Page 110 of A Whisper and a Curse

“You were angry with them,” Hadrian said. “Was it because you had been Mallory’s paramour and couldn’t bear to think of him with anyone else? Perhaps Ward knew of your plan and Hawkins knew what you’d done, so you had to kill them too.”

Mrs. Griswold laughed. “I don’t care whom Lysander takes to his bed. He enjoys women, and that is his prerogative.”

“But you were angry with him,” Hadrian said.

“Why would you think that? I adore Lysander.”

“She was upset that he hadn’t promoted her to premier medium,” Ellen said softly. “She was jealous of the attention and patronage that the premiers received.”

Everyone snapped their attention to the maid. Her shoulders were turned inward, arms straight, as she clasped her hands. She didn’t dare look at Mrs. Griswold, who was gaping at her.

Tilda thought she understood at last. “You killed Ward so you could take his place, and when that didn’t happen, you killed Mrs. Frost.”

Guilt was reflected in Mrs. Griswold aquamarine eyes. And fear.

“However, I don’t see how you could have committed these murders on your own,” Tilda said. “You would have needed help to hang the bodies. Mr. Edwards certainly appears strong enough, and he has taken the place vacated first by Cyril Wardand then Victor Hawkins. I wonder, will he become the Duchess of Chester’s new medium?”

“Nigel had nothing to do with it,” Mrs. Griswold cried.

“Then who helped you?” Hadrian asked, and Tilda realized he hadn’t seen Mrs. Griswold’s accomplice, which was too bad. “You could not have done all this alone.”

“That includes killing Harmony Smith,” Tilda said. “I believe you poisoned her with prussic acid. But why take her body to Leicester Square and not levitate her like the others?”

“I would guess it’s because she wasn’t a premier medium,” Ellen said, surprising Tilda with her input. The maid’s eyes were wide as she added, “Mrs. Griswold has a bottle of prussic acid in her bedchamber.”

Mrs. Griswold lunged for Ellen. Tilda opened her reticule to fetch her pistol as Hadrian leapt forward to grasp the medium. He pulled Mrs. Griswold backward as she flailed.

“You prying little wretch!” Mrs. Griswold shrieked.

Tilda pointed her pistol at the medium, not that she would shoot her whilst Hadrian was keeping hold of her, but she hoped the threat would quiet the woman. “Ellen, please go out to the pavement and send Constable Gibbs inside. Then go to Lord Ravenhurst’s coach and tell his coachman to fetch Detective Inspector Teague from Scotland Yard. You should go with him.”

Ellen dashed from the house, leaving the door ajar in her flight. A moment later, Gibbs rushed in, his face flushed.

“Constable Gibbs, we’ve a murderer for you to put in irons, if you don’t mind.” Tilda inclined her head toward Mrs. Griswold, who continued to struggle in Hadrian’s grip.

Sucking in a breath, Gibbs pulled the handcuffs from where they hung at his waist and moved toward Mrs. Griswold cautiously. “Stop fighting, Mrs. Griswold, or things will go poorly for you.”

Things were going to go poorly for her anyway, Tilda thought as the constable and Hadrian worked together to put the handcuffs around the woman’s wrists.

“Let us go into the parlor to await Detective Inspector Teague,” Tilda suggested, as if they were paying a call and not unmasking a murderer.

Gibbs clasped Mrs. Griswold’s upper arm and guided her into the parlor, where he sat her in a chair and stood beside her. He took his truncheon from his belt and held it as he kept his gaze fixed on the medium.

Hadrian stood next to Tilda as they faced Mrs. Griswold. He withdrew his pistol from his coat and trained it on the medium. “You can put your pistol away, if you like, Tilda.”

Tilda slipped her father’s pistol into her reticule. “You poisoned the other mediums so you could become a premier medium?”

Mrs. Griswold pressed her lips together and glowered at Tilda.

“You don’t have to tell us anything, but I daresay it will help your cause, especially if you name your accomplice. Perhaps you won’t hang.”

Gibbs opened his mouth, likely to correct what Tilda had said, but she wanted the medium to talk. Tilda gestured faintly toward Gibbs and gave her head a slight shake. He closed his mouth and nodded.

Mrs. Griswold paled. “I was upset with Cyril. I wanted him to introduce me to Her Grace—the Duchess of Chester. I hoped she would like me and perhaps recommend me and my séances to her friends.” Her lips twisted. “But he refused. He said I had to find my own wealthy client. I was angry, so the next time I was at his house for dinner, I added some prussic acid to his favorite wine. I thought it would make him ill.”

“But you killed him,” Tilda concluded. “Why hang him from the staircase and make him look as though he was levitating?”

Mrs. Griswold stared at Tilda as if she were daft. “So that it would appear as though someone else had done it. But it wasn’t my idea. That was Michael’s concoction. Ward was so bloody good at levitating,” she said with a sneer. “It was one of the things that had made him so popular.”