Page 19 of A Whisper and a Curse

“That could be anyone who touched the glass, including the butler or any other retainer,” Tilda mused.

“Why would one of Mrs. Frost’s retainers be at the society headquarters?” Hadrian asked.

Tilda shrugged. “They would likely not. Montrose makes the most sense.”

When dinner concluded, Tilda made her way to their hostess and thanked her for the evening. “I wonder if I might schedule a consultation with you.”

The medium brightened. “Would you like to speak with your father?”

Hadrian noted Tilda’s nostrils flaring slightly. He sensed her tension, perhaps because he knew how much she loved and missed her father.

“How did you know my father died?” Tilda asked pointedly.

Mrs. Frost glanced toward Hadrian’s mother. “Her ladyship told me. When would you like to come for a consultation?” Her expression dimmed. “Not tomorrow. I’ve been summoned to attend the inquest into Cyril Ward’s death.”

“Of course,” Tilda murmured.

“Perhaps the day after?” Mrs. Frost suggested. “Come at one, if that suits you.”

Tilda smiled warmly. “It does, thank you.”

“We will take our leave,” Hadrian said. “Thank you again, Mrs. Frost.” He guided Tilda from the dining room.

On the way to the entrance hall, where his mother was waiting, he looked over at Tilda. “I suppose we’ll be attending the inquest tomorrow.”

She met his gaze with the bright curiosity that fired her from within. “I wouldn’t miss it, though I’ll have to explain my presence to Mrs. Frost, lest she discover I’m a private investigator.”

“Or you could disguise yourself,” Hadrian said.

“I could, but then I wouldn’t be able to speak with Teague without explaining myself,” she said with a faint smirk. “Perhaps I’ll just hide behind you.”

He gave her a quick bow. “I’m happy to be of service.”

When they were ensconced in the coach on their way to Tilda’s, Hadrian decided to broach the topic of next week’s séance with his mother. “Mama, you mentioned there was no fee for tonight’s séance. Will there be one next week?”

“Yes, but I don’t mind paying it, so do not give me any grief about it, Hadrian,” his mother replied. Her tone was tense, and her mouth tight.

“I will not,” Hadrian said. “I hope the fee is not terribly high.”

“It is ten pounds.” She lifted her chin and gave him a stern look that dared him to question the amount. When he said nothing, she added, “I realize Miss Wren has not yet determined if Mrs. Frost can actually speak to the dead, but I was most convinced this evening when she asked about Angus. Wasn’t that remarkable?”

“It was indeed,” Hadrian said evenly. “I do hope you will allow Miss Wren to continue with her investigation.”

“I will, yes.” His mother cast a small smile toward Tilda. “Did you learn anything this evening?”

“Only that I have doubts about the veracity of what they do during a séance. I would like to study the table to determine how it moves.”

“If you find nothing, we must conclude the spirits are responsible,” Hadrian’s mother said. “How will you determine how Mrs. Frost knew about Gabriel’s horse?”

“I am not yet certain, but I’m glad you brought it up,” Tilda replied gently. “Did the letter you gave to Mrs. Frost include anything about Angus?”

His mother’s face fell. “He did mention that he’d recently acquired a new horse with a long forelock like his first one. I’d forgotten that.” She put her hand to her brow briefly.

Hadrian touched his mother’s arm. “It’s all right, Mama.”

“Does that mean Mrs. Frost is a fraud? I will be so disappointed.” She turned her head toward Hadrian. “I really thought Gabriel may have been close to us tonight. Didn’t you sense him as I did?”

“I did not,” Hadrian said apologetically. “However, that doesn’t mean anything.”