‘A harlot?’ Lady Margaret asked, her tone dismissive.
‘A girl,’ Helen said firmly. ‘In the hands of a monster.’
Sprat nodded at that assessment, then held out her cupped hand.
‘Sixpence,’ Helen prompted Carlston.
He gave her another questioning look, but dug into his breeches’ pocket and dropped the coin into the girl’s grubby hand.
‘I think you should stay away from Mrs Holt’s for a few hours, Sprat,’ Helen said. ‘Would you like something to eat?’ At her wary nod, Helen motioned to Garner. ‘Take her to the kitchen and ask Cook to give her a good solid meal.’
‘Come on, girl,’ Garner said.
Sprat chewed on her lip, then said, ‘Lizzie ain’t got more than a few hours left in her, my lady.’ She looked back as Garner ushered her to the stairs down to the kitchens.
‘Has something happened?’ Delia asked, peering over the first-floor banister.
‘We know Lowry’s whereabouts,’ Helen said.
‘Finally,’ Delia said. She disappeared from view, reappearing a few moments later descending the stairs.
‘How are we to go about it, sir?’ Mr Hammond asked.
‘We need to corner him in the bawdy-house,’ Carlston said. ‘Lowry grew up in the Brighton Lanes and is as cunning as a fox. If he gets into those, we will lose him.’ He rolled up his shirtsleeves and held out his arm to Quinn. The Terrene fitted one of the guards over his forearm and began to tighten the laces. ‘I’ll go in as a customer — try to maintain that essential element of surprise. Quinn, you are to keep an eye on the back.’
‘What am I to do?’ Helen asked.
‘You are to stay here.’
‘No! I must come!’ Helen stopped, her urgency far too strong for the moment. She glanced at Hammond, saw the alarm in his eyes. They both needed to be at the bawdy-house to secure the journal. She tried again. ‘You know I need experience in the world. Surely this is one such opportunity.’
His lordship motioned to the glass knife still in her hand. ‘You do not yet have the necessary combat skills, or the protection of a Terrene.’
Darby nodded her agreement. ‘It is too dangerous, my lady.’
‘We are facing a fading Terrene, not a Deceiver,’ Helen said. ‘How else am I to gain experience?’
‘A Deceiver will make an appearance, you can be sure of that,’ Carlston said. ‘Most likely Philip, and possibly the Comte’s man.’
‘She does need the experience, sir,’ Mr Hammond said.
‘If they or any other Deceiver do come, I will not engage,’ Helen added. ‘I promise.’
Quinn cleared his throat and looked up from lacing the guard. ‘Forgive me, my lord, but you heard young Sprat. Lowry’s hiding out in the molly rooms. It might be easier if you and Lady Helen do go in together, if you catch my meaning. He won’t be able to stand against two Reclaimers, and with the both of you, it will be easier to get into those back rooms unremarked.’
Helen heard an odd note in the Terrene’s voice, and it was not just due to the untoward subject under discussion. No, Quinn was communicating something else to Carlston. Helen concentrated on the Islander’s expression beneath the swirl of tattoos across his face. He did not think his master had enough strength and control left to face Lowry alone.
Lord Carlston stared at his man. ‘I see your point,’ he said.
Sweet heaven; Carlston agreed with him.
‘What do you mean, molly rooms?’ Delia asked.
Quinn looked around the group, but no one else offered to answer. ‘The bawdy-house caters for many tastes, miss, including …’ He paused, plainly searching for an unalarming way of expressing it. ‘Those who seek the Greek love.’
Delia pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘Helen, you cannot visit a place like that!’
Beside her, Darby nodded. ‘My lady, you cannot see such … It is not for your … My lady, it will sully you!’
‘It is not I who will be visiting it.’ Helen met Lord Carlston’s eyes. ‘It will be Mr Amberley.’
She saw the dawn of his half-smile. ‘Well, Mr Amberley, you must do everything I say, without question and immediately. If I tell you to get out, you do not even look back. Agreed?’
‘Yes. Agreed.’
‘Where am I to go, sir?’ Hammond asked Carlston. ‘Front?’
‘Yes, but on no account enter.’
Lord Carlston raised his hand, stopping his protest. ‘Lowry may no longer be a Terrene, but he still has Terrene strength. If the Deceivers make an appearance as expected, I do not want to have to worry about you as well as Lady Helen.’
Mr Hammond gave a reluctant nod.
Helen watched Carlston check the lacing of the armguard. Somehow, she and Hammond needed to get to the journal first, although how they would keep it from his lordship was not clear. None of it was clear except a deepening sense of foreboding.
A rather apt line from Walter Scott’s poem Marmion came to her mind: Oh, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive!
At least they now had the whereabouts of Lowry; with him came a possible way to the journal and maybe even his lordship’s cure and an end to this wretched business.
Chapter Twenty-One
Helen followed Carlston into Holt’s Coffeehouse, edging her way past two men in the doorway engaged in vigorous debate. She heard the words capital game and three notches to the Weald Coast and then she was inside the dimly lit, hot room. No more than thirty men sat at the small tables — at just past nine o’clock it was too early for the evening to be fully underway — but the air was still heavy with the smell of coffee, ale and the sour stink of male sweat. Every now and again the thunkety-thunk of a sea shanty, played upon an inferior instrument in another room, punched through the thrum of conversation.
She looked back out of the doorway to the lane. Mr Hammond leaned against the wall of the daffy house opposite, the light from its oil lamps falling across his bowed head. She could not see his eyes beneath the brim of his beaver, but the line of his shoulders showed his tension. They had not had much time to make their own plan to retrieve the journal. If Helen did manage to capture it first, she was to pass it to Hammond, who would then take it to the nearby Raggett’s Club and wait for her arrival. Admittedly it was under-conceived and relying upon luck and prayer, but it was the best they could do. God willing, they would get the journal first, but if they did not … Helen shook her head. No, they must.