Page 121 of A Whisper and a Curse
“Things become less dire, or at least easier, as we grow older,” Hadrian observed.
“Mostly, yes.” His mother sipped her tea. “How was your visit to Ravenswood?”
“Uneventful,” he said. “Grandmama is well.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she replied, and Hadrian knew she meant it, even though the two women were not close. Hisgrandmother was somewhat cold, particularly when compared with his mother.
“Have you given more thought to whether you plan to consult a new medium?” Hadrian asked as he helped himself to a cake.
“I don’t think I will, which I am sure you find most welcome.” She gave him a wry look.
“I want you to be happy, and if that means you find a new medium, I will support you. I will even attend another séance with you.”
“But you and Miss Wren proved they are a farce.” His mother frowned. “Though I still don’t understand how they knew about that day in the snow with you and your brother.”
This was the moment. Hadrian could tell her what Captain Vale had suggested—that he’d supplied the information to give her the experience she wanted. Or he could tell her the truth.
“Mama, what if there is another way—other than speaking to the dead—to explain how they knew?” Hadrian said slowly.
She fixed on him, her eyes glinting with disbelief. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Perhaps there is something else at work—some way that certain …sensitivepeople are able to read others’ feelings, or even their thoughts and memories.”
“That is still a supernatural occurrence,” she said. “Which I thought you did not believe in.”
“I think I might actually.” Hadrian’s pulse had sped, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. “Or at least, I’m open to it.”
He couldn’t tell her about his ability. Not yet. Perhaps when he felt more in control of it. He wanted to, he realized, but he was still just a little afraid. He wondered if he would have told Tilda about it if she hadn’t correctly determined there was something going on with him.
And how had she noticed and no one else had not? She’d noted his headaches and caught him touching things. Hercurious mind had demanded answers. She’d also cared enough about their burgeoning association to insist upon honesty. He was glad they had that—and so much more.
“That is most surprising to hear,” his mother replied. “But I still don’t wish to see a new medium.” She paused and looked at her teacup for a long moment. “You said that things get easier as we grow older. Often they do, but sometimes they do not. My grief over losing Gabriel has eased, but that isn’t to say it has diminished.” She lifted her gaze to Hadrian’s. “I miss him. But it’s more than that. You also said I am an attentive mother, but I should have done more to keep you all—well, your siblings, in particular—out of your father’s way. I did my best. I know he wasn’t the warmest father?—”
“Or husband.” Hadrian hadn’t meant to interrupt her, but the words had leapt forth of their own accord. “I know you struggled, Mama. Sometimes I wonder if you know how much you struggled.”
She looked toward the hearth. “I do. Just as I chose not to dwell on it. You shouldn’t dwell on it either. Let us remember the happiest of times. Can we do that?” She met his gaze once more.
“Of course.” He didn’t want her to feel bad about Gabriel anymore. “We all love you, including Gabriel. And he knew you loved him.” He was her youngest child—her baby, as she’d said countless times—and they’d shared a particular bond. “So let us remember the happiest times with him. I am grateful for them.”
His mother sniffed. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes briefly. “Look what you’ve done. Amuse me with a silly story about your valet or the dogs at Ravenswood, please.”
Hadrian laughed. “I am happy to, Mama.”
It had been a week since the conclusion of Tilda’s investigation into Lady Ravenhurst’s medium. The day after Mrs. Griswold’s arrest, an article by Clement had appeared in theDaily Newsdetailing her capture and the death of Michael Crocker. He’d described Tilda’s role in solving the case of the Levitation Killers, and as a result, she’d received several inquiries regarding her investigative services. She was rather grateful to the reporter.
The inquiries had come via the office of Mr. Forrest, the barrister she sometimes worked for. She’d also received a handful of rude missives that had denigrated her as a private investigator. None of those obnoxious people had signed their names.
Clement also penned an article dedicated to the dissolution of the London Spiritualism Society. In it, he quoted the society’s founder, Lysander Mallory, admitting that their séances were fraudulent and that they did not speak to the dead. Tilda had heard from at least one person—Mrs. Langdon—who did not believe that was true. No one would convince her that the medium hadn’t communicated with her father in the spirit realm.
Tilda hadn’t seen Hadrian since they’d called on his mother following the conclusion of their investigation, but he was coming this afternoon for tea. She surveyed herself in the mirror, turning her head to see what Clara had done with her hair.
The maid held up another mirror so Tilda could see the artful plaiting and twisting she’d accomplished at the back of Tilda’s head. “Can you see?” Clara asked.
“Yes, thank you. It’s quite extravagant.” Tilda stood and smiled at the maid. “And lovely.”
Clara’s cheeks flushed pink with pleasure. She set the mirror down on the dressing table. “I’m glad you like it.”
Tilda had intended for Clara to be a temporary addition to the household, but she already had one case and might likely accept another. If that kept up, she’d be able to employ Clara permanently.