Page 15 of A Whisper and a Curse

“John Tabor?” Mrs. Frost asked again.

Three raps sounded from beneath the table, as if someone had knocked on the underside. Hadrian pushed back from the table and looked under it.

“Everyone join hands please,” Mrs. Frost instructed, her eyes still closed.

Hadrian’s head was still bent to peer beneath the table.

Tilda reached for his hand, and he straightened. The moment their palms met, she felt a power greater than whatever might be happening around them at the séance. His touch warmed her in the chill of the room.

“Three raps means yes,” Mrs. Frost explained. “John Tabor is with us. John, can you lead Captain Gabriel Becket to us?”

The answer came with two raps.

“Is that no?” Hadrian asked.

Mrs. Frost’s eyes remained closed. “That means he doesn’t know. Will you try, John?”

Three more raps to answer in the affirmative.

“John, tell him that his mother is here,” Mrs. Frost said. “And his brother.”

Mrs. Frost finally opened her eyes and turned her head toward Lady Ravenhurst. “What will you say to your son when his spirit is here with us?”

Tilda felt Hadrian tense, his hand clasping hers more tightly. She watched his mother, who took a moment to respond. “I would tell him that I love him, that we miss him. I hope he is at peace. I pray he’s not—” She stopped abruptly and looked down at the table.

The candles flickered again. Tilda wondered if Hadrian had seen anything beneath the table but assumed he had not. He would have likely halted the séance if he’d seen anything suspicious.

The table tilted again, this time toward Tilda. She pulled back from the table but didn’t release Hadrian’s hand or the hand of the man on her left.

“Why is the table tilting like that?” someone, a woman, asked.

“The spirits are here,” Mrs. Frost said. “John Tabor and others.”

The man next to the medium spoke to her in a low tone. The table tilted again, back and forth, twice.

Mrs. Frost looked to Hadrian’s mother. “Lady Ravenhurst, perhaps you should talk to Gabriel about his horse, the one with the long forelock.”

Hadrian jerked. His attention snapped to the medium.

Lady Ravenhurst smiled. “That was Angus. He loved that horse. You want me to talk to Gabriel? Now?”

“It would likely encourage him to come,” Mrs. Frost said.

Nodding, the countess looked around the room, her gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling. “My dearest, Gabriel. Are you with Angus now?” She laughed, perhaps nervously. “What a silly thing to ask. I remember when you fell off during your second ride.” She looked over at Hadrian. “Do you remember that, dear?”

“I wasn’t there,” Hadrian said, his voice flat. Tilda noted the stiff set of his jaw.

“Well, I remember,” Lady Ravenhurst said. “Cook made Gabriel his favorite pudding to cheer him.” She went on explaining about the pudding and named several of Gabriel’s other favorite dishes. But Tilda was focused on Hadrian.

“Are you all right?” Tilda whispered.

“This is ridiculous,” he hissed.

“Your mother seems to be enjoying talking about Gabriel. Surely that’s something.”

“Until nothing happens.”

The table moved again, tipping in all directions as if it were being tossed upon a stormy sea. Hadrian pulled his hand from Tilda’s. She saw he also released the medium’s hand.