Helen jumped; she had not heard her maid come to her side. She straightened her fingers, hissing at the sharp jab of pain, and offered the hand for inspection. Darby took it gently in her own, clicking her tongue.
‘Duke, are you injured?’ Delia asked. A nasty blue bruise was forming on her cheekbone.
Selburn shook his head, although he held his hand ringed around his reddened throat.
Pike leaned over Carlston’s unconscious body. ‘This seems to be the safest state for him — and everyone around him — at present.’ He turned to Lady Margaret. ‘What happened?’
‘He woke and went looking for Lady Helen. The three of us couldn’t stop him — Quinn, Darby or I.’ Her eyes darted to Helen as if it were her fault. It probably was, Helen thought. ‘When he arrived here, he attacked the Duke.’
‘I see.’ Pike straightened. ‘I think your theory is somewhat flawed, Lady Helen. This violence did not start with you touching him.’
‘Theory?’ Lady Margaret asked.
Helen shook her head; this was not the time.
Pike bowed to Selburn. ‘I think it would be best if you left with me now, Your Grace. Who knows how long Carlston will be insensible, and you seem to be his target.’
‘We cannot leave the ladies here alone with him,’ the Duke protested.
‘I am sure Mr Hammond will be here within the half-hour,’ Pike replied, sending a pointed glance in Helen’s direction. The deal was in play: Hammond for her obedience. He offered his hand to the Duke. ‘Besides, Lady Helen and Mr Quinn are the best equipped to control him.’
The Duke nodded reluctantly and gripped Pike’s hand, rising stiffly from the floor. He looked down at Carlston, his desire to kick the Earl’s prostrate body as clear to Helen as if he had declared it.
‘You should not let him regain his senses,’ he said to the company at large. ‘Dose him with laudanum.’
‘We are not going to drug him,’ Lady Margaret said, stepping closer to Carlston.
Quinn hauled himself up from the floor. ‘Laudanum doesn’t work on a Reclaimer, Your Grace. The workings of their bodies are too fast.’
The Duke glanced at Pike. ‘Is that true?’
Pike nodded.
‘Nevertheless you must find some way to restrain him,’ the Duke said. ‘Before he kills someone.’ He made a small bow to Helen, then made his way to the door.
‘His Grace has a point,’ Pike said, regarding Carlston with a look of satisfaction that chilled Helen to the bone. ‘Find a way to keep him under control until it is decided what can be done with a man who has lost his mind and has the strength to tear apart entire streets.’
He turned and stalked from the room.
Pike was true to his word: half an hour later, Mr Hammond arrived back at German Place. Apart from a slight dishevelment of his usual neat attire, he seemed composed as he helped himself to a glass of claret in the drawing room. Yet Helen could smell the sharp stink of fear on him, and his hand shook as he poured, spilling some of the ruby wine down the side of the glass.
‘… and now Pike has ordered us to keep his lordship insensible,’ his sister said, concluding her account. ‘It is unthinkable. Why did you take so long in town, Michael?’
Her fingers plucked at the fringed ends of her royal blue turban. She had abandoned her usual elaborate coiffure, confining her hair instead beneath the makeshift headdress, the blue silk accentuating the dark shadows under her eyes. After Pike and the Duke had departed, Quinn had carried his lordship back up to the bedchamber and was now watching over him alone, but only because Delia had insisted Lady Margaret take some respite from her vigil. Even so, she sat on the edge of the sofa next to Delia as if ready to fly up the stairs at any sign of consciousness from the Earl.
‘I am sorry, Margaret,’ Hammond said. He placed his hand for a moment upon her shoulder, then walked to the window where Helen stood, the late sun warming her back. ‘I was delayed in Donaldson’s.’
He took a sip of wine, his eyes meeting Helen’s for a moment over the rim of the glass, the flash of raw fear in his face hidden from his twin and Delia.
‘Continuing to batter him into an unconscious state is unthinkable,’ Lady Margaret repeated, her defiance aimed at Helen.
‘I agree.’ Helen closed her hand and felt the painful pull upon her scabbed and bruised knuckles. She had already come to the necessity of another solution. Whatever that might be.
‘You do?’ Lady Margaret’s fingers stopped their agitated picking at the fringe. ‘Good.’
‘What did you find out in town, Mr Hammond?’ Delia asked, breaking the strained silence.
He tipped back his glass and finished the wine in one gulp. ‘Last night is being explained by a case of St Anthony’s fire — a bakery in the lane selling bad rye bread, and the flour contaminating the air, causing hallucinations. People seem to be believing it. A few are even leaving town. The Comte and Comtesse d’Antraigues are returning to London.’
‘London?’ Helen repeated.
‘Yes,’ Hammond said, walking across to the wine jug again. ‘It would seem the Comte has given up on his lordship obtaining the journal.’
‘I’ve had word that Philip has left for London too,’ Helen said. ‘Perhaps they think Lowry is now heading to the city.’
Did the Comte and Philip know something about Lowry that they did not? Or was their defection to London for another reason entirely? After all, Philip had left Brighton before the events at the bawdy house. Perhaps his departure had been mere coincidence.
‘It is possible Lowry is on his way to London,’ Mr Hammond replied, ‘but it is just as possible he is still in Brighton. I could find no confirmation either way.’ He addressed his sister. ‘I have some other information that is for Lady Helen only. Would you and Miss Cransdon leave us, please?’
Delia immediately rose from the sofa, but Lady Margaret frowned at her brother’s tone, which had been more command than request.
‘If this is to do with Lord Carlston’s well-being, I shall stay,’ she said, and crossed her arms.
‘Margaret, please go,’ Hammond said. He lifted the jug and poured another generous measure. Hand still shaking, Helen noted.
‘Do not order me about, Michael. If this is —’
Mr Hammond slammed the jug down onto the silver tray in a ringing clang of glass against metal. ‘Devil’s sake, Margaret. Just do as I ask.’
She flinched upright in her seat, back straight and face rigid. Hammond turned and walked back to the window. Helen watched him drain the glass again; two full glasses in a matter of five minutes.
‘Lady Margaret,’ Delia said softly, ‘it would be best, I think, if we go to the morning room.’
With a fierce glance at her brother’s back, Lady Margaret stood and followed Delia from the room. Mr Hammond waited until the door closed behind them, then walked once again to the decanter. This time his gait was not so easy; a small limp, favouring his right side.
‘Are they gone?’ he asked, pouring another full glass.
Helen listened to the two pairs of footsteps descending the staircase. No conversation between the two women, but she separated out Lady Margaret’s breathing: hard and quick.