Page 21 of A Whisper and a Curse

“Not at all,” Hadrian assured him with a smile.

They said goodbye to Tilda’s grandmother, and Vaughn held the door for them as they departed. When they were settled in the coach, Hadrian asked, “Do you tell your grandmothereverything about your investigations? Leaving out anything grisly, of course,” he added with a smile.

“Not everything. I don’t tell her about your visions, which are a vital part of our investigations. Is your head all right today?” His headaches didn’t typically last into the following day, but Tilda wanted to ask anyway.

“Yes. Thank you for your concern. I’ve been thinking of the vision I had when I touched the glass that Montrose handed me. I’d like to know who else was in the memory, particularly who was doing the levitating.”

Tilda nodded. “Thank you for your demonstration. You certainly delighted Grandmama and Vaughn.”

“And you?” he asked in a teasing tone.

“Quite. Had you practiced?”

“I did, in fact. I confess I was eager to see if I could do it, so when I arrived home last night, I made Sharp, my valet, watch me try. He helped me perfect my technique. Then he had to try it too. By this morning, he’d taught two footmen and one of the maids. However, the trick doesn’t work as well for women because the hem of the gown rather disrupts the effect of levitating.”

“I’m going to have to attempt this for myself,” Tilda said. “You’ve done a great investigative service.”

Hadrian chuckled. “Happy to do my part.”

“Do you plan to show your mother the trick?” Tilda asked.

“I’m considering it, although I’m not sure it will deter her from attending another séance. She isn’t interested in levitation and likely won’t care that it’s a cheat. Furthermore, I believe she accepts that some mediums are frauds, which is why she hired you in the first place. She wants to be assured that Mrs. Frost is not among that number.”

Tilda inclined her head. “We must prove that Mrs. Frost doesn’t actually speak to the dead. Hopefully, we can do thattomorrow when we call on her. Or at least move closer to that goal.”

“I wanted to ask you something about last night,” Hadrian said, his gaze cautious. “Did it bother you when Mrs. Frost asked about your father?”

“It surprised me,” Tilda replied.

“I noticed you didn’t answer,” he said softly. “Would you speak to him if you could?”

“No, I don’t think I would, if it was even possible.” She eyed Hadrian a moment. He actually possessed a power that would allow her to recall something precious—one of her father’s memories. “I have wondered, however, if you might see one of his memories some time. There are things in my grandmother’s house that he touched in the past.”

Hadrian leaned slightly forward, his blue eyes gleaming in the afternoon light filtering into the coach. “I would do that for you, if you wanted me to.” He held her gaze. “Would you?”

Tilda exhaled. “I don’t know. It only occurred to me that it might be possible.”

“I can’t quite determine if you believe the mediums can speak to the dead or not,” Hadrian said, eyeing her intently.

“Because I haven’t yet made a determination.”

Hadrian leaned slightly forward. “Perhaps it’s that I can’t tell if you want to believe it or not. I am not sure of your overall impression of the spiritualism movement.”

“I don’t know that I have one yet. I tend to reserve judgment until I can gather as much information as possible. Like you, I’m inclined to disbelieve that these mediums speak to the dead, and I do not doubt that levitating and other tricks they execute are likely fabricated, though I would still like to find proof,” she added pointedly. “However, I also know that I cannot explain your ability, nor can I discount the possibility that someone else is similarly gifted.”

“I can’t imagine how we’ll find proof of that.” He pressed back against the squab, squaring his shoulders. “And if we did, how would I explain it to my mother?”

“You could tell her the truth about yourself,” Tilda said quietly, almost holding her breath as she waited for his reply.

She was not surprised when Hadrian shook his head.

“Why not?” she asked.

“For the same reason I didn’t tell you—I am afraid she won’t believe me. Or that she’ll think I’m mad. Sometimes,Ithink I’m mad.”

“I believed you. And you arenotmad,” she said vehemently. He’d been very concerned about that when the visions had started, and she understood why he would be.

“It isn’t normal, Tilda.”