat drab stood at the entrance. Seeing their intention to enter, he pulled open the doors and bowed as Pug led the way inside. Helen happened to glance at the young man as she passed and as their eyes met, she saw something dawn upon his round-cheeked face: recognition.

Before she could react, she’d been herded over the threshold by Lady Dunwick’s bulk. She looked back, but the young man had already closed the doors behind them and disappeared from his post. Through the large front windows, Helen searched the pedestrians walking along the Parade until she found him again, standing on the corner of the road opposite Raggett’s Club. A rather abrupt departure for a footman. The anomaly hardened into a sudden suspicion: perhaps he was a Deceiver who had sensed her Reclaimer energy and bolted.

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