Garner bowed. ‘Would you like me to call for Mr Quinn, my lady?’
‘Whatever for?’ She saw something deepen beneath the butler’s polite expression: suspicion. He did not like the unexpected visit. Should she be wary too? She could see no reason for it. ‘I am sure I will be quite safe, Garner. Thank you.’
‘As you wish, my lady.’ He bowed and left to retrieve Mr Stokes.
Helen straightened the pleats on the bodice of her cream gown and touched the blue riband threaded through her hair. Apart from Lord Carlston and Mr Benchley — who, frankly, could not be counted — Mr Stokes was the only other Reclaimer she had met. Perhaps here was a chance to discover more about their strange occupation. Maybe even find some sort of ally in the murky recesses of the Dark Days Club.
Before long, her visitor was seated opposite her, shaking his head at the offer of tea. ‘No, thank you, Lady Helen. I am afraid my visit must be brief.’
She dismissed the waiting butler with a wave of her hand. ‘That will be all for now. Thank you.’
Garner bowed and closed the doors behind him. Mr Stokes sat still with his blond head tilted — listening to the butler descend the staircase, Helen realised — then he gave a nod of satisfaction and smiled, his eyes crinkling into disarming warmth.
‘Your butler does not trust me.’
‘No,’ Helen said baldly, earning a wider smile from the Reclaimer.
‘I am glad your household is so well-primed for your safety.’ He gestured to the window with one long hand, and Helen noticed an old jagged scar that started between his thumb and finger and disappeared under his jacket cuff. A Reclaimer injury? ‘Are they, however, aware that your house is being watched?’
‘Watched? Are you sure?’ Helen rose from her chair and crossed to the window. A scan of the quiet street showed only a maid sweeping a front doorstep. ‘A Deceiver?’
‘Not that my lens could determine,’ Stokes said, patting the fob pocket in his buckskins. ‘The man is wearing a coat, but beneath I saw livery colours. The Duke of Selburn’s, I believe.’
Oh, no. At least his lordship had not been the one to discover it.
‘I would hazard the surveillance has nothing to do with Deceivers,’ Mr Stokes added, a sly slant to his voice.
Was he teasing her?
‘It is the talk of Brighton,’ he continued. ‘There is a book being taken on the date of the announcement.’
Helen gave one last glance out of the window, then returned to her chair. ‘Brighton is wrong. There will be no announcement.’
Mr Stokes cupped a hand to his ear. ‘Did you hear that? All of the society mamas in England sighing with relief.’
Helen stifled a smile. ‘His attentions are proving difficult, Mr Stokes,’ she said.
He sobered. ‘I know. He has been inquiring about Lord Carlston and your companions at Whitehall. Did you want some assistance in the matter?’
Helen held up her hand. ‘That will not be necessary.’
She certainly did not want another member of the Dark Days Club set against the Duke, and her harsh reply to his letter would, hopefully, settle the matter once and for all.
Stokes nodded. ‘Of course.’ He pulled a letter from inside his burgundy jacket. ‘I have this for you, from Mr Pike.’
Helen took the proffered packet; it was surprisingly heavy. The fold was sealed with wax and she felt a hard familiar shape beneath her thumb: a key. Ah, he was here to deliver the promised gold for Lowry. Fifteen thousand pounds worth, which would be almost the same weight as an average man. Not an easy thing to carry around, even for a Reclaimer.
‘Good Lord, you haven’t brought it here, have you?’ she asked. How was she to hide a stack of gold bullion that was never to be used?
‘I brought nothing other than that packet. Were you expecting something else?’
‘No.’ She waved away her comment. ‘I misremembered the arrangement. That is all.’
It seemed he was not in Pike’s confidence. Of course he would not be, Helen chastised herself. Pike had made it dangerously clear that he did not want any of the other Reclaimers to know about the journal nor the horrifying fact that it was a Ligatus. Another reason to keep his lordship’s search for it a secret. Pike’s packet, then, must hold the location of the gold.
Stokes looked around the drawing room, his attention coming to rest upon her books on the side table between them. ‘I have interrupted your studies.’ He leaned across and opened Elements of Alchemy. ‘Carlston is not making you read this ghastly stuff, is he?’
She laughed. ‘He is. Did you have to read it too?’
‘I certainly did, but my mentor quickly discovered that my forte was fighting, not alchemy.’ He kept his eyes upon the book, turning pages. ‘How is Lord Carlston?’
Although his tone was as congenial as ever, the question was far more than just polite inquiry. Helen felt her spine stiffen. Beneath his easy manners, Mr Stokes was still very much a hunter. He may not be in Pike’s confidence about the journal, but he certainly knew about Lord Carlston’s state of mind.
‘He is very well, thank you.’
Stokes let the book’s cover slap back into place. ‘You know that is not what I am asking, Lady Helen.’ He looked up, his hazel eyes intent. ‘Has he shown any deterioration?’
Helen rose from her chair and walked to the hearth. ‘You can tell Pike that he is unchanged.’
Stokes regarded her for a long moment, patently searching her face for lies. He smiled. ‘Ah, I see.’
Helen turned her back, her heart beating her dismay. He had seen her true feelings for the Earl. She placed Pike’s instruction on the mantel to be read later, although she had no intention of using the gold. Right now, she had a decision to make. Did she end this interview; or take a chance and play a dangerous card, gambling that the man before her was as honourable as Lady Margaret claimed?
She faced him again. ‘Mr Pike seems convinced Lord Carlston is on the same path as Mr Benchley.’
‘Yes, he does.’
At least he did not pretend it was not so. She ground her palms together. ‘Do you think Lord Carlston is going mad?’
‘I have seen him only once since his return to England. He did not seem … himself.’
She regarded him for a long moment; he was playing his own close game. She could only trust her instincts. With a wordless prayer, she turned her card. ‘I think Mr Pike intends to kill him.’
In the quiet elegance of the drawing room, it sounded absurdly melodramatic.
Stokes crossed his arms. ‘Mr Pike may be a bureaucrat born from the shop, but he acts within the bounds of his position and for the good of the Dark Days Club and England.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘Lady Helen, you must understand that at present, Mr Pike is, for all intents and purposes, our commanding officer. He has the authority of the King and of Parliament, and so we must obey his orders. I can see you may not have had much experience with the sanctity of chain of command, but I am sure you recognise the sanctity of our oath.’